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Godot's Page: May 2009

Godot's Page

Gatekeeper to the Theater of the Absurd

Thursday, 28 May 2009


Be weary of the cool hot chick who is acquiescent to your initial woo. She either has genital herpes, or is on the rebound.

As an adolescent, I always wondered how a flagrantly revolting man like Dennis Rodman consistently schtupped objects of every boy/dirty old adult’s masturbatory thoughts such as Madonna, Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra. One needn’t look further than the feat that warranted his inclusion on every All-Defensive Team of the Year since the birth of Christ…he was the king of rebounds, both on and off the court. The Rebound King was a master at picking up unsuccessfully thrown objects at an arbitrary hoop. Big ups [to your?] Rod. Why else would an impossibly sexy vixen like Carmen marry an ogre with offensively large nostrils? And you can’t say penis size, she could get that sans the shackles.

As a person who is in fact not Dennis Rodman, I tend to shy away from beautifully round, bouncily firm objects falling out of nowhere. The ostensibly charming unrequited cries will, more often than not, divulge themselves in variously wicked forms of un-jazzy sensationalized drama…Don’t do it, because you are not Dennis Rodman, and because drama and lunacy ought to be synonyms…


From my experience with women in North America, which I apparently lack as judged by S (stage directions: audience laughs and swiftly heaves upon S), rebound chicks are great. In that geographically bound interchange, bodily fluids are uncompromisingly blocked by a sheath of rubber in exchange for a much-needed bout of temporary amnesia. It is done in jest, and no one gets hurt if the S&M safety guide is being aptly followed.


Chinese Democracy - LP

I have recently been handed two leather bound, lace-strap sided Moleskine notebooks as part of a redundancy package, one black, the other red. I know, the natural irony amuses me as well. “Here are a couple of hundred empty pages for you to ponder over what it truly means to be redundant…oh and thanks for all the good times!"

“Ernest Hemingway’s utensil of choice“ I was told, as though the messenger interpreted the look of disgusted puzzlement on my face with sniper precision. I was not quite as repulsed the next time I took a glimpse of said notebooks. I was overtaken by the sex appeal of fuzzy ink, unkempt words that represented so much more than a page could metaphysically handle as opposed to neatly kept compartmentalized blog…and the list of emotionally driven similes/metaphors goes on.

Glad I’m over that.

Now I have returned. Ice-clouded tumbler and unscrewed whiskey bottle stand half-empty on standby, as manifestations of self-loathing via buffoon prejudiced digital sachets soon to be splattered across this electronic wasteland are locked and ready for dispatch. Ready thyself ye heathen idiot, thy slayer Godot hath cometh.

I always thought that would have made for a greatly vindictive comeback. Feel free to fuck off till my next post in August.

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