I want a dirty weekend with her in Cabo where there are no rules.
There’s no way I could maintain an erection in the Green Zone. Nothing sexy takes place in the Green Zone.
It’s like an e. e. cummings poem. I space enter. You know what I mean? Like e. e. cummings interspaced with an s.o.s. message. I don’t understand your ludicrous crush on Chelsea Clinton.
I feel like she’d understand me. It’s not about the sex. Have you thought about what i’d do for Chelsea Clinton?
The Graham juice?
It’s good for your complexion.
She grew up in the White House! It’s like fucking Eloise.
No, no. This is the White House… This is The Plaza!!!
I imagine putting my head on her chest while she falls asleep. It’s Chelsea Clinton! Doesn’t the Clinton Administration occupy a major space for you? It was the administration of our childhood.
You don’t understand this?
Could you imagine sneaking into her house in 1998 and she’d be like, “Shhh, my parents are here”?
I always just dreamed that one day, I’d marry Chelsea Clinton.
You’re telling me you wouldn’t stand with me when I marry Chelsea Clinton? You’ll stand on the grooms’ side and bite your tongue as I married her. We’d hang out with the Clintons!
I took off my shirt this morning and thought, “I’m so hot.”
If Chelsea Clinton Googled herself, would she find our blog?
Chelsea Clinton has met Yasser Arafat.
A: I’m not going to get you the clown anymore. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.
B: I think the clown can handle himself. Clowns are people, too.
A: No, they’re not people. They don’t have rights.
B: There’s no universal clowns’ suffrage?
A: No clowns’ Bill of Rights.
[Later]
A: If this were the 1910’s, we could have a salon about anything. Like endangered birds.
B: Like the Toucan.
A: Exactly.
B: Hey, guess what.
A: What?
B: If the ‘Tou’ can, ‘you’ can.
A: Wow, you really are stoned.
It’s on March 1st at our apartment, starting around. But there’s a secret: if you show up at 6, you may or may not get to take part in a sociological experiment: the interaction of a performing clown and a stripper. Discuss.
B: Are you wearing girl pants? I can tell!
G: They snug my package.
B: I wasn’t looking there.
G: It’s like my testicles are held in a panda paw.
“ We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.. but in the unlikely story that is America, there’s never been anything false about hope.
— Barack Obama in Nashua, the moment he won devotion from me - A
Lately, my virile roommates have made fun of me for my near-pornographic French fashion magazine on the coffee table. It’s called Purple, and it is very hip. There is a man wearing super-low rise black leather pants on the cover. I don’t know if the image was photoshopped or what, but we are all wondering whether he has a penis. There is also an involved photo of a woman touching herself that my roommates discussed and showed me. I can’t tell if they like it or are afraid to tell me that they do.
As an aside, I lived with someone a few summers ago who taped a colored-pencil drawing she did of a woman in basically the same position to our bathroom door. When people saw it, she would explain, “Because it’s okay.” Then they would look at her, notice her resemblance to the drawing and wonder if it was a self-portrait.
I feel like an idiot saying, “I bought Purple for the articles,” but I actually did! There’s an interview with Harmony Korine. Wow, two posts in and I already look ridiculous. —B
