This is the Home Issue, and I have to admit that the Oxford American has become one of my favorites. I guess it’s pseudo-intellectual bent towards southern-based retarded minutiae fits my alcohol-depleted mind pretty well. There was plenty of good dumb shit to read in here if you were an English major in college and work in a restaurant nowadays, plus a neat black-and-white pictorial from some dude who takes pictures of long abandoned and neglected southern mansions, including some from small towns near where I was growed up. I wish I had known; it would’ve been somewhere new to drag a couch in and party. The place I went to school in for fifth grade was abandoned by the time I was in like 11th grade, so we used to get all fucked up in there at night. We had one room in the basement with a fire barrel (and vent going out an upper window) plus like a four foot tall graffiti mural of a Milwaukee’s Best can. Place was awesome. My boy Chuck was super-tripping on four hits of blue windowpane one night and busted out a bunch of windows though, and that brought the heat. This chick who I used to kinda put my fingers inside of from time to time, her dad was a state troop, and she gave me the word to avoid that place, and I did, and it got busted one night, and we never partied there ever again. Now it’s some bullshit office or home to an asphalt company or some dumb shit. Every time I pass it I think about fingering high school girls.
My wife was going to bed and saw over my shoulder that "fingering high school girls" line and gave me the browbeat. On one hand, most anyone who knows me should know not to ever take me completely seriously (unless I'm being serious), but on the other hand, I have three daughters, and I'm not trying to perpetuate that bullshit line of thinking. Hell, I don't even really think that way. I mean, I do think about sex most all the time, which is normal for guys, but we have to pretend we don't think like that, because female mind attaches more emoticons to sexual thoughts, whereas for men it's as easy as breathing, and there's no attachment to it either. Just because we think of sex with someone or something, it has very little relevance to whether we'll act on that thought. Still, having my wife read that made me feel all fucked up, like I'm some sort of sexual degenerate, which I'm not. At least I don't think I am. I just write things that pop into my head, and they don't necessarily make truthful logic. But I guess they go out there and some dumbass will read them and put weight into words some random asshole they'll never meet wrote inside the internets. And then you'll grow up and end up being part of the dating pool that attempts to get down with my offspring.
Basically, high school girl or not, we all are fucked. I know this and attempt to ease that painful knowledge by writing retarded shit out in typeable fonts. One day, everyone I know will see all the dumb shit I secretly write and nobody will ever talk to me again. I'll live out my days as a drunken hobo with more and more bad tattoos as the years grow by, until eventually getting crippled to death in south Texas in some bullshit involving me trying to talk Spanish at some cranked up Mexicans.
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