I love you. No, no. Don't say a word, stranger. I know you feel the same way too. You've been looking at my blog for the last couple of hours. Savouring everything I've written. Let's meet. I'll bring chocolates. Who knows. A little wine. A comfortable room...
Lets make babies together.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
15 comments:
Dude, I'm a dude.
Dave, so sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think it was you. I was talking to the good looking person who spent two whole hours reading my blog earlier on. They were clearly a person of distinction, intelligence, and great wit. I sensed it was a woman. Don't ask me how: I just knew. I have a way about me, you see, that just knows when a lady is interested.
82% of women who post and chat on the internet are in fact men. This is absolutely true.
But 87% of men who post at men on the internet are actually women. By these odds, one of us smells of juniper and doesn't drink real ale.
What you doing tonight, gorgeous?
Washing my hair.
Damn it! Given the evil feminisation of male culture, washing you hair probably does mean that you're a man.
Do I detect a note of hope in that "probably"?
Absolutely not!
No!
Nyet!
Nein!
Nope!
No way, Jose!
Sorry, Dave, but I'm a lady's man and prefer my ladies to be built like Judy.
Could it be that you've replaced the newspaper for someones bathroom break?
1st Lady, I would hope that my reader would consult a doctor if s/he needs a two hour bathroom break. Instead, I like to think of them as an enormously influential publisher/literary agent scouting for talent to take to the next level and become the new Bill Bryson.
Or, of course, it could have just been my psychiatrist checking to see if I'm still taking the medication.
Richard is absolutely right - a good number of 'men' or persons of indeterminate gender one encounters online are actually women. Unless one is in a naughty chat room, in which case one can pretty much state a priori that there are no women in it, just a whole lot of desperate blokes talking dirty to each other.
Curiously enough, if women ever realized that boys talking dirty to each other is what they are missing by staying out of naughty chatrooms, they'd rush in en masse, taking male nicknames as a matter of course. Then one would be faced with the peculiar situation of all the self-identified females in the chatroom being actually male, and all the males female. Consequently, everyone would spent so much time thinking whether their presence in said chatroom meant something unwholesome about their sexuality that all the dirty talk would quickly degenerate into discussions of Foucault.
(You mysterious reader might have been me, incidentally.)
Not unless you were in either Romford or Liverpool (I haven't worked out which yet).
You talk with too much experience of life inside chatrooms. I've never gone in for it myself, though if I did, I think I would be quite good at it. I would take fiendish delight in reducing the whole thing to a farce.
Oh, must dash. I'm writing out my CV and it isn't pretty.
PS. Nobody talks about Foucault these days. Even Foucault wouldn't talk about himself, were he alive. I once read his book about Punishment and thought it a load of old cobblers. I was once asked to write a forward to a new edition and refused on principle.
I've never actually been in a naughty chat room, so this is all purely hypothetical theorizing. But I agree, the temptation to turn the whole thing into a farce would be overwhelming. Like talking someone into a state of high alert and then saying something like "Baby, I'm sweating so much, it's making my clown make-up run."
I think the reason why Foucault is still a force in my university is that he gets taught to us by Arnold Davidson himself. Everyone who's in the humanities usually goes through at least the "History of Sexuality" class. Those who end up delving deeper often end up shaving their heads, which makes them look like a sect.
Post a Comment