| "You Ladies Hate Me, and You're Not Wearing a Bra!" A Foray into the Human Psyche By: Sturmkommander Faust |
| Before I began penning this article that you are now holding in your hands (or bloody stumps, if you live in a Taliban-controlled area of Colorado and had to steal this), I had an important decision to make. How to spend my last five dollars in a way that would benefit the most people? I could have donated it to the poor, but in the long run, it wouldn't have made a great difference. It would have ended up being used by a not-so-homeless hippie to purchase another bottle of 20 proof Listerine while a crony steals Zig-Zags for smoking the latest Boulder fare. Clearly, charity was not an option when deciding how to aid the world with my money. The following options then presented themselves: 1. Purchasing some sassy stickers from the Pipefitter with which to adorn my car. These marvels of the printed word show that you have Attitude (TM), with delightful phrases in the vein of "Sit on my face, fatty!" and "I'm not really an ugly goth with absinthe poisoning. I'm actually a 2000 year old vampyre." However, these stickers have been known to lower T-cell and sperm counts in most humans, so these would not have been too big an asset in my altruistic quest. 2. The adjacent store, which shall remain nameless due to the fact that it is a clandestine meth-smuggling operation, was advertising something known as "pepermint scented pants!" (Yes, until I read the sign, I was blissfully unaware that "pepermint" has but 2 P's.) These would probably run me more than five dollars, but if I took up collection amongst my friends, we would probably be able to co-own a pair. This would provide us all with endless hours of smelly amusement as we attended various raves, drum circles, and medical marijuana "heal ins". However, it would likely lead to eventual conflict, as the co-owners would battle for who would be able to wear it on nights where more than one of us had a hot hippie date. That, and after a while, the pepermint would get sticky from exposure to so many various asses. So I decided to consider my next option. 3. My Gomorrhean (the Biblical city, not the Star Wars race) friend then suggested that I go to the convenience store, on the grounds that "a really hot babe works there, dude!" Feeling thirsty for both soda and sweet lovin, I ventured there. I was confronted by a major surprise, or plot development, when I arrived however. Unless "hot babe" was code for "indie rock guy at the counter" or "bottle of Ny-Quil", the aforementioned alluring young lady was nowhere to be seen! So I purchased a Mountain Dew (TM), in accordance with the writing traditions of most hyperactive straight-edgers*, and made the bold decision to write this article. It must also be noted that on the way home I was wont to remark, "That's so christrapingly cool!" to a peer, which quickly elicited laugher on his part, and a shocked look by a passerby. Q.E.D., the purchase of this corporate soda was the one that would benefit the greatest amount of people. Not only does caffeine-fueled writing provide an endless source of amusement to proletariats (thus pacifying them into a state where they are too entertained to revolt), it can also be used to line animal cages or squat houses, as well as providing a vital source of fiber for crust punks who have spent their last Boulder Boardwalk tokens on a can of Natural Ice**. * I am not straightedge, or hyperactive. My prescription homemade alcohol negates both of these qualities. ** Speaking of ice, Atom and his Package really need to be put on it. |