“Why I’m a Loser” in 976 Words or Less
Dear Adam Powers:
I have made a decision. It is an important one. I have decided that I will coerce Val Kilmer, circa 1988 Willow-style into reproducing with me, and I will ensure that the spawn is female. I want to dress the little shit in clothes like Cindel Towani’s from Ewoks: Battle for Endor.
Wouldn’t that be awesome? And I’m gonna deposit her in the woods and make her repair star cruisers to earn her dinner. And if she misbehaves, she’ll end up here:
in the bottom of an oubliette with pictures of Charal posted up to scare the bejesus out of her. So, okay. We all know that Wilford Brimley the Oatmeal Man was in Battle for Endor, but did you guys know that the dude who played Wicket, the Ewok in the second picture, is Warwick Davis who played the lead in Willow? Or were you too wrapped up in trying to devise a plan to dispose of Meegosh so you could free a young, sweaty, haggard, and still drop-dead gorgeous Val Kilmer from his floating bird cage yourself?
I know I was. So, the only problem is this. Val Kilmer was on the beach one time lately, see? And this is what he decided was an appropriate outfit:
So I’m not too sure the kid’s gonna come out cute. And all I’ve got at my real-life disposal is a bevy of able-bodied, fertile, beautiful boys who hate children. So I think I’m shit out of luck.
In other news, Castle Gayskull (which my roommates and I named our collective home when we realized one of us was gay, one of us was latently homosexual, and one of us makes out with members of the same sex while both parties are in drunken stupors) may start up a Settlers of Catan tournament night as soon as we locate a fourth player who will be willing to sit at Gayskull’s kitchen table amidst thousands of cigarette butts and empty High Life bottles and say things like, “I have Wood for your Sheep, give me a Development Card, The Longest Army Plaque, two Roads, and a City, and maybe one more piece of carrot cake.”
But for now, I am sitting in the Drrrty Durham thinking about how I need to come up with hundreds of dollars in the next few days. Perhaps I will travel back in time to that night I worked as a doorgirl at Blend’s Fetish Party. There was a foot fetishist (sp?) there who spoke not to my face but to my chainmail bra uniform, and politely offered me money if he could see my feet. I said I did not have any feet. This was obviously a lie, but I was desperate because I had a vampire trying to massage my shoulders and I don’t like to be touched. By vampires.
The fetish party may or may not have been a success, because in the end an ambulance had to be called when a morbidly obese submissive broke the wrist straps on the crossbeam in the middle of her flogging session. It took four paramedics to lift her onto the gurney. By the time she emerged in her EMT-drawn carriage from the club, I was off of work high-tailing it to an afterparty in a one million dollar penthouse apartment in downtown Durham. The apartment burned down two weeks later, which was freaky. I convinced myself it was because I threw my cigarette butt in between the slats of the rooftop deck, where it festered until it turned the dude’s place into a heap of smoldering ashes and me into an unwitting arsonist.
So that’s why it’s been so long since i hung out in Durham. I think maybe they’re looking for me. Maybe not anymore. And now I’m wondering if I turned off my hair straightener this morning, or if my house is getting ready to burst into flames.
Anyway, let me know when you’re free. I’d love to see you again. That would be swell, and my life would be back in proper order for the most part.
And once Val Kilmer jumps on a treadmill and grows his hair out, everything will be picture perfect.
Love, Mandey.
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