I went for a run last night on the Venice boardwalk in the dark, one of my favorite pastimes.
I passed a group of homeless meth heads (yes, I know they were meth heads because they looked like [THIS]), and the bald one yelled out to me:
Hey, baby! You ever see a grown white man naked before?
This sounded strange to me. I didn’t know whether to be:
1. Excited because he must have thought my supple skin to be of virgin quality.
2. Insulted because he must have thought I hadn’t been able to get anyone to undress in front of me before.
3. Insulted because he must have thought I was a pedophile and had only seen non-grown naked white men before.
4. Flattered because he must have thought I was a lesbian (I’ve always felt I’m not edgy enough to be a lesbian.).
Involuntarily, I screamed, ‘Yes! Yes, I have.’
The group burst out in meth head laughter.
But then I thought about it.
That meth head knew me so well.
Methy was almost correct in his skepticism.
Now, I’m:
5. Amazed that he could tell I have a black/brown man fetish.
I have actually only seen one grown white man naked. (If you’re reading this, yes it’s you. [see how I did that to make him feel special when I’m actually just covering my ass in case I missed one?]) Genius.
Meth heads are so brilliant. I need to get me some of that. I’ll age prematurely, but I’ll be able to see into the sexual partners of others, an invaluable talent. If this blog gets incoherent and choppy, you know why. But if my face skin starts sloughing off at dinner, can someone please get me on that intervention show so I can have a miracle recovery and then finally get a book deal?
Shit. My future just got so bright. Meth for everyone! On me!