October 8th, 2003

Big Gay Vince, bastard, Southpark me

I ♥ Margaret Cho

From her blog:

"When I was twenty, I was engaged to a young television writer, who now is a big gangsta at Saturday Night Live. My midnight foot scratching would wake him up. The scraping of nails to dry, flaky, baklava skin caused a sound that would haunt him for long after we parted. He loved me so, and he'd said those nights, he would watch me sleep, and the scratch became a love song spontaneously occurring in nature, like summer crickets and the sweet slippery near silence of long kisses, a rhapsody of fungal and lover's bliss. But I was bad. There was no skin between each toe, creating a corned beef affect, like I was smuggling the meat in them to snack on later. On each toe, the tearaway skin would hang loose and white near the nail, saturated in sweat and in turn brittle and resilient. My heels were like two hard biscuits, badly in need of gravy, powdery and baked. Then of course the wart, for which I procured a corn slicer from Germany. This device, much like a cheese grater, would scrape across the errant sole, and shave off a neat layer of skin, which would be shiny underneath. I would cut down until I had reached a point where a tiny drop of blood could be seen just under the surface, dead center like a nucleus, and it was painful, but satisfying. Of course I went too far here and there, and the blood would spurt out of my foot with a pulsing heat, and no amount of gauze or cotton wads would soak up the carnage."


She sounds soooooo like me. :o)
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Big Gay Vince, bastard, Southpark me

Eh?

And I here I had always thought my high school had the only band called "The Marching 100." Apparently we weren't. Like Florida A&M, though we called ourselves the "100" we actually had more -- 185 kids I think my senior year.
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