"You know what I love about this band is that, that they're just so... so real. You know what I mean? It's like I could meet these guys in the grocery store or something or at a mall shopping for pants or something and if I ran into them, it'd be just like like we knew each other, and we could talk to each other like normal people. That's what music's all about, I think. Don't you? I mean, it shouldn't be about fashion or who knows who or how many drummer you've fucked or whatever. It should be about people. And music, too, I guess. God, just listen. These chords are so...so powerful. Aren't they moving? I could just like die right now and I'd be happy after hearing this band. This band is so fucking amazing. It's like they're speaking to me. Right to me. I could be the only person in the room right now. That's how amazing they are. I should say something to them after the show. I should tell them how...how inspiring they are. Do you think I should? I'm gonna. Oh, god, I fucking love this song. This is the song that inspired me to get off crank and start all over again. This song made me the incredible person I am today. Fuck. Fuck I love this song. Fuck I love this place. I love America. I love this band," you said.
We were going to the stupid jock party because you thought Sara would be there (she was the black-haired girl who looked like Uma Thurman with larger breasts); and you told me if I went you would buy my cup for me. It was at a fraternity, with many ugly college boys in backwards baseball hats and shirts with Greek lettering and subtle homoeroticism.
When we arrived Sara had already left (our friend told us she had gotten her period unexpectedly and was not wearing underwear. Understandable, we thought), so we walked around for a few minutes until we found Scott, a fraternity brother with no neck and a tight shirt that read: Suck it!. He told us a story of a fat girl he banged in the back of his pickup truck last night "for the fuck of it" is how he put it (I was the only one who caught the pun, reaffirming to myself my inner loser). I tried very hard to be amused and interested.
"How fat was she?" I asked.
"Oh, really fat, dude," he said.
"Like this fat?" I asked, with my arms spread three feet apart.
"Yeah, I'd say she was about that fat."
I looked over, all around, as Scott was talking about the funny sounds she made while fucking, and I saw that you had wandered towards a short girl with glasses and braids; you were drinking beer with her, and I heard you say something about what good beer it was, and I heard her agree. The rest I couldn't make out.
"Anyway, I fucked her, dude. Yeah, it was so funny."
"Obviously," I said. Then I drank another drink of disgusting beer from a plastic cup, and Scott walked away towards another woman in an attempt to lure her to the back of his pickup truck (Scotts pickup truck had a nickname amongst his fraternity brothers. It was aptly named "Scott's Pussy-mobile".)
I sat alone for a long time (in party time, that is), drinking drinks of beer until you saw me, and you looked at me like, "what the fuck? stop staring." But I kept staring for some reason--I think it was because you looked as lost and lonely as I did, or maybe because of my diagnosed staring problem--and you left the room and never saw me again until right this instant.
Well now it's your turn, bitch. Now you stop staring at me.
Seriously, dude. It's creeping me out.
Today you will turn your frown upside down, and be promptly rushed to the emergency room where you will meet someone named Susan Nordling. She is your nurse, and she will remind you of a woman from a pornographic tape you once saw as a youth. It ended with semen spraying everywhere, all over the woman, you remembered; though Susan will not do to you any of the things you remember from the tape.
A local news crew will interview you, and you will tell them about Susan, and the pornographic tape and the semen, and just how and why you fucked up your face so.
Today you were supposed to do it. Why didn't you? What held you back?
I saw your babies for the first time today. They were adorably cute, and I realized I must be getting older, because three years ago I never would have thought such an incredibly inane thought. But they really were cute.
I wasn't saying that to get into your mouth. Or into your panties, even.
The Cottonwoods were masturbating again today, spreading their seed across Mother earth, hoping that she might open her mouth wide and let them inside.