Friday, June 27, 2008
LESBIANS, START YOUR VAGINAS!
This weekend is Pride, bitches! I'm especially glad Pride is coming up, because there's no better way to put a spring in your step after a dude treats you shabbily than to go bang a hotter chick than he could ever score (excepting self). Pride is the best pickings in the city, because EVERY lesbian worth her Georgia O'Keefe lilies shows up there. Hell, every gay person goes! The last time I was at Pride a couple years back, I totally flirted with some cute chicks, although then I wasn't yet remembering how fun it is to fuck girls, so I didn't take any action. Now, I'm ready to chat up some chicks and hopefully do what my friends refer to as "L'ing P," our shorthand for "licking pussy." Furthermore, it provides an excellent opportunity for Twathopper, my lesbian apprentice, to find a companion for the Teagan and Sara concert she really wants to attend with a date. Twathopper was a little gloomy about her prospects, so in a super-hot, all-girl, three-way Gchat, JerseyGirl and I doubled up to give her some confidence:
Unfortunately, apart from her lone evening of drunken passion, Twathopper's track record is not so great. She's dated a host of the most ridiculous bitches ever, although part of the problem is the fact that she dug up these obnoxious broads on Nerve.com. First there was Writersprout, a cupcake-loving open mic aficionado who sublets for fun and writes the world's most infinitely boring blog. Then, there was Sarah Babysits, a girl who babysits for a living and who actually faked a rare bone cancer to poke at Twathopper's soft spot for the sick and wounded. This was after she faked a dog bite to cover up a missed "text date" (shaking my head) due to a Vicodin coma. In response, JerseyGirl got hold of Twathopper's phone and texted back "did the dog eat your homework, too?", and Sarah Babysits was so stupid that she actually thought this was flirtatious. When Twathopper dumped her on account of "you need to focus on recovering from the rare Ewing's sarcoma you have, especially since you're being inexplicably treated for it by a gastroenterologist," Sarah Babysits experienced an almost instantaneous remission of her malignancy. Twathopper finally stopped responding to her texts after that. I can hardly blame her, because after months of talking and texting and processing, the thing these bitches had in common beside being incredibly lame is their seeming unwillingness to go further than second base. Twathopper had to get these hoes completely wasted to even be permitted a stray grasp of a shirt-covered breast.
Finally, there was Superlez, and this bitch is a piece of work. On their first date, within five minutes of sitting down with their drinks Superlez informed Twathopper that she'd "never been penetrated by a man." Then, after interrogating Twathopper on her experience or lack thereof, Superlez condescendingly asked her, "Do you have any questions about the community?" I don't recall appointing Superlez spokesperson for every chick who bangs chicks, and I frankly don't want some sort of vagina snob who obviously looks down her nose at bisexuals acting like the orientation supervisor for the girl-on-girl circuit. Twathopper was like, "What community? Lesbians? No!" Frankly, the only question Twathopper ever had about "the community" was "why don't any of these girls ever have sex?" Furthermore, any future questions could be undoubtedly directed toward one of the horde of Smith College graduates Twathopper rolls with. Then Twathopper mentioned that she has lots of straight friends, so Superlez informed her that "you're going to start resenting your hetero friends and their hetero ideals." Hopefully for JerseyGirl's sake, that prediction won't come true. I guess I'm in the clear since Superlez never cast any warnings about resenting friends for their bisexual ideals. I told Twathopper that she should throw that uppity dyke back to the online dating cesspool she pulled her out of, but as usual, she did not heed my advice.
My anti-Superlez stance softened a little when I learned that Twathopper got some finger action from her, and I figured that while she may be obnoxious, maybe she would at least get my apprentice over the figurative hump. Unfortunately, Superlez then decided their bedroom antics were going to plateau there, because she apparently has fewer lesbian skills than I had at 15. I mean, I wrote some appalling poetry back then, but it only took me about a week or two to graduate to L'ing P once we got the fingerbanging routine down. Instead of progressing sexually, Superlez stalled via completely sexless phone sex which Twathopper described as "telling me how hot I was" and "what she liked about me." I am not at all surprised that is an accurate description of lesbian phone sex. I bet that segued into an incredibly sexy description of all the boobmashing they could do. She also did a lot of sexless dirty talk that Twathopper did not appreciate, such as strange routines involving baby talked references to nursing to precede some breast suckling. GROSS. After all this hassle and for all her talk about being the biggest dyke at the sushi bar, Superlez still never went downtown, so Twathopper finally cut her loose.
However, she did not stop stalking Superlez via social networking sites, and yesterday sent me her MySpace page. Twathopper made me swear to the Goddess that I would not post a link to it (although I DESPERATELY wish I could), so I will just have to describe what to me looked like a bullet safely dodged. After squinting to read anything beyond Superlez's annoying profile wallpaper of a group of lesbians white-water rafting, I noticed that her sole interest was under (of course) music, and seemed to be limited to some Lisa Loeb wannabe named Ingrid Michaelson who Wikipedia describes as an "indie-pop singer/songwriter" and is "most notably" famous for having contributed 6 songs on the "Gray's Anatomy" soundtrack. She also counts Marlee Matlin among her "Top Friends," because like every predictable-ass pushy lesbo, Superlez loves "The L Word." She also probably has a crushing handshake and a collection of Dar Williams CDs. Other than that, Superlez just exhibits about fifty million pictures of either herself looking mysterious, or herself posing in various Brooklyn establishments with her new girlfriend who is CLEARLY a Nerve.com find judging by her mousy hipster appearance. She also seems to think that, despite her butt girlfriend, she's still quite the lothario as evidenced by her continued attempts to IM and text flirtatiously with Twathopper. IF ONLY I could post her picture and proceed to–in the words of Lil' Wayne–cool her ass down if she thinks she's hot shit, because while she isn't bad looking, the sheer volume of ridiculous brooding, contrived self-portraits make her as unattractive as her personality does within five minutes of meeting this silly twat.
Anyway, with such a dismal history of dating, I am pretty sure that Twathopper can't do any worse at Pride this weekend than the prostitutes she's already wasted ample time on. I'm sure we can find a slightly better broad than the extracurricular subletters, cancer fakers, and bossy self-appointed lesbian ambassadors she's been messing with. Surely we can find her some nice, normal Tori Amos fan for her to swap Lilith Fair stories with, commence cohabitation, and celebrate their love with a romantic Teagan and Sara concert.
JerseyGirl: Twathopper, tegan and sarah are coming to nyc in octoberNeedless to say, Twathopper's pessimism about her prospects are misguided. However, I can completely understand where her negative energy is coming from. While our previous foray into the lesbian bar scene turned into an escape mission to free me from the clutches of a highly aggressive, Jamba Juice-giftcard toting bulldyke named Blu rather than the sex Twathopper was hoping for, she did manage to finally earn her stripes and L some P. I'm sure she did a great job thanks to my excellent coaching. Now that she's done it once, she wants to do it some more, preferably after listening to some live introspective female singer/songwriters perform their acoustic harmonies.
JerseyGirl: maybe you should buy two tickets, proactively so that you can take a solstice with you
JerseyGirl: oh and actually sigur ros is coming to nyc too
Twathopper: i know about both
Razzy: call me when kells is swinging back this way
Razzy: dude jerseygirl, twathopper probs reads all the music ZINES that tell her these things
Twathopper: hahaha lol ZINES
JerseyGirl: twathopper, i think you should definitely buy 2 tix to tegan and sara
Twathopper: hahahaha
Razzy: yeah cereally
JerseyGirl: buy it and then you can take whatever solstice you are dating at the time
Twathopper: F you jerseygirl!
Razzy: the pussy will be eating out of your pants for those tix
Razzy: from now on you're going to get some decent snatch if it kills me
Razzy: we're gonna find you a GF at pride this weekend
Razzy: TRUST
Razzy: get tix to this show
Razzy: and find some hot twat at pride to squire along with you
Twathopper: let's find the ho first
Twathopper: then get the tix
Razzy: well when do the tix go on sale?
Razzy: if we pull a nice tuna out of the tank at pride for you
Razzy: you'll be living together by next week
Razzy: so problem solved
Razzy: i know how you solstae roll
Twathopper: hahahah lol
Razzy: in fact, you should rent the uhaul now
Twathopper: well i hope it's better than what i saw last year
Razzy: what, at pride?
Twathopper: which was a bunch of old dykes on bikes
Twathopper: and butches everywhere
Razzy: dude every queer in the city comes out for pride!
Razzy: see all the normal-looking girls mixed in with all the crusties?
Razzy: THOSE ARE THE NORMAL LESBIANS
JerseyGirl: i cannot wait to hear stories about l'ing p from bitches you met at pride
Twathopper: oh like me walking around
JerseyGirl: :P
JerseyGirl: haha that's the l p icon
Twathopper: what will i be doing then?
Twathopper: talkin to some chick about tori and live music probz
Razzy: talking to some girl about live music
Razzy: LOL
Twathopper: haha omg!
Razzy: well that'll work
Razzy: you're looking for a keeper
JerseyGirl: omg you guys are in solstice sync
Razzy: with the ladies, i'm all catch-and-release
Razzy: you get in the door, twathopz
Razzy: i get in the pants
Razzy: perf
Unfortunately, apart from her lone evening of drunken passion, Twathopper's track record is not so great. She's dated a host of the most ridiculous bitches ever, although part of the problem is the fact that she dug up these obnoxious broads on Nerve.com. First there was Writersprout, a cupcake-loving open mic aficionado who sublets for fun and writes the world's most infinitely boring blog. Then, there was Sarah Babysits, a girl who babysits for a living and who actually faked a rare bone cancer to poke at Twathopper's soft spot for the sick and wounded. This was after she faked a dog bite to cover up a missed "text date" (shaking my head) due to a Vicodin coma. In response, JerseyGirl got hold of Twathopper's phone and texted back "did the dog eat your homework, too?", and Sarah Babysits was so stupid that she actually thought this was flirtatious. When Twathopper dumped her on account of "you need to focus on recovering from the rare Ewing's sarcoma you have, especially since you're being inexplicably treated for it by a gastroenterologist," Sarah Babysits experienced an almost instantaneous remission of her malignancy. Twathopper finally stopped responding to her texts after that. I can hardly blame her, because after months of talking and texting and processing, the thing these bitches had in common beside being incredibly lame is their seeming unwillingness to go further than second base. Twathopper had to get these hoes completely wasted to even be permitted a stray grasp of a shirt-covered breast.
Finally, there was Superlez, and this bitch is a piece of work. On their first date, within five minutes of sitting down with their drinks Superlez informed Twathopper that she'd "never been penetrated by a man." Then, after interrogating Twathopper on her experience or lack thereof, Superlez condescendingly asked her, "Do you have any questions about the community?" I don't recall appointing Superlez spokesperson for every chick who bangs chicks, and I frankly don't want some sort of vagina snob who obviously looks down her nose at bisexuals acting like the orientation supervisor for the girl-on-girl circuit. Twathopper was like, "What community? Lesbians? No!" Frankly, the only question Twathopper ever had about "the community" was "why don't any of these girls ever have sex?" Furthermore, any future questions could be undoubtedly directed toward one of the horde of Smith College graduates Twathopper rolls with. Then Twathopper mentioned that she has lots of straight friends, so Superlez informed her that "you're going to start resenting your hetero friends and their hetero ideals." Hopefully for JerseyGirl's sake, that prediction won't come true. I guess I'm in the clear since Superlez never cast any warnings about resenting friends for their bisexual ideals. I told Twathopper that she should throw that uppity dyke back to the online dating cesspool she pulled her out of, but as usual, she did not heed my advice.
My anti-Superlez stance softened a little when I learned that Twathopper got some finger action from her, and I figured that while she may be obnoxious, maybe she would at least get my apprentice over the figurative hump. Unfortunately, Superlez then decided their bedroom antics were going to plateau there, because she apparently has fewer lesbian skills than I had at 15. I mean, I wrote some appalling poetry back then, but it only took me about a week or two to graduate to L'ing P once we got the fingerbanging routine down. Instead of progressing sexually, Superlez stalled via completely sexless phone sex which Twathopper described as "telling me how hot I was" and "what she liked about me." I am not at all surprised that is an accurate description of lesbian phone sex. I bet that segued into an incredibly sexy description of all the boobmashing they could do. She also did a lot of sexless dirty talk that Twathopper did not appreciate, such as strange routines involving baby talked references to nursing to precede some breast suckling. GROSS. After all this hassle and for all her talk about being the biggest dyke at the sushi bar, Superlez still never went downtown, so Twathopper finally cut her loose.
However, she did not stop stalking Superlez via social networking sites, and yesterday sent me her MySpace page. Twathopper made me swear to the Goddess that I would not post a link to it (although I DESPERATELY wish I could), so I will just have to describe what to me looked like a bullet safely dodged. After squinting to read anything beyond Superlez's annoying profile wallpaper of a group of lesbians white-water rafting, I noticed that her sole interest was under (of course) music, and seemed to be limited to some Lisa Loeb wannabe named Ingrid Michaelson who Wikipedia describes as an "indie-pop singer/songwriter" and is "most notably" famous for having contributed 6 songs on the "Gray's Anatomy" soundtrack. She also counts Marlee Matlin among her "Top Friends," because like every predictable-ass pushy lesbo, Superlez loves "The L Word." She also probably has a crushing handshake and a collection of Dar Williams CDs. Other than that, Superlez just exhibits about fifty million pictures of either herself looking mysterious, or herself posing in various Brooklyn establishments with her new girlfriend who is CLEARLY a Nerve.com find judging by her mousy hipster appearance. She also seems to think that, despite her butt girlfriend, she's still quite the lothario as evidenced by her continued attempts to IM and text flirtatiously with Twathopper. IF ONLY I could post her picture and proceed to–in the words of Lil' Wayne–cool her ass down if she thinks she's hot shit, because while she isn't bad looking, the sheer volume of ridiculous brooding, contrived self-portraits make her as unattractive as her personality does within five minutes of meeting this silly twat.
Anyway, with such a dismal history of dating, I am pretty sure that Twathopper can't do any worse at Pride this weekend than the prostitutes she's already wasted ample time on. I'm sure we can find a slightly better broad than the extracurricular subletters, cancer fakers, and bossy self-appointed lesbian ambassadors she's been messing with. Surely we can find her some nice, normal Tori Amos fan for her to swap Lilith Fair stories with, commence cohabitation, and celebrate their love with a romantic Teagan and Sara concert.
Labels: JerseyGirl, lezbollah, sex, sluts, Twathopper
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