Suddenly, you begin traveling through another dimension—a dimension not
capable of touch or intimacy but filled with the complete lack thereof. A
journey into a most treacherous land whose boundaries are clearly drawn and
leave no room for imagination. That’s a signpost up ahead: “Your next stop: The
Platonic Zone.”
See, there’s a moment between two people when something is said or done that
simply changes the very dynamic of their discussion and their relationship.
Sometimes this is stepping the level from something casual to something more
intimate. Yeah, I’m not talking about that. In fact, let’s call that the
“ideal.” I’m talking about what happens when things go wrong, particularly for
guys. It’s the part where what you want from this other person becomes, in fact,
the furthest distance anything has ever been from anyone.
"If a guy realizes he's been had, he deserves a clean break.
Shoot for the stars and land amongst the vaginas."
Oddly, the
moment after it happens, it’s as if you can feel all hope of
something better happening. Some guys react physically. Bodies
convulse as the wave of hopelessness passes directly from their
crotch to a region often somewhere close to their crotch. It’s like
telling a soldier that the war is over before it even begins,
particularly if that soldier enjoys shooting people. There’s just a
moment when a guy realizes his romantic (read: sexual) opportunities
have been severely limited and that’s not even the worst part of
that moment.
See, what’s bad is that the cognitive faculties in this man’s brain have been
neutralized. He is about to suffer the delusion that his relationship is going
to lead to something. In fact, he begins to equate “working harder at a
friendship” to “getting closer to getting laid.” Every time it happens, all men
die a little inside.
If you’re a lady reading this, or even a slut for that matter, you’re
probably aware of a “buddy” and/or “pal” who
fell penis-first into the Platonic Zone. This would be a great place for me
to recommend something, or scold you for “leading them into it.”
Nope. No time for that. Instead, how about a truce? If a guy
realizes he’s been had, whether by self-delusion or because of a
shiny vagina, he deserves to make a clean break without being
guilt-stricken for “abandoning the friendship.” Let’s just be adults
and see that it wasn’t what was intended in the first place. “Shoot
for the stars and land amongst the vaginas”…or something like that.
You both get your freedom and the world is a little bit more honest.
It’s like campfires and friendship bracelets all over again.
The
Gospel According to Google
(Since this edition is running long, I’ll only toss out the
top two stories that caught my eye)
16-Year-Old Star of Upcoming Nativity Film Gets Pregnant; God
Swears It’s Not His
There’s little I can say about this one except… have you seen
the website for this film? It talks about all the research done on the era
and the authenticity brought into the film-making. Well, I say kudos to their
lead actress. She takes her pregnancies seriously. Nope. No more conception
jokes. I’m sure someone else will flood the airwaves and papers with them,
especially after…
Media and Congress Continue Probe of Pages, Beginning With Whoever Probed
Them First
This Rep. Foley scandal is proof that we’ve really got the greatest Congress
ever to dislodge their thumbs from their sphincters. I simply can’t decide
whether I’m more pissed that this is news that should have broken months ago or
that
both parties are feeding the media machine that should be reporting on the
lack of issues being addressed this coming midterm.
Southern
Discomfort
Years ago I fell out of watching Saturday Night Live. Between having
something better to do on Saturday night and performing shock treatment on my
genitals, I figured I had options. While I wasn’t watching, numerous talented
writers left the show as well as cast members like Will Ferrell. Maybe they
caught word of what I was doing and chose to spend their time drinking too. If
only the current cast would take a similar cue.
It’s not that the current SNL cast is lacking funny. To be fair,
Darrel Hammond had some good days. Apparently, he also suffered a frontal
lobotomy. As far as the rest of the cast, well, thanks for the laughs. I mean,
when I heard the kid from All That was on the show, I dropped everything.
In fact, I’m sure there was a cease-fire in Israel so that all could rejoice in
the co-star of “Good Burger” joining an institution of television comedy. I
suspect the amount of pot smoked by Lorne Michaels and his casting director
could have tranquilized every person who attended Woodstock and all their
low-sperm-count carrying children. Don’t fret, Keenan. When it comes to failing
at funny, you’re in great company. If this show sucked any more, it’d charge $50
and offer viewers a hand-job as an encore.
Despite my ire, I recently hit the DVR and recorded an episode while I was
out. Why? Because even if you wince from the horror, you can’t look away from
someone taking a shit on something you loved. Sure, you could try to stop them,
but what are you going to do? It’s like having
snakes on a plane, man. Thanks again, Keenan. Stellar work. I mean, I can’t
be mad at you for long. You’re black and we’ve got to stick together or some
other cliché. In fact, I think I’ll sit down and view the show from a different
angle. Maybe I’ll scoop out my eyes while I’m at it.
A Note to Readers: Yes,
last week’s column was filler. You can stop asking now. Of course, now that
the character exists, you can be sure Sir Pipe-Layre will be around for cameos
in the future. Though I’ll admit the number of you who preferred the recent
standard layout was just special.
