Showing posts with label whores. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whores. Show all posts

Friday, February 3, 2012

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #15: SOCIETY OF WHORES


I remember a while ago, a lot of my friends were getting excited over an online social network called MySpace, and they were practically begging me to join. I showed a great deal of reluctance, mostly because I’m not too big a fan of the Internet. I don’t even have it at home right now. I just use my connection at work and at the library. Back then, I mostly used it for email, which even I have recognized as a day-to-day important technology.



Most people use the Internet for porn, or for pictures of cute kitties. To each their own.


I’ve come around slightly since then, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Many of you know that my friends eventually talked me into joining MySpace, and I did recognize its potential as a way to get to know people. To be entertained. And also, to entertain.


But one day . . . MySpace didn’t seem quite so important. Everyone was talking about Facebook instead. Why? What happened to make MySpace an online graveyard?


Has anyone been back to MySpace lately? Just to see what’s going on? Or even out of morbid curiosity? I have. Anyone else who has, as well, knows what the problem is. Who else is still hanging around MySpace on a regular basis? Whores. MySpace is a society of whores, and that’s where things went wrong.


I’m not talking about spammers. I’m talking about something even more insidious. Let me tell you how things went down for me, and we can compare notes afterward.


I decided, when I joined MySpace as Tusitala (for purposes of my magazine, TABARD INN), that I would befriend anyone who sought me out, provided they weren’t spammers and they were 18 or over. (I only ever broke my second rule twice, and they were exceptions for family members.)


I learned a lot about other publications through MySpace, and as a result, I managed to get published in a few other magazines. Pretty cool, right? I made friends with a lot of fellow writers, many of whom were really nice folks. But then . . . there were a few other writers I noticed who weren’t really interested in making friends.


They were interested in making sales. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. The only time they ever sent out bulletins or posted blogs was when they were trying to sell something.


Don’t get me wrong. I’ve promoted stuff through social networks. There’s nothing wrong with that. But when it’s the ONLY thing you do? That makes me suspicious. Also, a bit nauseous. I’m supposed to be talking to people online, not marketing robots.


So when my friends started trying to convince me to join Facebook instead, I gave in. Fuck it, right? Except this time, I decided that I would only befriend people who were actually interested in having fun and getting a laugh out of the online society. No more acceptance of people who were interested only in pimping their shit.


As a result, my use of Facebook (and Twitter, when it comes to that) has been a lot happier.


However, I’m starting to notice something that threatens the haven of Facebook and Twitter. More and more, companies are using social networks to advertise. They offer deals to people only if they send a friend request on Facebook. Get fifty-percent off if you follow us on Twitter.


And sure enough, many of you fall for it. That’s your business. As for me, I’ve pledged never to have any dealings with companies like Bank of America or McDonald’s or Coca-Cola or even Jim Beam online. I’m much happier for it. But I sense a lot of you are going to have a falling out with Facebook over this pretty soon. I can easily see Facebook joining the MySpace society of whores.


I have only one rule when it comes to social networking, and perhaps you can benefit from this: these places exist for making and maintaining friendships, not for making customers. Promote your stuff, but remember to be human. Have an opinion every once in a while. And don’t forget to have a few laughs.


Speaking of opinions, I’d love to hear yours in the comments below.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

FINNEGAN'S FUCK

[A WHILE AGO, FELLOW TABARD INN-ER JESSE RUSSELL AND I PLANNED ON STARTING A TWO-MAN BAND WHICH WOULD PERFORM ONLY DRINKING SONGS.  SADLY, WE NEVER GOT AROUND TO ACHIEVING THIS BECAUSE OF CONFLICTING SCHEDULES AND LACK OF TIME.  I WROTE SOME LYRICS, BUT WE COULD NEVER MAKE THE TIME TO PUT MUSIC TO THEM.  I THINK I'M GOING TO START POSTING THEM HERE, SO THEY DON'T GO TO WASTE.  THIS ONE ISN'T SO MUCH OF A DRINKING SONG, BUT IT COULD EASILY BECOME ONE, AS YOU'LL BE ABLE TO SEE BELOW.]



At age fifty-four, Finnegan was no lad

Gray, puffy, and balding, but still he had
Enough lead in his pencil to write a book
Or at least a short story, by hook or crook.
But some days are limp
He’s feeling less pimp
He hates being such a gimp.



For such days he keeps on hand
A little bottle of blue pills and
The phone number of a good whore
Who always leaves him begging for more.
He gives her a call
He’s excited to ball
He’s ready to give it his all.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



He pops a blue pill in his mouth
And feels a tingling down south
But it’s going too slow
Can’t go with the flow
He takes two more
And sits at the door
Waiting for his favorite whore.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



Finnegan tears her clothes asunder
And plugs her up with a cock of thunder
He rides her with ferocity
And moves with such velocity
His heart rate soars
He’s on all fours
Wishing he had more whores.




His groin is scorched and his heart is numb
It spreads to his left arm and he knows how dumb
He was to take so many pills
But it was worth the thrills
If he could cum
Before his bum
Ticker could turn to chewing gum.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



His heart has stopped in his chest
And he squeezes her left breast
One last time before he’s through
At least he’s able to squirt his goo
At the last
He stops moving fast
And even in death he’s at half-mast.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Done in by his naughty trouser snake.
And now it’s time for Finnegan’s wake!