Posts Tagged ‘I’m sorry’

#221

November 6 2011

A. What will you miss most
B. Miss most about what?
A. About being dead?
B. … no?
A. When you’re dead
B. No
A. but then you have to come back alive
B. What? N
A. What do you think it’ll be hardest for you to leave behind?
B. I don’t want to talk about this.
A. C’mon. Be a pal
B. I’m a pal, I just don’t want to talk about this
A. Be a pal to death, tho
B. No.
A. Death would be a pal to you
B. I don’t think that’s the case
A. What are you talking about? Death can’t wait to get to know ya, know ya
B. So can’t a rapist, or an Avon lady, or a Jehovah’s Witness– doesn’t mean they’re my best buds…
A. An Avon lady?
B. Once they have their hooks in you they will never stop hitting you up, trying to make you one too.
A. But the same as a rape artist?
B. Rape is temporary, Avon is forever
A. … so that’s fine, but death is completely unacceptable to talk about
B. What exactly is a rape artist, by the w? Is it like a Subway sandwich ‘artist’? Or are you implying that there is a craft to it, something to master
A. No. Well, no. No.
B. I’ll take that as a yes.
A. Do you think they have message boards?
B. Well. I know pedophiles do, and all of them are technically rapists– at least the ones who have the courage to act on their convictions– so, yes.
A. Oh yeah. I forgot they were that.
B. You forgot pedophiles were rapists
A. Hey, let’s not go filling in blanks that don’t need explicifying
B. Ugh. But I bet they do. The rapists that is.
A. Rape artists– heh, heh– show some respect
B. Once you can have rape fantasy sex stories you can always just say that that’s what you were doing– though, I have to imagine that if you do anything remotely approaching case-similar details your ass gets patriot-acted.
A. Yeah…
B. And that half the people on those boards are probably from different law enforcement agencies, trying to entrap or bust one another.
A. Ha.
B. How many times do you think they’ve followed-up on a lead, or went to bust someone, just to find that it was some local cop operation, or the FBI?
A. Ha
B. Though, that would make double perfect cover– if you were a rape cop investigating rapes and trying to post real good rape stories on this rape board in order to ferret-out real rapists, but, the stories you were using, the cases you were trying to close, were all of your own rapes that you yourself committed. It would be so easy to pin it on someone else, don’t you think?
A. Yeah
B. I bet it’s happened. I bet more than once. I bet it’s happening right now.
A.
B. It would be crazy to get to read those boards– there’s no way they’re not double secret, password-protected, invite-only tho
A. … why?
B. You’d probably have to prove it somehow, I wonder– I bet. I bet if you wrote one of– a bunch of– those rape fantasy porno stories that someone would reach out to you
A. Uh-huh…
B. I mean, really detailed, a great sense of dread, pure adrenaline. Totally horrifying and totally realistic and totally convincing– if you could post a bunch of those someone would reach out just in the off-chance you were a fellow practitioner– or artist– credit where credit is due
A. You don’t have to
B. No, no. I’m very big on not usurping other people’s ideas.
A. Thanks…
B. So, where was I
A. Talking about rape, probably
B. Uh… oh, right– just in the off-chance — they win either way in this situation. Heads, you’re a fellow deeply impolite traveller and score: welcome to the club. Tails, you’ve got great stories (fake though they are) to share, a great sense of the craft and how this fantasy ticks. And obviously– at this point you’ve probably posted dozens of them– you’re interested in the field, and the invitee can pitch you the site as sort of a goof, or. Not a goof, but that you’re all just sharing stories, not evidence. Probably. They’d keep it ambiguous, tho. That sense of menace, of possibility. They invite you and see how you share.
A. Sure.
B. And, I mean, odds are– I guarantee– like 90% of the people on this board not only have never raped but never would rape.
A. Ok.
B. So, yeah. I bet they do.
A. Great, so can we not talk about rape now? Maybe something more pleasant? Like Death?
B. Would you rather get killed or get raped
A. God DAMMIT
B. Seems like a pretty easy choice, I mean. Though, with the latter you never know if the former is far behind, and that’s part of it…
A. SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUP
B. Woah.
A. I just wanted to have a fun, speculative chat about death. And here you are, Fucking It Up, with all this God Damn rape talk.
B. Yeah?
A. Can we PLEASE just talk half-seriously, but lightly, adorably, about how one day you’ll be dead, and I won’t, and we’ll never ever, Ever get to talk again?
B. You do know that I hate death– the idea of it, the fact of it, talking about it, even thinking about it. Even even when it happens on tv or in movies,– that I hate that more than any single thing and t
A. I’m sorry
B. And talking about it is far more horrifying for me than talking about rape could possibly be for you since I am definitely going to die, and you are almost – barring a trip to prison–
A. I’m sorry
B. almost definitely not going to get raped. Unless, of course, you were as a child, in which case I apologize PROFUSELY
A. I’m sorry.
B. I’m sorry too.
A. I’m sorry but
B. Don’t do it
A. What will you miss most about coming back to life, about death. When that happens
B. I hate you
A. … it’s less a question about death than it is a question about…
B. It’s actually extra bout it
A. no you’re right: it’s double death
B. Makin’ me think so deeply about what being dead would be like and then makin’ me
A. I’m sorry
B. makin’ me say that I’ll miss being dead– as a premise– promising me I’ll come back to life someday
A. I think I’d miss the security
B. What could possibly be secure about being dead.
A. Well, for one, no one can kill you
B. Fair enough?
A. Or hurt, or rob, or rape you
B. But are you really that afraid of other people
A. Of people? Yeah. But not because of that
B. So what would you miss then?
A. … You’re not going to follow-up on my leading,
B. No
A. perfectly crafted, cliffhanging
B. Nope
A. nugget of vulnerable… something?
B. Is it the security of knowing
A. Yeah. More or less.
B. I can see that. That makes sense.
A. What about you?
B.
A. Ok! What is it?
B. I
A. Let’s go!
B. Ugh
A. What do you figure you’ll miss. About death.
B. The sound.
A. What sound?
B. The way I picture it, I assume there is a sound
A. What’s it sound like?
B. Just, slight; sort of, all the time
A. What’s it
B. Part of me wants to say it would be droning but that seems cliche
A. It does?
B. Well Slaughterhouse-Five said violet light and a hum.
A. You wouldn’t miss the violet light the most?
B. That’s just a book. It’s not real life.
A. So the light’s not violet?
B. There is no light.
A. Oh.
B. You’re dead, you’re not at a rave.
A. But there is still a sound?
B. How else will you know you’re dead and not just… nothing?
A. It can’t be a light?
B. C’mon. You’re dead– your eyes are just empty sockets
A. But your ears
B. It sounds like wind chimes. But closer together, tinnier.
A. That… sounds like the worst sound.
B. It’s death, not a blowjob contest.
A. I take it back. That might actually be the worst sound.
B. It’s awful, agreed. But over time of it being the only Thing– the only sense, the only aspect, the only difference between death and nothing– a buoy over which your drown and coughing consciousness
A. So the sound, ok. Great.
B. … are you ki
A. I don’t want to talk about death anymore.
B. It’s Hard To Picture Because There Is Not Picture, But ALL There Is Is This Sound; Even If It’s Awful, Once It Stops You’ll Cry Because It’s Missing And Now You Are A Body, Expelled, Exposed, Cold, Outside, Alone: A Mouth With Legs, A Butt, And EYES

106. #20 – The Parking Lot

August 25 2011

20. The Parking Lot

If Heavy Metal Parking Lot (and its sequel That YouTube Where They Drive Around Barnes & Nobles Parking Lots On The Night Half-Blood Prince Was Released And Yell “Snape Kills Dumbledore” Out Their Van Window)12 taught us anything it is that the parking lot need not be mere prologue. It can be an event in and of itself.

~~~—~~~

In the 50s, to park was to participate in a bizarre group sex ritual that was the preferred method by which an ostensibly conservative and sex-phobic parental establishment initiated their young into the ways of love and reproduction. Dumb! Over the years this association has faded, but why not bring it back? While cleared-out scenic overlooks seemingly both in the middle of the woods but also on top of a beautifully light-grod4 city may be in short supply, if there is one thing our country does not lack for it is parking space. And really, what does the view of your hometown– below-car, powerless to stop you, brought to heel by the size of your love– have on, say, a Wal-Mart?
All of which is to say, start ‘parking’ at Wal-Mart. Make a thing of it. Not just you and your date, but a bunch of yous and yours date. If they’re intent on supplanting every single business and government institution then, really, isn’t it incumbent on them to provide all the services olde timee small towns used to? Car or no car, get thee to a WalMart parking lot and neck, and suck, and swallow, and plow to your hearts’ content.


What a treat it will be when, having come back from their movie/grocery shopping/parenthood planhatching, this complete stranger finds that their car has been washed and waxed and perhaps detailed (if you understand what that entails (because I do not))! I’m pretty sure it involves getting inside the car, though, so make sure you remember to bring your long metal window wiggle strap.


Do your local grocery workers a solid and collect carts for them. Note: this may not actually be a solid, as, in my experience, getting the carts was definitely the best part of the job. You’re outside, you’re essentially unsupervised, you can take your sweet time, and steering 14 carts is sort of cool you guys. Honest!


Do your grocery workers a liquid and leave all the doors in the freezer section ajar just a smidge / do the grocery workers a gas and stop brownbagging them (farting on the bagperson as you leave) / do the grocery workers a plasma and collect blood for them. From whom, and why? Just ask. They’ll know.


Are you really strong and intimidating? Troll-like in either build or appearance? Is it samurai times or the wild west? Are your local businesses disproportionately run by mollifying mollycoddles? Real ineffectual wimps? Pathetic Obamafied push-overs who jump at the opportunity to reverse negotiate? Why not set up an unofficial checkpoint and collect tolls; ‘reserve’ parking spots and charge rent; play dead by the speed bump and then, when drivers rush out to see if you need help, kill them and take their stuff.

Maybe not so much that last one. Maybe not so much any of these. I’m sorry.


In this contracted economy, small businesses need all the help they can get. Advertising can help, but effective outreach isn’t cheap and can require teams the size of small armies to pound pavement to spread the word. Why not Volunteer! Paper the cars with coupons you made for local businesses!

This one requires some significant pre-parking lot work on your mutual parts.5 Strictly speaking, this probably should be considered more of an arts and crafts date than a parking lot joint. But still! Make coupons for local businesses. Make them look good– I’m talking a real Print Shop quality job– make Broderbund break mirrors in fits of uncontrollable envy, make The Learning Company wish they too were still a thing so they could dish out sweet bucks to make you theirs. Make you safe, make you controlled. Soft in their arms.6

Here’s some ideas!/:

– Buy one pizza get two free tacos from restaurant of equal or lesser values
– 50% off for the rest of your life
– 50% off the rest of your life and then make a slashing thumb across the throat gesture
– Free order of twisty bread for every 15 minutes spent
– Good for one 15 minute backrub
– Good for 7 minutes in heaven
– Good for six whispered secrets
– Good for four beats unbroken eye contact
– Good for one favor, no questions asked
– Free pizza bread with order/upon achievement of permanent state of peace & tranquility/or totalitarian equivalent
– $15 off purchase of $5 or more
– Good for free delivery on any pregnancy within a five mile radius
– Grape Slushie, please
– Fight me
– Buy 7, get 13
– The bearer of this coupon is entitled to Jack Squat (you have to tell them off and kick them out)
– The bearer of this coupon is entitled to Squat Jacks (you have to jerk them off while crouching)
– Today no one dies


Or perhaps you don’t want to be a dick to both stores and customers of stores, but do still want to put things on cars. Why be content to fuck up monetary transactions when you can become a weird non-reciprocal part of some stranger’s life? Want to potentially change/haunt/delight/completely unaffect them forever? Write thoughtful notes– or even full blown letters– and leave ’em under their windshield wipers!

To the windshield wiper: the cork-plugged glass bottle of the automobile age!

+ Have some important political and social notions that people need to hear about? Put them in your note.

+ Is there anything you’ve ever done that you are so ashamed of but can’t tell anybody? Put it in your note.

+ Have a dream to share, but Martin Luther King has forever busted the dream-revealing curve for all times? Notes don’t judge. Or make snoring noises and rest their head against their pressed-together hands while you talk. Well, at least not as far as you or I will ever know.

+ Oh! to see inside the Toy Story style antics notes and letters get into when their writers and readers are not around.

+ Have a burning need to confess your love, but have no one to whom to confess it? Every car has a driver and maybe that driver is your one and only. Probably not, though. Also, if only for legal reasons/outpatient privileges, you shouldn’t be putting your name on these.


Follow Someone! As social animals, people like to know that other people are there for them. Why not extend this courtesy to your fellow folks in their loneliest hour: 3 AM, and at their loneliest place: the parking garage (or other parking situation large enough to be its own discrete, seemingly inescapable entity)?! What’s nice on twitter is twice as nice in real life, maybe!



1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4x_WUb68RQo
2. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have sex with JK Rowling? How about now, as compared to before the first book hit? A chart of JK Rowling’s sexual dynamism/performance tracked across the release of the books/movies // charted against her increasingly massive personal wealth. (At first I assumed it would get worse, but now I’m thinking maybe way better…)3
3. How do you think would it be? Please write to 106dates@gmail.com with your gross notions!
4. the passive form of light-grid?
5. Later, if everything goes well, perhaps you can both enjoy some significant post-parking lot play on your mutual parts. Can’t wait! / Hey baby, let’s make mutualer our mutual parts? / Oh! No– Hey baby Why not swap our mutual parts. Back and forth, back and forth. (Off-rhythm — back first– complex, sophisticated). Wheh?
6. Cradled in the back of a conestoga by a surprisingly massive / easy-on-the eyes / heavy-on-the-hard-on Reader Rabbit.