Last week I learned my grandma was reading my column. She didn’t know who the author was until the horrifying conclusion upon which she said to my mom, “Susie, I thought Jackie wanted to work for NBC. Sounds like he wants to burn that mother down!” Hey, just cause I’ve dreamt of something my whole life doesn’t mean I can’t defecate all over it.
Take love. I’ve spent most of my life searching every nook and cranny for love. I’ve searched high and drunk, from top to bottom and sometimes even from power-bottom, doing the dirty work in my quest for love. But still, no afro pick.
What am I even searching for? What is love? How long does it last? If it’s longer than four hours, should I call a doctor or more ladies?
Robert Mitchum said, “Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to find it.” I’m sure Duke, Horizontal would agree, but she’d probably say it involves lollipops and nip-clips too. But I undress. I mean, call me?
If you don’t mind, I’d like to get deep for a second. Was that as good for you as it was for me? Let’s have a cig and talk about love.
Sometimes, you think you’re in love, and then you wake up naked, sheets soaked with urine, and wonder—wait, where the hell am I? Other times, you think you’re in love and, to show it, you take her on an expensive date only to find her in the bathroom for a post-dinner purge. That’s the last time I take you to Chubby’s Tacos.
If only we could have gone to a movie instead. Something along the lines of Love Actually, star-studded but with American actors and actresses instead of those from Jolly Old England. Something so obnoxiously star-packed it makes Jamie Foxx’s namedropping appearance on The Today Show look like an episode of Hollywood Squares. That sounds like a good idea for a Valentine’s Day movie. I wish someone would make it.
What I love about love is how transcends all boundaries like age. Take Madonna and her boyfriend Jesus Luz. People keep saying it’s weird that he’s daggering someone older than his mother, but I think it’s weird Jesus is stuffing Madonna. Isn’t that blasphemous? I bet Joseph is calling in his three wise guys to rough up Jesus in the wood shop.
It has been said that love has no price tag, yet Valentine’s Day is the opposite of cost effective. Men always complain about having to spend money on women for the holiday, but I don’t mind it. What upsets me is the incongruity between the gifts I give and the gifts I receive. Received: Sum 41 CD, a giant poster of us and finally nothing at all. Sum 41? Talk about baby-making music. The poster? Do you expect me to hang this up, Sarah? I got both of you earrings! And you, girl who gives nothing on Valentines Day, I’m glad I Indian-gifted that lube.
Someone once told me, “How can you love me if you only love yourself?” I responded by taking the lube back. One day I’ll find it, but as Jack told Rose in Titanic, “Step up on the railing. Hold on, hold on. Keep your eyes closed. Do you trust me?” Then he took her from behind. Wait, no that was T—tanic.
Regardless, as Nietzsche said, “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.” I’m sure the right, short, skinny, large-chested, home-cooking, carpet-cleaning, child-rearing, sexual freak is out there somewhere just waiting for me.
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