Thursday, July 28, 2011
So this story is about two individuals who partook in the dry sport of text fucking and will never take it further than that. One of the best (see: most pathetic) sext sessions I’ve ever had was with this chick from Cebu that I met online a couple of years back.
This chick never wanted to talk on the phone and I quickly learned why. She was like the Fellini of sexting! It was a serious art for her. Bitch would write detailed stage directions like: *walking into the room while slowly ripping my shirt off over my head*. Stupid shit like that.
I’m a “wham, bam, let’s do this” kind of bitch, so I finally asked her to send me a picture of her chichis. This ho wrote back, “Let me describe it instead.” BITCH WHAT?! Stop Harlequin-ing my ass, get in front of a bathroom mirror and take that titty shot! Seriously, the only reason they have cameras on phones is for titty picture taking! But I let her continue to write her soft-core text play, because it was funny.
I’d try to play along, but sometimes I’d forget the format and she’d remind me in a not-so-polite way how she does things. She’d text in parenthesis: “(don’t forget to use the * when describing an action).” Shit. Since when did sexting become a community college English class? I should’ve received credits for that shit. Oh, how many times I wanted to type: “CUT. SCENE.*going to get a bag of Cheese Curls*”
It was seriously one of the most unsexiest things I’ve ever done and that’s saying a lot. The only thing she made me want to grab was my throat to keep from laughing.
After Cyrano de Bergerwhack ate up my text message plan by writing the worst romance novel ever, it was time for the grand finale and I really couldn’t wait. The anticipation might have given me a twitch or two. It was like waiting for the last episode of “Lost.” And then it came, this ho actually typed out: “oh my god *I’m cumming so hard* xcvdjfdsalkjflaksdfjoidfuoudfads123adfjkljsdeoi.”
I STILL CAN’T.
What the hell was that tossed salad of characters supposed to mean? Bitch came so hard that her cum drops shot at the keys? Or that she had a full body seizure which made her fingers pound against the keys before conveniently landing on “send”? No, thanks. I turned off my phone and made a mental note to block her number. Ho went too far.
Sexting is so 6th grade...
It brings me indescribable joy to imagine the amount of hard hours in the workshop that must’ve gone into this. I think about the sacrifices these nerds had to make to get it finished—their affairs falling into neglect, their personal lives going to hell, their wives or girlfriends or mothers probably busting their balls and not really understanding the whole endeavor.
“Tom, what are you even DOING down there!?”
“What am I doing? What am I DOING?! How can you even ask me a question like ‘what am I doing’!? PAPERBAG MAN CARES NOT FOR YOUR TONE!”
And when you think about it, that’s sort of the essence of art right there. Some guy in his basement, creating something no one understands, and even he doesn’t really understand, that he feels compelled to keep creating because it just feels right to him in a way that he can’t quite explain.
Why? What do you mean, ‘why?’ THERE IS NO WHY. If you see it and ask why, you’ve already missed the point. I guess what I’m trying to say is, these three dweebs really changed my whole perspective on shit.
Bravo dorks, bravo :)