Taking advantage of girls, definitely. Primarily because it's always an intriguing hopscotch-like tutorial in the loopholes and soft spots of female fragility, highs and lows of which contradict each other much like eating paint together with gasoline would. I enjoy sharing information about myself with new girls all the time, trading stories about my first kiss and so on, getting to know her better within the sphere of my drunkenly pasted together strategies. Establishing trust with girls who don’t know me and who I really don’t care to know myself. Tasting the first sweet kiss of a girl whose telephone number is going straight into the gutter once we hit the streets on the way back to her place. Outside of that, the world's still an uncared for mystery. When you delineate the outline of a girl’s bra through her shirt even in the darkness of some shitty pub, she’s probably going to be the next in line. And even if she’s not, it’s possible to steer the situation in that direction anyway. More than possible, actually; probable is a better word.
I'm looking for intelligent, attractive girls. Tall, slim, fragrant, in college, and a little insecure. Preferably a drinker, because if by nature she's not entirely easy to sway, a little crushed pill in her wine will get past what my soft and oft-times drunken conversational efforts cannot. It's good if we don't exchange numbers. A little bit of e-mail and a date or two would be really nice, especially if you’re very giving in dark sparsely-populated theater-house situations. I like girls who wear their hair short, dress in skirts and have smooth skin. No scars. Family values and honesty is something I definitely look for after pale green eyes and a cute spinal column.
The Germs, Calvin Johnson, Gaz and the Gazmen, Patsy Cline, John Denver, Nation of Ulysses, Johnny Thunders, Elliott Smith, Smoking Popes, Elton John, The Dead Boys, Bikini Kill, Willie Nelson, Morrissey, Samhain, Chris Isaak, Pet Shop Boys, BradLeo and the Heartstoppers, Patrick Wolf, Boz and the Bozmen, Dead Low Tide, Team Dresch, Gene, Chimes McGavern, Beat Happening, Murder City Devils, Seaweed, David Allan Coe, Misfits, Christie Front Drive, The Polecats, Gorilla Biscuits . . . and whatever band Seth Tiege plays with in Portland.
Searching For Bobby Fischer, Delta Force, Regarding Henry, A River Runs Through It, Extremities, Lucas, Vice Versa, To Gillian On Her 37th Birthday, At Close Range, White Oleander, Amazing Grace & Chuck, Oye Esteban, Drumline, The Bodyguard, Rhinestone Cowboy, Der Todesking, You've Got Mail. Anything with Jodie Foster, especially Contact.
Kids of Degrassi Street, Gilmore Girls, Boy Meets World, Twilight Zone, The Prisoner, What Do Kids Know?, Family Ties, Everybody Loves Raymond, Tales From the Darkside, Night Court, Freddy's Nightmares, Spin City, Happy Days.
Castle Left Alone For Nearly 12 Centuries by Simon Belmont.
Tick by Peter Sotos.
Glamorama by Bret Easton Ellis.
The Gentleman's Trade by Neil Garriscond.
Damnation Game by Clive Barker.
Mastering Chess In A World Of Pawns by John Sheen.
Two Drunk Girls At Once by Durwood Sauls.
My 1990s by Louis Yorba.
The Demon by Hubert Selby, Jr.
On the record, anyone on the spine of some cheaply leafed-through poetical tome that some girl at the bar has checked out from the school library and proclaimed (like so many of her unsurprisingly shit-similar peers) as the new genius of her college-addled yet entirely confused and predictable literary interest. Let's see: Tom Robbins, James Joyce, Alexander Fitzgerald, Aldous Huxley, Chuck Palahniuk and Sylvia Plath? Sure, I’ll be into them if it means she feels she’s being taken seriously during the first impressions. But off the record, my heroes are the lawyers John Sheen hires to get me off the hook with little more than a few months in county lock-up and some cheap set of community service frequent flyer miles that I can piss on half-drunk and three hours late. I’d spill a Coors Light over that burnished pair of slacks and tip my dirty cowboy hat if I cared enough to keep myself out of the trouble I have friends who can afford to keep me out of it for me do. Even when I’m standing up to the scuffed knees of my Wranglers in it like the horseshit you’d hear from a fuckin’ well-dressed preacher, father or prosecuting attorney. I don’t care for fuck what’s polite if what’s really on the line is easily effected in acceptable ways with one simple, shiny little hardly noticeable pill. It's ladies night, every night.