I am the ancient mariner and not in Xanadu
Kings fall, water evaporates, people do things that were always expected. Especially when they're day drunk. But sometimes, yes, sometimes you find that little bit of pure energy, that untamed, unchecked and undeveloped power pulsating in someone or something and you only want to harvest it and develop it, and then, damn, you have a project.
Well, I found that project. She was so cute in an Indie rocker sort of way. Hmm, let's recite, Parliament Lights? Check. Lives in Silverlake? Check. She has bangs? Check. She has an Apple computer (so do I but that is irrelevant) and wears Brooklyn sweatshirts. She says she's an artist, (she's got everything she needs, she don't look back?) and quite honestly, I've never seen her work. Her musical tastes are so hipster, and by god, I'm sure she doesn't like the way the Administration operates. Oh yeah, and she loves Stephen Malkmus. What could Martin McFriend possibly offer to this chick? And can I get her to acknowledge and expose the hotness she could become?
Well, let's just say that when I asked her out, she was skeptical, but maybe it was that carnival charm to which she capitulated. Well, I was a little worried. You know, just nervous and thinking that maybe I couldn't impress her. I needed help. I needed to call a friend. Someone with the heavy artillery. My illusions only go so far. Doing five 20-inch rails in succesion doesn't impress everyone, after all. But, well, this is how it went down.
Dinner, uhh, well, fuck it, let's get to the drinking. My buddy came by ten minutes after I picked up this cute, thin little t-shirt wearing chestnut. I figured he would help take the edge off like Orko did for the Masters of the Universe. Things were going swimmingly. I mean, she passed the Trivial Pursuit challenge with flying colors and, man, did I cherish those lips of hers. (By the way, how the frack did she answer that question about Spirew Agnew?) I found myself flat out, yep, smitten. Maybe I had been overtaken by this obscure beauty, this aspiring songwriter who seemingly didn't understand that there is a world in between LA and NYC. And hell, maybe there wasn't that night. I sure as hell didn't give a...
But then something happened on the way to that astral plane of romance, and it wasn't us running out of weed. My friend, who I had invited in the hopes that he could help:
Well, I'm not clear whether or not he was on my side in this skirmish of sexual agendas. Suddenly I noticed her taking quite an interest in the fruity bastard. Would I have been concerned about that before this picture was taken? I don't know. And fuck, who took this picture and why? My god, it was crumbling. My statements were humbly ignored. The rasberry salad I had worked so hard on was nothing but a clown's prop. Things were really spiraling downward when she told him he was so fit and his hands were soft. What? Did I hear that right?
Okay, so the development of her potential didn't look like it was going so well when he gave her a ride home. Okay, I cleaned up the house by myself. Okay, I owned Q-Movies that night. But damn, aren't there any surprises? Couldn't it have been better for Martin? Don't I have the illusions that these ladies love? How bout some help hipster chicks? If you have a stone that needs to be cut, I guarantee it will be so. Just hit me up at Marty. Who knows, maybe it could be our night? Or your night. Or mine.
Shakes.
Well, I found that project. She was so cute in an Indie rocker sort of way. Hmm, let's recite, Parliament Lights? Check. Lives in Silverlake? Check. She has bangs? Check. She has an Apple computer (so do I but that is irrelevant) and wears Brooklyn sweatshirts. She says she's an artist, (she's got everything she needs, she don't look back?) and quite honestly, I've never seen her work. Her musical tastes are so hipster, and by god, I'm sure she doesn't like the way the Administration operates. Oh yeah, and she loves Stephen Malkmus. What could Martin McFriend possibly offer to this chick? And can I get her to acknowledge and expose the hotness she could become?
Well, let's just say that when I asked her out, she was skeptical, but maybe it was that carnival charm to which she capitulated. Well, I was a little worried. You know, just nervous and thinking that maybe I couldn't impress her. I needed help. I needed to call a friend. Someone with the heavy artillery. My illusions only go so far. Doing five 20-inch rails in succesion doesn't impress everyone, after all. But, well, this is how it went down.
Dinner, uhh, well, fuck it, let's get to the drinking. My buddy came by ten minutes after I picked up this cute, thin little t-shirt wearing chestnut. I figured he would help take the edge off like Orko did for the Masters of the Universe. Things were going swimmingly. I mean, she passed the Trivial Pursuit challenge with flying colors and, man, did I cherish those lips of hers. (By the way, how the frack did she answer that question about Spirew Agnew?) I found myself flat out, yep, smitten. Maybe I had been overtaken by this obscure beauty, this aspiring songwriter who seemingly didn't understand that there is a world in between LA and NYC. And hell, maybe there wasn't that night. I sure as hell didn't give a...
But then something happened on the way to that astral plane of romance, and it wasn't us running out of weed. My friend, who I had invited in the hopes that he could help:
Well, I'm not clear whether or not he was on my side in this skirmish of sexual agendas. Suddenly I noticed her taking quite an interest in the fruity bastard. Would I have been concerned about that before this picture was taken? I don't know. And fuck, who took this picture and why? My god, it was crumbling. My statements were humbly ignored. The rasberry salad I had worked so hard on was nothing but a clown's prop. Things were really spiraling downward when she told him he was so fit and his hands were soft. What? Did I hear that right?
Okay, so the development of her potential didn't look like it was going so well when he gave her a ride home. Okay, I cleaned up the house by myself. Okay, I owned Q-Movies that night. But damn, aren't there any surprises? Couldn't it have been better for Martin? Don't I have the illusions that these ladies love? How bout some help hipster chicks? If you have a stone that needs to be cut, I guarantee it will be so. Just hit me up at Marty. Who knows, maybe it could be our night? Or your night. Or mine.
Shakes.
