E-MAIL: rexbreathes@hotmail.com
Recently, I stumbled across the X Girlfriend Hotline... For the Man Who Hasn’t Been Abused in Awhile. Alas, a 900 number with me in mind. Being out of a relationship can be tough; no late night nonsensical phone conversations where everything you say is taken the wrong way and shoved up your ass. I missed having my emotions dragged through the meat grinder. I longed for that giddy, fuzzy, like-you’re-coming-down-off-of-bad-acid feeling when I hung up the phone and realized I’d just spent three hours arguing about what she thinks I’m actually thinking and feeling. You know the type: See all know all women who presume because you’re a man that means you are too stupid to actually know and possess your own thoughts and feelings separate from her omniscience.
Anyhow, I’m not embarrassed to admit, hopelessly deranged as I am, that part of me missed the abuse, not to mention the sick and twisted phone sex that would sometimes end these productive, late night discussions. Being on my own for several months, I started to develop this weird, prickly sensation of having my balls back in my scrotum. This awareness of manhood was troubling me. What to do? I looked around and there were no castrating bitches (deeply envious of Daddy’s big dick) bothering me anywhere in my life! Fortunately for me, and for countless men like me, the X-Girlfriend Hotline was there when I really needed it. For 99 cents per minute, I got to hear 1 to 3 minute messages just like I used to get on my answering machine:
“When are you gonna come over and finish fixing my car. Just because we’re not sleeping together anymore, doesn’t mean you can just drop all your responsibilities and go traipsing off into la la land like you always do. If I catch you fixing another woman’s car, I swear to God I’ll tell your mother what you say during sex. And I want my Fiona Apple CD’s back, you bastard! If you don’t return this phone call in three days then you can burn in hell forever!”
Ah. Just like the good ol’ bad ol’ days; I was hooked.
“Hi Dick. I just thought I’d call you up to tell you that I’m seeing someone so you wouldn’t have to find out from someone else. And he’s practically moved in, because we can’t get enough of each other, so, I had to throw all your shit away. Finally, I know what it’s like to feel secure with someone. Gotta go... I just thought I’d let you know. I was really thinking of you and how this would be a lot better than finding out from someone else. I really think it’s gonna be serious so I hope that some day down the road you can meet him and the three of us can be friends. Bye.”
But that's not all. For a mere $2.99/min, I got to talk with a real live future ex-girlfriend and listen to her rake my man sized ego over the coals... ‘till I felt right-sized again--the puny, pathetic momma’s boy that I know I really am. It was exquisite agony: a surrealistic ordeal of David Lynch and Clive Barker proportions. Since I always go for women whose name begins with “A” (they never fail to disappoint me with their insanity), I was granted permission to call them: Adrienne, Alyson and Alysha.
“The horror... The horror...”
In no time, we got down to the business of turning me into a bombed out building. Corpse-like, I complied with her artful demolition of my soul:
“I saw the way you looked at her. You were definitely checking her out. Besides, you admitted that you were attracted to her before I met you.”
“But you’re the one who’s already seeing someone. Hell, I haven’t even gotten past jerking off to you, let alone seeing someone new.”
“He was a gift from God. Thank God I met him on the bus when I did, after you destroyed my self-esteem. God must have sent him to me the way he helped me put myself back together.”
“Well, I’m glad you called me up to tell me about this wonderful stuff. Can I buy you a cup of coffee sometime?”
“Sure. Let’s get together and talk. I haven’t had the chance to tell you about the perverted ways I go out of my way to please him, after I have teased you and led you on to believe that something will happen by grinding my crotch against your desperate thighs.”
“That would be great. I’ll bring you some flowers and a friendship ring for that one.”
“You better... So, what are you thinking about?”
“Oh, you know, just stuff.”
“You gonna give momma your dirty laundry?”
“Ungh huh.”
“You pullin’ on it?”
“Yeah.... you know what I like...”
“The poison you can never get enough of.”
...the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Next month: Lest we forget, it was a woman who turned Dennis Rodman into the deranged circus side show he is today. (No. Not Madonna. She’s a corporation, not a woman.)
– with a nod of the pen to Yama