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May 8, 2005
Workaholic
Hey! Look at me! Still here. Still in the middle of this epic. Well, more toward the end, God willing, listening to the chill, smooth-groove riddled house of St. Germain. No, not all of us degenerates pump the bling-ho-G-pop out the subwoofers we sold last week for lunch money. Crackheads can be continental, too! And?no, I’m serious?on top of?or, ‘cohabitational with,’ I should more appropriately say?such sophisticated tastes there may just lie fairly genuinely altruistic endeavoring (even!) that will occasionally peek out from behind the humble smokescreen of unkemptitude.
Why, I myself?as just one of the (theoretically and/or potentially, at least) numerous unlikely and surprising examples?I just sent off an email to the Program Director of a large international women’s human rights organization, on behalf of the small Latin American human rights organization with which I am voluntarily involved, seeking to build inroads towards ties for inter-organizational cooperation and collaboration.
That work, in the end and final analysis, really dovetails in nicely as a small but integral part of my larger life work and calling: to work tirelessly in the vital struggle against the dehumanizing, RE-disenfranchizing perjoratively one-dimensional view civilians harbor of those among us, myself included—I do not hold myself above the people who I serve (and buy from and for), but wade eagerly among them into the risk-fraught fray—regular, everyday people who suffer The Crack Affliction. Yes, ordinary Americans like me and you (especially me), as well as the gang-running wetbacks, the marginalized and self-martyrizing Thalidamide boomers, and the sporadic and fetid bursts of German tourists questing after true-grit experiences of the Hollywoodican states.
Anybody at anytime, I am here to bear witness to you, can become one of the millions of victims fallen prey to her powerful siren’s call—a melody that boasts of having every bit or more of the deceptive seduction (and additives) of a top-quality tranny (minus the stamina, of course). It’s not until you’re safely stowed in the sack and partially exposed that it dawns on you that this is “a package deal.” The chick has a dick. You’re in shemale territory now, buddy.
Not what you were after by any means, but, well, hell, you’ve come this far, there’s only so much farther you can go, you certainly don’t want to hurt the feelings of this poor, sweet girl,er,man…damn it! whatever she is…And, um, you were sold?signed, sealed, and delivered?back in the cab riding over the bridge as you fell captive and headlong into what you then convictedly considered and categorized an innocent, broadening dabbling. Mere dalliance. Way short of a detour. Impossible of becoming a defection. But they always say that men give the best head, that they know how to work the equipment, and God! it’s been so much fun so far! This is just a…uh…bump in the road. A dark, forbidden, dirty pothole that needs filling, if you will. You may as well see it through to the bittersweet chocolately end. What choice do you have, really?
Anyway, the point is (or was) that crackheads do indeed come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and degrees of personal and social responsibility as well as legal productivity, and the sooner all you conspiring bitches understand that, the sooner we will all just get along, see?
Posted by peligrito at May 8, 2005 10:07 PM
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