Sticky and Spanky: Mar 6, 2007

stick your fingers down your throat or i'm going to do it for you.

spank sez:

wait - i may have him confused with the gentleman caller who was a heroin addict/ex-con. i don't know if it was diagnosed, but that dude was definitely brain damaged. but in his case, there was no guitar. he wooed me with his access to free 50.

again, totally worthwhile.

also - to be fair, that list of 'no's' started with the gay-but-married judge in the news who was masturbating during trials. i think we decided we did not want to marry gay judges who made the paper masturbating during trials. and he was using some sort of elaborate contraption to aid him in his endeavours. i remember, 'cause the article in the paper quoted the court clerk as saying something akin to "so that's where that 'whoosh, whoosh' sound was coming from".

coming from, indeed.

i just ate a whole lamb. i may die tonight. i wish i could puke, but i'm coming to the slow realization that i don't have a gag reflex. do you? what does that mean? er, i mean *people* have suggested that i don't have a gag reflex, but i always thought that i could make myself throw up if i wanted to.

turns out, no.

and . . . i'm deaded now.

correction.

he was brain damaged. and he grew up in a mental institution.

fantastic stage presence, though. no regrets on this end.

also - what is up with led? is she knocked up?

are you?

under-the-table groping & fondling,
spanky

must not have.

dear dirtyfingers,

you asked your boss to smell your fingers? i think it's best if you work from home. with a muzzle on.

also: hahaha. minus thirty. that shit is COLD. me and my sun-drenched, sticky thighs are feeling your pain, i swear.

and, yes. i did very much anticipate you addressing the fact that the guitar has lured you into many unfortunate bed-partners. the last time the guitar weilded it's mighty leg-spreading potency you ended up with...well...we both remember him. he was a real firecracker, that one. with mental problems that were hard to ignore. i believe that he was one of the key players who inspired us to compose a list of our 'must not haves' in a boyfriend (eg. must NOT have missing teeth, must NOT be an ex-con, must NOT be crack-addicted, must NOT wear a lace-up shirt, even if he brings doughnuts in the morning) etc. it's really something that those were all inspired from experience.

while the guitar was not to blame in every case i will agree that it was most definitely the culprit in MOST cases.

stay tuned for sticky's weekly 'sting-in-the-eye.'

come visit me, for the love of god.
also: CALL LED IMMEDIATELY. really. right now.
purr,
sticky bee

bumper. heh.

Dear honeyface,

fuck you and your t-shirt and your sticky inner thighs. it's minus 30 here today. (yes: fuck you. and also: blow me. and i do write that on cubicle walls, fyi.)

you must have anticipated that i would argue that the ability of the guitar to dramatically increase anyone's attractiveness rating is more potent than you have described. i certainly have fallen for its rouse many times, as you have witnessed. ahem.

you know what also confuses my ability to accurately determine attractiveness? horned-rimmed glasses. i don't know why. i guess i usually assume the wearer is brooding and hip, instead of just gimpy-eyed and poor.

also, i was thinking that maybe i am not a good judge of attractiveness altogether. i mean, how many people have thrown up in their mouths while i cream over keef richards? the answer is: many.

so try to follow me on this . . . if what i consider 'hot', other people consider 'gross' . . . then maybe what i consider 'gross', other people consider 'hot'.

ergo, perhaps i actually smell delightful today.

but you know what smells gross, for sure, for sure? the rental car i got today. it reeks of old man perfume. bad. i got the stink on my hands from the steering wheel and i had to go wash (with soap, even). but listen to this: i was so disgusted by the pre-wash Brut cologne hand stink that i had to share it, so i burst into my boss' office and insisted he smell my fingers. no joke.

and . . . i'm fired.

anyway, i had to get a rental 'cause someone ran into the back of the beetle and they have to replace the bumper. and just now, i was reminiscing about all the fine times we've had on that bumper. loitering at the bank st. clocktower after a boozy sunday brunch comes to mind. you may remember the role the guitar played in the company i kept that day.

et voila,
spanky

just like honey.

sticky bee sez:

dear spanx,

i've given some thought to your 2 theories - that he was wearing a guitar when they met or that she was under a blissfully ignorant beer-induced filter. it is most definitely the alcohol. she must have been hammered at a bar. because, while the guitar is a potent, powerful tool that has brought legions of '3' or '4-ish' men soaring up to the leg-spreading persuasiveness of a well-hung '10', i am afraid that even the mighty guitar has its limits.

even if you put a guitar in the mewling bus-guy's hand, dressed him up right, grew out his hair and propped him up on the very back of the stage with a few dirrty, lovely slim-hipped dishes and dimmed the lights real low people would still peer up on the stage and nudge their friend, asking "why is someone's dad playing this set with them?"

therefore, by way of deduction, she was drunk off her ass at some cheese-ball bar and he danced awkwardly behind her until the filter blotted away some of his clammy dad-ness.

glad we got that one solved.

hey! it's beauteous here today - i'm wearing a t-shirt and the sun is dripping down all over me. like honey. on my inner-thighs. ahhh...vancouver really is lovely even with all of the hippies and the big, tacky mountain backdrop.

love and rubs,
stick-eeeee

for you.

spank says:

yes. many things here.

1. have you considered that perhaps my sentiment is sincere and i earnestly hope that the well-groomed and slightly dyke jewelry store laydee is open to my suggestion and will go down?

moving on:

2. initially, i was going to ask if you smelled the 6. i thought maybe she suffers from hoagie smell, thereby helping to equalize their attractiveness scores. however, upon re-reading your post, it would seem that this is irrelevant because of the unspoken mutual (and bus-wide) knowledge that she is higher on the scale than him, all things considered. including B.O.

3. how does this happen? how do a 3 and a 6 come together? i offer two hypotheses:

a) when she met him, he was wearing a guitar; or

b) when she met him, she saw him through the labatt's 50 filter.

which brings me to my favourite new toy. it puts pictures through the 50 filter, thereby making 3s appear as 6s. check this shit out: