Dick Week, Day Three: We Suck What Will Destroy Us

Onto Day 3 of beloved (?) Dick Week!  I am writing this post in the midst of a panic attack, so while you’re reading this, if you suddenly start shaking and need someone to rub your temples very softly for the next three hours, I’M SORRY.  Panic attacks are the honey badgers of the blogging world – they don’t give a fuck about deadlines.  Anyways, I am so goddamn happy that some ladies of 801 saw penises, laughed at them heartily, and then shared their thoughts on everything from dry-humping to deep-throating.  Yaaaay, women!  We’re like the lampreys of men’s self-esteems – we are cold-hearted suckers. 

Before we move on, let’s calmly water our peace lilies and watch the girls from The Hills for a second:

 Ahhhhh.  It’s like I’m one with the world now.  (I wish I created that gif, but I didn't.)  Let’s get to it!

Regarding Angry Henry

“I treat humans like what they are, garbage.” (After claiming to kick a female junkie until he was barely able to breathe.  From Eye Scream)

“Stoned / Cowards / Living death / Men of action turned into weak pieces of shit / They could get my respect again / If they shot themselves in the head” (A line from the poem Black Sabbath from Bang!)

“I could fall in love with a cruel desert that kills without passion, a canyon full of scorpions, one thousand blinding arctic storms, a century sealed in a cave, a river of molten salt flowing down my throat.  But never with you.”  (Goin’ off and talkin’ about girls again in Solipsist.)

Hmmm.  Let me start off by saying it hasn’t really been lost on me as to what kind of horrible place this world is, and I suppose it’s alright to hold someone to a certain level of esteem when they examine the trust of humankind as a whole with a somnolent eye, but let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that we’re not all stuck here together for the rest of our waking lives, so we may as well not have complete apathy and disdain for one another, shall we? 

Pickin' on Little Kids in a Harlem Movie Theater

Just like old times, right?

Right.

Blood-Stained Baskets

Almost on a daily basis, I daydream about getting into physical altercations with people.  Ever since I beat my male cousin in an arm wrestle when I was twelve years-old, I’ve always wrongfully considered myself a bit of a badass.  Maybe it’s the Dachshund Acting like a Doberman Syndrome, but in my mind I’m a lot tougher than I am in reality.  Now, I’m not saying that I actually walk around town looking for men and women to get in brawls with.  Nuh uh.  In my older age, a few things have happened that have diminished the aggressiveness I displayed during my younger, rowdier years.  One, I’m not nearly as physically active as I once was, and I’ve shrunk down to about a hundred pounds, so it’s highly unlikely I’d ever win any fight I picked.  Two, I was manhandled and beat up in a relationship several years back, so it’d be purty durned hypocritical to knockout someone after I vowed to myself NOBODY WILL EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN.  NOBODY!!!  Three, after years of being relatively irrational in my rage, reasonability and logic have finally tipped the scale against any sort of bloodlust.  Sooooo, I’m not like this anymore:

*Thanks for inspiring that clip, Mr. Abouzelof.  Somewhere, Out There, Mike, I hope you’re ruining little kids’ kickball games, and telling a guy smaller than you at a diner to “make like a tree and get out of here”.  Miss ya!