Buster Poindexter
Chicks are hot.

I'd say that, as much as any combination of letter-sounds organized into a phrase of words meant to convey meaning, that is one of the basic standards of truth around which I have built my existential self. It ranks right up there with "free samples" and "Hot Donuts Now" to form the core of my metaphysical being, the "me" (such as it is) that I project beyond the boundaries of my taut, bronzed skin and into the pure-energy social realm where personalities mingle and collide and subtly suggest that others are fat.

Despite the unshakable epistemological root-reality of the hotness of chicks, people keep trying to use language, the false Trickster God that it is--a Loki, a Puck, a Coyote--to convince me that things that are not chicks have chick-qualities to them, rendering them "sexy."

Also as a Trickster, language I suppose also has the ability to transform itself into a bull and rape our virgins, but that's a whole 'nother post. Ladies? Stories?

The main thing people keep trying to tell me is "sexy" is technology. Like Windows Vista. Or the "new" Blogger.

The problem I have with this is that a) it is a process of symbological replacement meant to confuse the logic centers in our brains into making false associations, substituting one thing that is sexy (like, say, chicks) with something that fundamentally is not (a bunch of lines of goddamn computer code) with a series of subtle, serial replacements until the response from one becomes the response for the other.

The second and primary problem resides in the original definition of sexy, which would be b) can I fuck it?

Now, I get that I can't nail all the hot chicks out there. I've tried. Most of them don't respond to my e-mails, although I'd say attaching the full-body naked pictures of myself with a downward arrow painted on my stomach were pretty clear indicators of intent and seriousness of purpose.

But the point is that that it is conceivable that I physically could get it on with the centerfold of Strokebook Weekly. Anatomically, the options are apparent, in all their airbrushed glory.

My computer, however, will tolerate some gentle finger-action, but really isn't the best environment to tolerate the liquid messiness of the coital act. Plus it has a spinny little fan in it. It has no sex appeal because it has no sex. It doesn't even have a gender. On the sliding scale of human sex appeal, my computer is Clay Aiken.

This is not to say that no technology exists that is sexy. I mean, there are several things on the market right now that are man-made, devoid of life, made possible by several breakthroughs in design and materials that people can hump. You can buy yourself a Real Doll or a rubber porn-star vagina or a massage chair or a bag of marshmallows or whatever. You were in college, you were lonely, you had to get by and hey, they weren't your marshmallows anyway, right? I bet that fucker of a roommate never leaves his food out again though.

But "new" Blogger and this Windows alleged "Vista"? Not sexy. Or necessary. I know because I am using the "new" Blogger as of right now and I am not in any way turned on. I caress the screen and there is no soft moan or subtle turn response or screeching about Temporary Restraining Orders as you would get from normal sex-possible interactions with actual people. There are just fingerprints on the screen.

This so-called "Vista" I do not have, but I can tell you I have seen it in the stores and I am not encouraged. It's just a box. There's not even a hole in it. Why would I buy something that is not sexy? And how can something be sexy if I can't, at least theoretically, fuck it?

I guess the answer is, with "new" Blogger and probably most definitely with "Vista", it might just be enough that it can fuck me.

Which kind of works out because I'm more of a bottom anyway.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.5


Pops


PS- Ha, I can do "labels" or "categories" or whatever now. Hott.

PPS- Hot + technology? Aw yeah, baby. Pops already got him some of that. The sexiest part? They are very fairly compensated, monetarily speaking, in the modern marketplace.

Labels: poopy

- posted by Pops @ 9:58 AM