Saturday, September 19, 2009

To the Sedona Wildlife

Hello all.

I know you have missed me. I know it. I know I flow within your blood as homogenously as your hemoglobins and other hemo-bloodo-globo bullshit. I am part of you. I'm in your dendrites. I'm your DNA. You've missed me. You've thought about me while jerking off. You've totally missed me. That's why this creative excursion is called "Missed" Sedona. Yeah. Wicked. Grrr.

So anyway, I'm going to interrupt your anonymous seeking of wet holes and hard cocks once again, just cuz I feel like being clever, and don't hate, okay? Its not like I'm getting more sex than you. I might be just as desperate. You never know. Maybe this is my way of getting dick? HAHA, just kidding. The only people getting fucked more regularly than me are those OSHO motherfuckers. I thought of making unrepentant whoring a religion in 1996, and in my version of this cultish religion, everybody gets a rimjob. Is this not better than OSHO? Am I, in my infinite rimjobby wisdom not fit for OSHO membership? Quite clearly I am. It just so happens I'm open to joining, so long as I don't have to meditate or fuck a guy with a long, dangling ballsack. If any of your OSHO's have nuts like that desk assessory with the clicky, swingy balls that knock back and forthe, I'm out. Otherwise, call me.

So yeah. This entry is dedicated to the Sedona wildlife, specifically a clan of skunks who live on or near 89A by The Olde Sedona. This clan may have experienced the loss of a member as of late. This member's intestines might still be on the right front tire of my SUV. This is a formal apology. I did not mean to take one of your own.

In my defense: What the fuck was a Skunk doing darting in front of a three ton vehicle? Was he going to stop it? Was this like a movie, where a character runs into the road and puts his hand up to stop a vehicle in which the love of his life sits, ready to go to France for a semester abroad, during which time she'll surely forget him? A Skunk? What do they weigh? Ten pounds? What would possess this gentleman to think it would be a good idea to play Frogger in front of the Olde Sedona, and at 2am no less? Doesn't matter what day. Its the Olde Sedona. There's no normal people in that bar. It's Monkeys mating. Monkeys drinking. Monkeys driving. I know. I frequent the place.

If a Monkey were driving a three ton vehicle, would a Skunk run in front of it? Is there anything in the OSHO bible about the OSHO god granting its OSHO Monkey people dominion over Skunks? If not, there should be. Skunks are dumb and when I think about OSHO's in their cars, I'm imagining they're giving handjobs and roadhead. That's a sex cult I can back. I can get behind that kind of religion, even if driving is fucky sucky time and some Skunks die as a result.

Wait. You shouldn't talk about the deceased like that. Sincerest apologies to the brood of Skunks whose brother I splattered. It aint right.

In memoriam,
E. Rider