Mar. 1st, 2006

Mad pimpin'

Mar. 1st, 2006 03:46 am
oneirophrenia: (Snoop Puppy P)
You know, if my life was even an eighth as entertaining as rumor would have it, I'd be the pimpingest East Coast playa since Biggie. Seriously.

Last night, I found out from a friend (none of y'all reading this: I still know a few people who don't have LJs) that, apparently, I've been "pursuing" no less than three or four various dudes' ex-girlfriends. I'm not going to name names here, because...I don't even know most of these people! Only one name in the entire congery rang a bell: a girl named Erin whom I was talking to at Jozarts Studios last Wednesday evening. She's an English major at Cal U, and a friend of Gravedigger Girl's...so when Cecilia introduced her to me, we got to talking about English major stuff and literature. It was a nice conversation and, as always, I like to meet new people, especially folks who share a common literary interest. End of the night came and I have her my email address, telling her that if she had any more questions about grad school programs or whatever, she could fire off an email to me. Early in the evening, she'd mentioned that I looked familiar, and asked if I went to Ceremony. The answer, of course, was: "I've been there so damned long I'm like a fucking piece of furniture at the Upstage." She went a few times with her ex, some fellow who said he knew me (but whose name I cannot even vaguely recall now), and Gravedigger Girl obviously told her I frequented the night. Somehow, all of this info mutated into "Obviously, Pegritz is all over this chick." *Shrug* I guess talking about old poets and graduate English programs equates to Tha Skeeze these days.

Now don't get me wrong, a couple of months ago...yeah, I would've pitched some of my most sterling game at her--even though she likes Jane Austen, which is a damnear unforgivable literary crime in my book. But...my interest is clearly elsewhere these days. Nonetheless, knowing how the rumormill works, it's not surprising that this Erin girl probably told Ex Dude Whatshisname that she was talking to me and then he told someone else and, like a fun ol' game of Telephone, the signal-to-noise ratio spiked further and further toward the noise end of the line with every retelling. I could at least see that one.

But, no--it seems like I have a freakin' harem of women, none of whose names I recognize one bit, that I'm fairly hosing down with pure, unadulterated Skeeze! This is the first real support that my Evil Twin Hypothesis has received in ages. Am I slipping into the Twilight Zone? This is a madhouse--feels like being cloned, yo. Could it really be that I have been cloned--manufactured en masse in an underground laboratory by government scientists of dubious ethical qualifications?! If so, my duplicate(s) really ought to get of his/their ass(es) and report back to Patient Zero, because instead of wasting time macking on anything with two legs and boobages, we need to get our shit together and plan some serious bank heists and identity scamming!

Idaknow...I just find it interesting how, literally, just this year I've finally become (without any knowledge or effort on my part) an OG mack of R. Kellyesque magnitude! Heretofore, I've enjoyed discovering from veritable sources other than my own memory and experience that I am a crackhead, cokehead, basehead, a smack addict, a pillpopping scrounger of backalley psychoactives--a vicious bastard who will take a swing at anything, including a fighting kangaroo--a slapper of women and an afficionado of bargain-basement Liberty Avenue hookers....But, finally, I'm getting some honest pimptastic play--and I'm not there to appreciate it. GodDAMN it!

Wait a sec....That Saturday night after I pissed out the kidney stone, I was still a little tipsy from the Demerol they shot into my ass that morning. Tell me, folks: did I just, like, black out and suddenly channel the spirit of Isaac Hayes that night? I remember talking to Kirsten a good bit, but mayhap that's just a screen memory my guilt-racked mind threw up to cover an embarassing night of otherwise Snoop-a-riffic macktation! I mean...you people would tell me if I suddenly turned into Shaft, right?

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