Last week, I still needed about six months of service from my old beater of a 500 (98SE OS, natch) that’s floated FOUR years of writing. Yes, I still needed it when the cancer struck (a virus that was renaming itself as I chased it all over the hard drive) and sent me the route of a full reformatting and upgrade to 2000. To prep, I scoured the machine for crap to toss so that the .ftp up to my web server would even work – I have but 2GB of space. This accounts for the house-cleaning vibe of recent posts. Brand new material is coming soon.

It took me a while to remember what in the hell this was all about. Some back story: It is a little known fact of equally little importance that the Larry Flynt magazine umbrella made a sweep through the zine world of the early-to-mid 90’s, hiring up writers for dirty and frequently hilarious copy that usually landed in the letter and true story sections of Hustler and Barely Legal. Regardless of how you feel about porn, there was (and still may be) some seriously bent and ingenious writing in those pages, due largely to the odd crop of scribes hired over the past ten years. For instance, Aaron Lee, one-time captain of the brilliant Blue Persuasion zine, lived for years in the Barely Legal masthead. Well, “ingenious” may be pushing it, but the style was nothing short of wildly entertaining, peppering the expected narrative fuck-fests with ridiculous pop-cultural references. I once romanticized the notion writing this stuff, so, around three years ago, I was sent a record in the mail and this was the review granted. It was something on Drag City. Unsurprisingly, until tonight, it surfaced nowhere. I apologize in advance.

(WARNING: Contains adult content, poorly aged humor, and is written in a voice parodying the style)

Record That I Was Sent In The Mail

Right when I walked in the damn door I could tell it was going to be one of those days. I could smell it in the air. It was enough that bitch Clara had the nerve to ask me, at 4:25 yesterday afternoon, “Can you maybe put in some hours tomorrow? We’re way behind on loan verification.” So here I am, Saturday morning, trying not to stink like a fuckin’ three day old keg. I’ve been seeing this older dude who took me to see Fates Warning last night, and that was cool I guess, but I ditched him afterwards so I could go dancing. I’m not even going to get into the rest, but it was a late one. I sit down and I hear some shuffling in the cube behind me – It was the new guy, Brad. Brad looked like he was glad to put in some extra hours on a Saturday, probably cuz he didn’t spend all night drinking, crying, and dancing. Brad also looked like something else, like real damn good. He was kinda alternative, I guess, and I think that he liked to smoke out once in a while. He was wearing this hilarious t-shirt that had the Taco Bell dog riding a magic carpet or some shit, and I wouldn’t mind seeing what he looked like without that shirt on. I wheeled my chair over to his area and asked him if he had an extra pen (I was out of all my good ones, cuz Brenda was back from maternity leave, and I had been stealing all kinds of shit outta her cube). After he gave me one, he looked at me and said “Cool shirt”, which totally blew me away, I mean, I had just thrown this shit on about five minutes before I left my apartment. It was some band shirt that my ex-boyfriend left at my place, or some shit, I don’t know. Anyway, Brad was looking at me kinda weird and I was likin’ it something fierce, so I moved a little closer in his cube just to get the message across that it was cool and all. I was afraid that I stunk like beer or something, but that didn’t seem to bother Tim when he leaned over to kiss me right there in the fucking office!!! So we kept kissing, and speaking of the Bell, I could tell he was into it cuz it felt like he must’ve had a damn seven layer burrito in his pants, but I soon found out that that action was THE REAL DEAL. I had to think fast, cuz I can’t concentrate on getting’ some if we’re out in the open like this, I mean, that may be his thing and all, but I’m thinking lockable office and I’m thinking it QUICK. So I drag him into the Terrance Clantel’s office, who is the VP of sales and has a killer couch right in front of his desk (that I wouldn’t mind fuckin’ HIM on one day). We were really going at it and he was like ripping my bra off and shit but I didn’t care cuz I was getting’ worked up like a motherfucker. I mean, when he took his drawers off I could see some landing strips on his whiteys, but I was making so much act-right-juice myself that I was about to explode. So we started doing it, and what seemed before like a seven-layer burrito turned out to be more like a beenie weenie swimming for a lottery ticket in a jar of mayonnaise, but at least he knew what to do with it. I thought knew that we were fucked (no pun) when I asked for it “harder” and he thought that I said “bark” – so he starts barking like a fucking dog. Real loud. Right then, my supervisor runs in the room and there’s no explaining our precarious situation. I was so embarrassed that I just ran out of the office full speed, but Brad caught up with me and told me not worry about a job or nothing because his younger brother owned a Smooth Moves Juice Bar and needed help there. I hope I get my own key.