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Wednesday, December 14, 2005


Don't know what's for sale, don't care.
Sex sells. Ask anyone. I recently embarked on a six month campaign to make myself as sexy as humanly possible. After I had done everything humanly possible I enlisted the help of science to pursue as many inhuman/nonhuman/subhuman avenues to sexiness as are available to the American consumer. I wish that you could see how sexy I am now. I’m all muscles, abs, dimples, high cheekbones, low-cut jeans, bulges, lumps, humps, swellings, hi-lights, hair plugs, butt plugs, Botox, piercings, tattoos, tummy tucks, butt lifts, face lifts, face peels, low-carb meals, and Viagra. On top of all those improvements, I stick a sock in my pants just to be on the safe side.

Now I am so sexy that I am starting to leak. Does anyone have a tissue? I hope that doesn’t stain my new sexy furniture. Who would have thought that being this sexy was going to be so messy? With almost every step I take I’m squirting something out of somewhere. I’m so fertile these days that I actually knocked-up someone at my bank—over the phone! I don’t even know her name.

The whole concept of "sexy" has been so worn-out by advertisers that by now "sexy" is like some 90 year old transvestite prostitute that the marketers doll up in a fresh coat of make-up and hot pants and put back on the street, night after night. The old whore is forced to sell everything from paper towels to cellular phones, and if she comes home empty-handed she gets slapped around.

In our era, things like palm pilots, mini-vans, cuff links, SUV’s, bow ties, hand bags, shitty light beer, deodorant, and just about everything else that can be bought or sold is touted as being "sexy." When during the transaction, at what point during the consumerist shell game does society lose track of what human sexuality is all about? How long can we subject ourselves to the marketing glory hole before our genitalia become vestigial organs like our appendices or tail bones?

I’m not a 90 year old transvestite hooker—not yet, anyway—but if I wee I’d wear a thong and low-cut jeans so when I sat on a bar stool everyone could look at my hairy, shriveled backside. I mention this because I forgot to mention earlier that, according to the advertising geniuses, ‘sexy’ is the realm of the young. Marketing creeps feel that 18 is the perfect age, but that is only because that is as young as they can get away with selling in lieu of our current judicial system. In the absence of consent laws I’m almost certain that marketers would use a female fetus to sell light beer. You can’t be too young or too thin, as they say (I’m quite sure that the "they” here are advertisers).

I’m not fat, old, and ugly—not yet, but I hope to make it there some day. Something that I have always suspected, and what advertisers don’t want you to know, is that fat, old, and ugly people are capable of achieving orgasm. I’d bet that right now there are old, fat ugly people humping their brains out and they are doing it without paper towels or shitty light beer.

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