Wow...if only I'd known. If only someone had TOLD me...it probably
wouldn't have made a difference, but at least I wouldn't have been so
surprised. Last night I journeyed into the belly of the great Pink
beast. I went to a Chamber of Commerce "Business after hours" party
last night. It was not my choice, but it was certainly interesting
I have this cute little publisher that I work for. She's really
pretty, bright, and pleasant. For some reason, she loves me. Honest to
"Bob" I can't figure it out...but I'm not going to bitch. Except that
I ran into her on Monday night and she said, "I want you to come to
this party. Wear your little black dress." I said, "Shall I slick my
hair back, wear red lipstick, and look like a Robert Palmer girl?" She
said, "Yes." So I did.
Now...I get to this thing around 5:15, and there are a few people
milling around shmoozing each other. By 6:30 the place is jam-packed
with suits, aftershave, and expensive haircuts. I was stunned. I
thought I knew everyone in town, but I didn't know anyone who COUNTED
until last night.
Remember the SNL sketch where Eddie Murphy dresses up as a white guy
and discovers that whites have a "secret society?" I felt just like
that. I stood around looking decorative and smiling smiling smiling
with my little red "host" ribbon on. Julie kept introducing me to
people whose names ran out of my head before I heard them.
People were exchanging business cards and chowing down. Deals were
being arranged even as they emptied the beer tubs and wine boxes. I
was standing in the middle of a crowd of about 350 of Norman's movers
and shakers, knowing full well, that all it would take...was for me to
roll over and turn on the charm. I could have sold paintings last
night. I could have gotten more work, and hustled another connection
or two, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't let them
believe that I was one of them. I couldn't tell that lie.
I found my friend, Patience (who must have been having as hard a time
as I was, her hair is even weirder than mine.) and we talked about
them as they passed by us, going through the line for another serving.
"Look at them," I said. "All dressed up tight, because they believe
that's the only way to do it." She suggested that makeup and fancy
clothes were fun. I agreed, but added "Only if you're aware that what
you're doing is decorating yourself. If you do it because you think
you have to in order to be "acceptible" then you're dead-ass Pink."
She didn't know what Pink was, but she agreed with the concept.
Here's the best part of the night...some guy tried to pick me up!
Yeah, you guys act scared to death of me, and some weenie at a Chamber
of Commerce party attempts to score with the Tarlinator. He even had
the gall to TOUCH me. No, I didn't kill him (right then), there were
too many witnesses. But should his penis suddenly retract into his
abdominal cavity, you know where to look for the curse.
Reverend Mutha Tarla, Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy,
A Proud Jism Schism of the Church of the SubGenius, Worshipping
"Connie" Dobbs and Juicy Retardo since 1986
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Andrew Matthews)
In a previous article, email@example.com (TarlaStar) says:
>That was just it...Julie specifically asked me not to kill anyone. She
>said it would look bad for the magazine or some such bullshit.
And you didn't! Good for you! Here's a frop-brownie. :)
>He was really lame at pick ups too. Get this line...
>Him: Did I tell you that you're really cute?
Yikes! Skerree. Reminds me of what I kept on thinking when out
in Cleveland for the devival. I was really hoping to see someone
use a SubGenii pickup line, like "Say babe, got any Yeti in you?
Would you like some?" or perhaps more purely Janorial lines
(which may or may not get you laid, depending on what era of
Janorial testimony you're using (GRIN)) like "Hey babe, what's
my sign?" or "What's a cheap slut like you doing in a ritzy place
Ah yes... that first move is always a killer.
Let me recollect a while... I was in a punk bar in Kansas City MO
(which, by the way, had Dobbsheads ALL over the place, seems like
there was a good scene there a good 5 or so years ago), and my
pals and I were out oggling the femmes. One in particular caught
my eye because she was wearing a shirt reading "Fuck me and the
horse I rode in on." I had to talk to her...
Me: Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice your shirt... Very
She smiles, giving me the once-over and says "Thanks"
Me: But, I had to wonder, you know... The message is kind of direct,
you know? Where's the mystery? Where's the romance? Where's the
anticipation?... Hell, where's the damn horse?
The smile fades slowly as my witty grin grows...
And she decked me.
Right there, in front of everyone.
And she walked away...
Yes-sir-ee-"Bob", I *SCORED*!!! Had a slight bruise on my cheek
for the rest of the night... yes yes yes yes yes yes yes...
OGYR NETWORK ONLINE
Tip O' The Day: Watch what you say to a chick with half her head
shaved. She might get offended easily. And, they can pack a punch.
$aint @ndrew, KSC. Ogyr Network. An official SubGenius Mutant-Of-The-Cloth.
snail-mail: Send $2 cash to OGYR NETWORK | PO BOX 53 | PLAINFIELD, IL. 60544
email: firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com
www: OGYR NETWORK ONLINE: http://www.prairienet.org/~saint/homepage.html
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