i'd say that 98% of my life is spent wondering how the people i encounter in my daily life are in bed. and how they'd fair with me, if given the go'head. like that super nice guy at work, all american, kind of looks like mr incred ible from that cartoon movie. sometimes his pants are a tad too short but this is more about fucking and less about fashion, right? i guess. anyway, he's the kind of guy who asks you how you're doing every time you pass him in the halls-then i feel bad because i just say fine and dont' ask back. i'll walk behind him and find myself thinking 'well, he has a kid so that means he had sex at least once. so is he like my bf-hating every minute of it, doing everything in his power to make sure he doesn't have to look at the vagina? or is he like me, completely starved and wishing on shooting stars that someone will fulfil my rape fantasy or pray that one day, ONE DAY, i'll be lucky enough to get DP'd all proper like?' i settle on the thought that he and his wife plan every encounter-mostly around her period or whether or not he was a good boy and took out the garbage without her asking. all while he's secretly searching craigslist to find and fuck a mexican tran ny with too much eyeliner and a tight, tan ass. that fat jerk two offices down: likes to be called daddy and secretly wishes he could find a hot young japchic to sh it oh him. the chic who told her (now ex-shocker!) husband that he couldn't take her in the ass until their 10 yr anniversary: gives terrible head must shower immediately afterwards. my boss: loves to bend a lady over anything, just as long as she's completely naked. the security guard at the gate of the garage: on more than one occasion has turned up in the emergency room with a litebulb up his ass. the douchebag who sold me my phone headset at the kiosk in the mall: puts a gun to his girlfriends face while he fucks her, while they lay upon a bed of dollar bills (wishes they were hundos). everybody. i study their faces looking for any clue they'll give me. how do their hands hang at their sides? how do they walk? how are they touching the person they're with. this is not a science. i'm gross.

I would tell you all about it if I thought you wanted to listen. Instead I talk about things that I know will get a response. Still, I'm having a hard time dealing with feeling like I have no control over a lot of things. It's ironic to say you just want to be taken care of, then all of a sudden you're unable to take care of yourself. I'm pretty sure that's not even irony. I'm a comedian in my own head. I will sit in an empty room and strain to think of something genius. Like when you're concentrating so hard that your tongue pokes out of the side of your pursed lips and your eyes squint and your back aches. It's disappointing when all that comes to me is the image of U ma Thur man with blotchy red eyes and a jagged cut on her left cheek making dirty love to an obese man with tits larger than her own. His frown says he's just as disappointed as you are while his fat, sweaty balls wish they saw the light of day more often than they do. U ma wishes she didn't queef while she did yoga but the fat man forces so much air up there when he fists her. She's still more content than I am.