I try. Fail. But try.

Again and again as it happens.

I was talking to someone not very close to me. Not close as in this is really the only thing I know about them and it was WAY TOO MUCH. I don’t know what it is, other than proximity, that causes people to unburden themselves to me.

I don’t really mind because, on the off chance, I have actually helped people. I don’t like it but I find if I get a solution they leave quicker.

Then there are other times when there’s nothing I can do but stand there. Because to move would probably trigger my flee reflex. I think some of it is because people have been told some things are easier to talk about with strangers. Well, that’s a fucker I’d like to hunt down and staple his scrotum to his forehead then smash him in the face with a baseball bat.

After that, I’d start bringing the pain.

This guy is telling me his wife went on his computer and found out he’d been having assignations. Oh, bad. With members of the same sex. Oh, badder. And, like a pussy, broke down and admitted he’d been doing it in their bed. Oh, baddest.

Fucker blew apart like a dollar store wind chime.

Now I know I should have been sympathetic or attempt to be helpful but I wasn’t. But for only one reason. Because, from the moment he told me what’s been going on in his life, all I could hear in my head was different lyrics, but the music from Escape (The Pina Colada Song):

I was tired of my lady
We’d been together too long
Like a worn-out recording
Of a favorite song
So while she lay there sleeping
I scanned craigslist in bed
And in the casual encounters
There was this post that I read

If you like anal intruders
And getting chaffed until pain
If you’re not into splooging
If you have ten inch cock
If you’d like your ass to be not so tight
Until I blow one on your nape
Then I’m the score that you’ve looked for
To help you ejaculate.

I didn’t think about my lady
I know that sounds kind of mean
But me and my old lady
Have fallen into the same old dull routine
So I emailed Ripper69
Told him I was the right size
And though I’m nobody’s poet
I thought it wasn’t half bad

Yes I like anal intruders
And getting chaffed until pain
I’m not much into splooging
Have I mentioned I like pain?
I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow noon
And cut through all this red-tape
At a bar called Back Alley’s
Where we’ll plan our release.

So I waited with high hopes
And he walked in the place
I knew his smile in an instant
I knew the beard on his face
It was my own burly daddy
And he said, “Oh it’s you.”
Then we laughed for a moment
And I said, “I never knew.”

That you like anal intruders
Getting chaffed until pain
That you’re not into splooging
But you like man champagne
If you think we can hide it from Mother
I’ll go deep in your crease
You’re the daddy I’ve looked for
Here, let me help you release

Yes, yes, it’s true, all I actually came up with at the time was the chorus but, come on! That alone kept me pretty damn distracted.

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3 responses to “I try. Fail. But try.

  1. Nice! Rupert Holmes now has a gay anthem!

  2. Nothing like a parody song about ass-play to get the juices flowing.

  3. Yeah but it ain’t no Swedish Thing!

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