Lil P Goes Straight?

For the past two years now that I have been gallivanting about Chicago, fucking about every crazy, stupid turd that bothers to turn his fat, gay head my way and drool at least five unintelligible sentences in a row. But I'm trying to change this. I really am.

It began like a fun game. I have never been able to be monogamous, but I had only had two boyfriends in my life up until I was 23. That’s when I began to think, Holy shit . . . I'm 23 and I've been in this stupid drug-addled relationship for 4 years now, and, like, I've only had sex with my boyfriends . . . I'll probably get married soon and have hardly had sex with anyone.

This thinking brought about my frantic cheating on my boyfriend a bunch of times and then our eventual breakup.

Then, practically before I even had a chance to end that relationship, another asshole pisshead swept me up. And then he immediately dropped me and flushed me down the toilet like diseased feces.

I was upset for a little while. But I was relieved, too, because I no longer felt doomed to a life of marriage. Plus I would have missed out on tasting the greatness of dragging different decaying degenerates home from bars and having them stick their bloated, red dicks all around my pisshole and giving me VDs.

Seriously, I was happy. I no longer had to hold back when I saw someone--anyone--who interested me. I was ready to conquer the world. Thus brought on the next two years.

Through my previous mental monkey of a boyfriend, I was introduced to all sorts of hip people and bars and artists and bands and etc. etc. This gave me a good “in” as far as knowing where to go to slop around and get fucked by some wretched waste-case of a stranger once or twice a week.

I was an eager beaver and curious as a cat to get out there and spread my legs for endless amounts of wretched scumbags. It was not love I was looking for at all. Love was the furthest thing from my mind. Granted I was still young, but I never had really gone on a date with anyone.

(As a side note, I'd like to point out that I have never really lived like a "normal” person. Even though I had boyfriends, we did not live in clean, one-bedroom apartments together like regular people do. Even when I was committed to some guy, we cohabited as a couple in various hellacious rat-dumps alongside any number of losers.)

It did not take me long to plunge into the world of sleazy bars, inane conversation, drunken sex, and not knowing where I am or who is next to me upon waking up. My already drug-fueled, alcoholic lifestyle helped me a lot with this transition. It was also great for my not being apprehensive to jump into a 50-year-old creep's car for a "ride home" when I was about 10 feet from my own house.

I got the moves down fast. I could see some trash bag of a guy at a bar, spot him and pick him out, decide that that was the stranger that I wanted. I’d sidle up and sit by him, and after very little practice it would take me about two minutes to allow him a sad degree of attention and vice versa and see if he would give himself over to his erection and come home with me, or bring me home with him.

If these gargoyles were coming to my place, I had to make sure that either they were really drunk or really wanted it, because I knew I lived in a complete shithole with three men, all of whom I had fucked and two of whom were very jealous and would do things like steal from them or fuck up their stuff.

At first, I loved this. It was exciting. I loved fucking strangers. It seemed to be the missing puzzle piece to my life. I never wanted a relationship. Then, as with everything else in my life, I had to go overboard and make it a complete obsession. For a while, I would aim for some decent-looking, not completely disgusting pig to screw. In time, any bloated, shit-chewing fungus was welcome in my bed.

It just had to be a stranger. Breathing wasn’t even required. Sure, there were some winners in there (heh-heh) but they never called back. Of course the only ones that wanted more were the moldy cocksuckers with constant erections with whom I had to make myself completely numb to get near.

After two years of this, I got tired. I had long ago realized that what had started out as something fun had turned into another addiction of mine. I now wanted back in. I wanted a relationship. I was sick of everything. I craved everything I hated. I wanted stability. I just wanted someone to call back when they said they would. And I wanted to see them more than once.

And then it happened. And I was glad about it, even though the guy was a total douche. He looked like a wastrel out of the movie Gummo and I really was attracted to that, and he inflated my ego to no end and I thought that was nice, but it quickly ended for reasons I still don't exactly understand. But I now knew I could go back and actually get into a relationship if I wanted to. I wasn't ruined permanently (besides the VDs) and I could exit this if I wanted to. And I did.

At least to the point that I don't search out one-night stands or strangers to fuck anymore. Sometimes they find me, and rarely do I give into temptation.

What scared me now was that I wanted this relationship thing back so bad and I had a lot of things going against me. First of all I lived in a sewer. And I had three roommates there. One of them was my ex-boyfriend of four years who continues to this day to steal from everyone including me. Another claimed to be "in love" and got crushed every time I brought someone home. The third was just there, but he’s another intimidating freakshow in his own right.

I am a pretty laid-back girl, but a lot shit comes along with me. In terms of sexual partners, I’ve racked up about 80 disgusting monstrosities. Plus the fact that I have never been monogamous (and by that I mean that I have cheated on every boyfriend I ever had). And I make naked movies, I have VDs, I'm on methadone, and I write this column. I made a list once and it's far too depressing to go through, but it's me.

All at once, I hate and love myself for this shit, but the question is: Can I find someone that will either appreciate it, or maybe would be able to just let it pass? That is a hard one for sure.

I seem to have maybe found someone recently. I know that I can get someone a lot like myself, but that would likely make them wife-beaters or complete trash, and I'm sick of rodents. Not this new guy.

I haven't gone into every detail of the aforementioned list with this fellow, but most of it is out in the open, and he does tell me to take a shower more than anyone I know. And he’s nice and Jewish.

I don't know how long it will last. It has lasted longer than I ever thought it could, and that's been a month. That means a full month of me sleeping with only one person. I think this can work. Perhaps.

Of course there will be updates, but things are looking bright. I feel like I'm standing on this balance beam with people throwing tomatoes at me and it's so easy to just fall off but I’ve got to keep staying on it. I don't know what I think of that analogy, but I can't think of a better one.

There are so many questions. Who knows if I'll be able to remain monogamous? Who knows if this will even pan out? What if he's with a different girl first? I know that something is happening with me because I had a rather peculiar telephone conversation with this Hebraic fellow last night and actually thought about it more than I should have. To preface it, I have been sick with bronchitis for about two weeks, thus making him sick.

Rabbi: I will be hanging out with Bonnie tonight, and I don't want to get her sick.
Me: I have a cold and no one I know is sick but you. I didn't give it to my roommates or friends or anything.
Rabbi: Yeah, but then again your roommates have not had their mouths all over you.

Should I conclude then that he will have his mouth all over this girl? I laugh because I can't remember the last time I even cared about any of this stuff. And I know that in the future sometime I'll damn this all to hell and want to go back to slumming around bars and looking for degenerates with erections, but right now I think this is good. And nothing will tell but time.

The Year in Fuck

To be brutally, completely honest, I find some satisfaction in the fact that you were “violated” whilst feeling untouchable. See, we don't have it both ways. We can be beaten by others and then it's just violence. If we're attacked by others, it is still violence. Just violence.

If we are raped by these plugged up beasts it is just sex, and illegal sex at that, and we are as culpable as the rapist in the act. Doesn't matter how we dress. So fuck off, bitch, and suck it up and survive or die. Welcome to the real world. You have no rights. And neither do I. It is an illusion.

A list:

1. If you sleep in the same area (bed, pile of trash, etc) with a male human, the male human will be very inclined to have sex with you (regardless of biological sex). Why is this surprising? And I have slept next to very beautiful women, many of whom would have been former girlfriends instead of frustrations had I had the nerve to “rape” them.

2. Rules are nearly meaningless. That the rules exist in the first place is interesting and that any kind of litigation exists that one may invoke is irrelevant. In any given situation, there ARE NO RULES. This applies to all human life and activity, sexual or otherwise.

3. Human women, for as long as it matters (think of it as a major historic era, e.g. the Cambrian Age) will be the ones that human men will want to have sex with. If we're gay or bi, we might vacation with the same sex, but it will be vaginas that we are interested in for the most part.

3.5 Women who think that they are doing womankind a favor by being in “burlesque" shows or doing things that are barely crossing the line of total whoredom are the worst of all. Take your burlesque and shove it up your often plump asses. I have been hurt by these women. At least have some courage or don't walk the line in the name of "liberated women" ever. Please. You make me and my neighborhood vomit. I use burlesque because it is an easy target. There are many more women like this. I could list them. I won’t. I know you know who these horrible saps are.

4. I loathe these pristine, good, unassailable, beautiful, delicate, well-coifed, powdered, primped, American-Appareled, perfect, good, lovely boy slugs that I see every night. Their opinions are absolutely meaningless to me, a confirmed nothing. I would rather scrape away at my genitals with a blunt object than listen to their blather for one more minute. It is actually excruciating.

5. I have sold my body. OOOOH bad. So sorry. Hmm . . . it seems that vaginas are more bearable when bought and sold. Why is that? A question for the ages.

6. Yes, I hate men. If you buy Plath's bullshit then I don't need to elaborate. But then you'd be just another clone. I want men to know that when I hate them I hate them personally. It is a vicious, visceral hate. I hate you. Not “mankind” or some abstraction. I hate you. You. You fucking disgusting troll.

7. About “Daddy”: Well, it was from my (rabidly Christian) father that I learned the details of male-to-male rape, as well as male-to-female rape, and that if I went anywhere I would eventually have a penis forced into my mouth. Oh, I was spared no detail! Men are evil! I still agree, despite the evidence! And, according to him, I am derived from a marriage of cousins. Does it matter if it is untrue? Not if you and your family are made up of nuns and drug addicts apparently.

8. Men are stupid wastes. Almost every man I have ever met, a few exceptions aside, are interested in what I call “bullshit”. Gabriel Garcia Marquez = Bullshit. McSweeny's = Bullshit. Nick Drake = Bullshit. I could go on and on. The worst thing is, when you call them out they can't deal with it. If I like bullshit, I admit it.

13. Get a venereal disease, for Christ's sake. I have about 20. At least then you will make a difference. You will be a walking weapon. Right now, you're an unarmed set of genitalia. With an STD you might at least affect the world.

14. Fuck off.

15. How many numbers are there?

15.5 Oh yes . . . it never ends does it?

16. I hate myself, but I love humanity. Weird huh?

17. Don't you see how ineffectual it all is? What is the point of your (or my) blathering? There is none. All is statistics to your kind. I laugh maniacally whilst your towers crumble. I laugh because there is nothing else left to do. All imaginable atrocities have been committed; all acts of good have been suggested. There is no answer. Die, I love you, die.