Sinister: the only laugh that man will ever get in his entire life is by stripping off...

Pulpbot at xxx.com Pulpbot at xxx.com
Mon Feb 8 04:17:10 GMT 1999


...and showing his shortcomings. 
Saturday night started so promising, what with me showing up at my best
friend's apartment to find him and his g'friend huddled around the window with
all the lights off watching the naked man jerk off  in an apartment across the
courtyard. Mother warned me about furtive men lurking in the bushes. She
didn't say anything about fancy apartments near the White House. We watched
intently as he tried to spy on another neighbor with a pair of binoculars in
*one* hand and....seeing other people, indeed. To tease the poor beast (and
because we wanted him in the window closer to our apartment), we flashed the
lights a bit and the g'friend and I pretended to kiss. Our onanist
Frankenstein responded rapidly, with a show to make a Bankok fan dancer proud.
Granted, if it was my apartment, I'd hate this guy. Maybe me and the g'friend
lit the wick on this guy's delusion that women like his spy show, thereby
opening some very creepy doors. But the spastic manuevering of my mind, like
some horrible Camille Paglia/Mary Lou Retton hybrid, convinces me that this
guy makes a fool of himself and we're better of mocking and pointing than
cowering. Do the Julie Ruins out there care?
So, apologies to the lovely list people I sorta met at the D.C. Sloan show. I
was tired and empty-headed by the end of the show, and even a sugar-filled,
heart-shaped lolly couldn't revive my conversation skills. I'm quite jovial,
really, folks. I am not a cancer. My friend Mr. Lonely Highway as always
chatted like a demon. He's desperate for subscribers to his Shabba Ranks
fanzine, so he'll talk to just about anyone. 
Who's going to the D.C. Sleater-Kinney show? I got my tix today, woo-hoo! 

                                Ms. Pee-bot (what the nasty grade-schoolers
call me)



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