Epic Male

Bored, floored, whored, and Jersey Shored, your exhausted collector is here to swipe you off your feet, leaving you . . . with a spinal cord injury? Um, the metaphor bank was closed today. Let's open this slice of Americana with a line from Jewish MC Paul Barman, taken from "MTV Get Off The Air, Pt. 2":

Smirkin' jocks with hackysacks

in Birkenstocks and khaki slacks

I'm the hypest lyricist

while they're like, "What type of beer is this?"

I'd give you more lyrical insanity but I don't want sloth-controlled Turnitin to render this post plagiarized. Not that I'm submitting this for my American Women's Suffrage paper or anything.

It all began with George Washington, whose blunt declaration -- "bitches ain't shit" -- sparked national debate centered around the petite gender's relative value. Susan B. Anthony dropped the hot classical music piece "Female Empowerment," which expressed, in ♬s, that female human beings are definitely not feces. Benjamin Franklin bayoneted the femcee and boom, women fell back into oblivion. Oh, and they never got the right to vote.

I recently donated $100 to Turnitin competitor SubmitQuick, the up-and-coming plagiarism-deflector which is going to abolish Turnitin's stronghold on the Fuck You, Student industry. And with that, our introductory drivel is no more.

"How am I gonna tell him? I should tell him. But Dave and I . . . we never did anything. Then why can't I tell him! Goddamn you, Jen! Wait . . . goddamn myself, self!"

A knock on the door propelled Jen into fear of her parents' sending her to a therapist . . . no, no! "Honey, are you okay?" Jen's mother said, calmly for real.

"Yes, ma, I'm fine. Fine fine fine. Okay, see ya."

Her mother left her and Jen returned to pacing around her bedroom, deliberating her relationship's relative honesty. It was bordering on perfection, but there was one crack in the wall -- and she was staring at it. Then it came out.

"If he's the one, he'll forgive me."

" . . . I swear to you Scott, we never did anything. He kissed me once when I was depressed about Nick taking time off from his blog -- that's it. Scott I love you, I really, really do."

"I love you, too, Jen," was Scott's deftly sincere response. More than being a comma to Jen and Scott's relationship, it served as a period to Jen and Dave's relationship. The exercise in common interests which was Jen + Dave reminded our female protagonist of the unimportance of hobbies. Chemistry transfixes the souls of lovebirds Jen and Scott, supernaturally.

Note: Jen and Dave: The Complete Unedited, Uncensored, Unadulterated, Are You Gonna Buy it Yet? Maybe Not. Unrated, Untouched, Uncouth, Underwear Tales will be in bookstores next Tuesday. I signed a deal with Random House. Oh . . . and the work will contain a foreword by Nick L (sorry, he's all I could afford). Each copy will be signed by Dave and kissed by Jen. If you want to get all Halo 3 and camp outside Barnes & Noble on November 24th . . . then you're a clown! Nick L, I already granted you permission to infest your overused catch word in my first official collection of blog posts. That wasn't enough? Read this next mini-story and weep.

Jen walked to a mall with three female friends. That's four people all together. Anywho, Nick L was at that same mall. What a coincidence. So, the five people I've talked about in this mini-story so far were all on the same floor at one point in time. Well, this Jen girl, she's so funny and she stuck her foot out for kicks-and-giggles; Nick L walked by and tripped on Jen's protruded foot and fell down an escalator. He broke some key body parts. He's in the hospital. Write to him if you want. But most importantly . . . ?

A. No more Nick L posts for a while.

B. We'll never know who Jen was chilling with.

C. No one says "anywho."

D. It was written.

If you're answer was A, you're in luck, solider. I'll give you half-credit for C, though -- "anywho" is a fucking dealbreaker. One time at band camp, a girl said that assault-on-language while my [censored] was tearing up her [heavily censored] and destroying her [wow, you're cool, trying to use terms you just learned in Sexual Education]. Anywh -- cough, anyway, I stopped engaging in a sacred act with the young lady after she used an a-word we simply won't mention anymore in the Fictional Account household.

Lemme check my checkered Czech checklist:

□ Mám rád poníky a jednorožci.

□ Mám rád fialová košile a šedé mužů.

Contrary to popular belief, those are genuine, grammatically correct Czech sentences. Their meanings, though -- yeah, didn't think you'd check to see what they meant. Unused check ideas: cheque, Czechoslovakia, Chex Mix, ✓, Chekhov. Let's get to a more relevant list. My daily sticky note:

-talk about scott/jen

-write off nick L

-promote book

-social updates

-editor?

Regarding the last remark, I do need an editor. Ryan A is the obvious choice -- he's concise, fastidious, headstrong, and knowledgeable. But we'll talk about the editor position in future narratives. The new segment Status Update Central gives us notable tidbits from your students of the world . . . local high school. Let's try this.

"just wait net fans... we're gettin lebron james in 2010-2011 season" ~ Paul L.

"had to get home from baltimore through nyc into nutley through fuckin pourin rain -.-" ~ Dave C.

"there's a ring around my finger, but will you change your mind ? and you tell me that i'm beautiful but that could be a lie" ~ Kate B.

Eh, I'll probably trash this segment. It demands too much -- context, permission, write-ups, research. Whatever. My benevolent, endearing readers: you've been great to me. My mattress is whispering to me, though. He's like, "Psss, Nick, psss, you know you want my warm goodness, psss." It's a wonderful life. Naysayers say layers but you better pray, players, that you don't . . . um . . . spontaneously combust. Even daily goodbyes are tough. Fine. Fin.

Critical Mistake

Greetings, audience. We've got a varied show for you today. Spit out your gum wads and turn off your cell phones. Your boyfriend knows where you are, chill -- you told him at least fifty times you'd be at Critical Mistake right about now. Basically, don't move, don't breath -- don't even think! You should enjoy this collection of unrelated conundrums. That's first and foremost. I hope you've met coatcheck Shvet P. Wait, what? Let's just do this shit!

Jen was less than enthralled by "Empire State of Mind" that night. The clock stroke midnight and she said, "Why the fuck am I still up?" to her monitor. Her friends' latest Facebook updates proved inviolate to her upcoming conk out: "why am i riting this paper now lol," "you would not believe your eyes if 10 million fireflies lit up the world as i fell asleeep," "studing for chem test," "bored lol.." -- Jen shut down her computer after that one. Updates were the new melatonin. She was out within minutes.

"Jennifer, the path you're currently on leads into an endless, monotonous torture chamber. Jennifer, two alternative paths are set before you -- choose whichever, or be doomed for eternity. Thank you for your cooperation."

The voice came from above, which was a purple haze of circulating cumulus clouds and black rays. The voice felt like it was less than a foot away -- it was muffled, though, and reminded her of an amateurish podcast recording. There was fuzz in the message. Then the two men appeared, their figures continually fading.

"Jen, babe, wanna go to the mall?" Scott said.

"Jen, don't listen to him -- let's get some pizza," Dave requested.

"Jen, how are you?"

"Jen, what's up?"

"Jennifer!"

"Jen!"

Jen gasped at the imagery. She couldn't remember a dream so concise and direct, though both those adjectives hardly symbolize the dreary surreality which was that nightmare. It was 6 AM -- whatever . . . no use in trying for more sleep. She dragged through her morning routine. She ate and thought a lot. Surely, though, she needed a second opinion. Quarter to eight and there Jill strolled in all her independent glory. Jen thought the walk to school that dreary Friday would exceed even the Miley Cyrus-Notorious B.I.G. "Party" mashup's greatness.

"Oh, the wonderfully talented Jill, what's up, bitch?"

"Yeah . . . you've got somethin' to tell me." Jen's mouth opened but Jill looked at her, chuckled, and said, "No I don't know anything. But Jen you're never that enthusiastic."

"Uh, where do I start? Jill! I had a crazy dream, I was like in a fucking horror movie and some voice said if I kept walking down the path I would I'm not sure something about torture."

"Slow down, hun. It's okay, just tell me the dream."

"Well, Scott and Dave were there. I remember both of them tried to convince me to go down the path they were on -- the voice said before that if I went down one of those paths I'd be fine I guess . . . I'm not exactly sure. So, Scott said, 'Let's go to the mall,' and Dave's like, 'Let's get some pizza.' I don't know. But the thing was, Scott was more caring you could tell. Look, I'm telling Dave just to forget about it . . . seriously . . . I can't do this."

"That's fine, relax, chill Jen, I'm here. You didn't do anything with Dave right? He'll be fine. Don't lie to either of 'em, though. I'm here for you, stop shaking!"

"No that's what I was gonna do. I just wanted to hear you say it . . . I love you, Jill! So, how are you doin'?"

"Fine . . . Jen, you should -- you don't smoke, right?"

"I've done it. But what, I should smoke weed?"

"Yeah . . . I'll give you some . . . I can't see you like this. Jen's not a nervous wreck. She never was."

"Sure, I'll smoke. Thanks so much Jill -- you're the best."

"What time's the concert?" said Angelo L to a baked Dave.

"Uh, seven -- seven o' clock. Seven-zero-zero."

Dave could of predicted something like the following. But he was high, it was Friday, he was going to a concert later with friends -- his mind, for once, wasn't focused on Jen. Someone should of warned him of the vibrating cell phone in his pocket. Even that was shocking.

"Yo Jen."

"Dave, where are you?"

"On Franklin right now, seein' Ant C soon. He's a fat fucker. What's up wit you, Jen?"

"Kinda have to talk to you, in person."

Dave turned off the speakerphone -- either way, both Angelo and Dave could guess what was going to happen.

"Where're you, Jen?" Dave said, trying to contain himself.

"I'm at the library -- look, just come over here, please," Jen requested, somewhat commandingly.

"Sure. Just wait I'll text you when I'm near."

"Okay, see you."

"Shit," Dave said to Angelo.

"Dude, you really think she's gonna leave you . . ."

"We were never together bro. Eh, I knew this would happen."

"I know what yer gonna say, " Dave told her quickly.

"Please Dave, let's walk."

The stroll began. Wasn't long before Jen realized she couldn't bottle her thoughts in her head or her feelings in her heart. They were a bulging inconvenience.

"Dave, I really like you. You've helped me so much, especially in music and stuff. I think you're really cute . . . and I wanna be good friends with you so much. I can't lose you now -- I think you could really help me out. You're so smart. Sorry this sounds corny. But, erm, so yeah." She felt better each time a syllable left her mouth. What a weight, gone.

"Jen I told you I knew this was coming. Don't worry. Sure let's be good friends. I love you still -- you're cool. Scott's cool. Whatever -- please do what's best for you."

They hugged for a good ten seconds -- it was an emotional, loose, completely amicable hug. The truth didn't hurt anyone. It made things yardsticks better for everyone, everywhere. Though Jen was certainly not done! She may tell a small, bite-sized lie to Scott to keep the peace . . . or just leave her affair with Dave out unless he asks then . . . uh . . .

Obviously our underlying tale is far from over, but let's detour and read the first paragraph of the debut post of Nick L's music blog, Music and Robots are Life:

hey guys well the purpose of this blog is to post music stuff ----- concerts and links and basically anything under the sun. um lol i dont no what to say LOL. my favrite band is system of a down and my favorite member is serj tankian i like his solo album. FAMILY GUY. some punk like the bouncing souls. ANG TOLD me ABOUT them. LOL. im getting into ska lately SUPERVILLAINS. comment me with stuff you reccomend. oh i think the toasters are good. WAFFLESTOMPERS. lol.

I'll let you dissect that piece of flaming debris. Oh, and if you want the URL to Nick L's blog, e-mail me. It's too much of a hazard to link to his vomit-inducer here. The readers of my blog are intelligent, respectable, lovable, and most of all, sensitive. Okay? Now take care. Your well-being is in my hands, brethren.