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Bundy, Beatty, & Mac
by Strict Obeyer of Rules Last night. After 14 hours of work at two jobs. I drove to a friend's house to return her cd's and a shirt she left at my place. It was midnight. I was sticky, sore and tired. Scents emitted from me resembled tobacco and alcohol. The only mental consolation bestowed upon me was the couple glasses of wine at my last job. (restaurant) Upon entering her home I barely noticed that she had a female companion over as I collapsed into a chair in her living room. A baby blue velour chair. Which I revealed to everyone who lived there for the past two years, was a reclining chair. After the uncovering of this great blue treasure that lay dormant for two years, I closed my eyes. When my eyes re-opened some time later, I found in my lap the body of my friend. Her friend was gone. I was still sticky, sore and tired. And she wanted to make out. Aw jeez. Then I thought, this is what Al Bundy must have been feeling all those years. I never could relate to that part of Al Bundy's character before this moment. I did now. 
 All I wanted to do was take a shower and/fall asleep. She stared up at me. Big ol' eyeballs. My glazed eyes, I think, were pointing in her general direction. To be completely fair...she is a lovely woman, smells like expensive soap/lotion/perfume stuff and moves with a pulchritudinous precision and rhythm. Regardless of her sirenic attributes and tactics, I attempted to disengage myself from her affections. While thinking up a legitimate excuse I thought back to an article about Warren Beatty that I read when I was around 14, and the women he was involved with over the years. In the article one of those women admitted that "he was insatiable...5-8 times a day was not a big deal for him." When I read that at 14, I thought I found a hero, a role model. I wanted to grow up to be like that. I thought I still wanted to be like that.  So the cataclytic combination of wanting to be virile like Beatty and not sterile like Bundy rejuvenated me...sort of... I gave back. GAVE BACK. I used techniques I had carefully amassed over the years, including the Kleinbrodt 2000, and I combined old techniques to create creative new ones. After about 5 minutes it was over. I beamed dimly with relief. I sort of wanted to throw my fists like Jordan after pushing off and sinking the 18 footer against the Jazz in 1999, as I felt would have been appropriate based on the level of intensity Jordan and I play with. But I was too tired for that. Instead we talked. She talked mostly. One of her insightful comments: "You know, you never look at me when you are touching me? It's like you are completing an assigned task. Like you are only doing it because it is something you have to do..." She went on, but you get the idea. I wanted to disagree. But then I thought. "Hmm...that sounds about right actually." This is when I realized a great truth in life. I am never going to be like Warren Beatty. But that is simply because Warren Beatty doesn't spend 14 hours a day working his ass off. Most likely I, as well as you reading this, will end up like Bernie Mac...honestly touting the fact to our women...(or men?) that: "You get 2 minutes, that's all." 2 minutes of lovin. God Bless Bernie Mac.  |
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