Tuesday, July 7, 2009

At A Loss For Words

I'm drawing a blank today. I got nothing. I'm usually not lacking for subject matter and opinions, as I think you know by now. But today...
It doesn't feel good, being blocked like this. This never happens to me. Jesus, I sound like a guy talking about his limp dick, except I'm the limp dick!

I blame Michael Jackson. Ever since he died, the mental energy of the country--maybe the world--has been focused on him. The economy is crumbling, we're fighting two wars, my movie is on DVD and yet the only thing anyone wants to talk about is Jacko. And this morning, of course, is his memorial service, so even the roads are blocked.

Well, I'm not going to join that party. He's had his time in this blog. If I have to be the only living thing on this planet not thinking or talking about Michael Jackson, so be it. This is one monster cock that is spending the morning otherwise engaged. Why did Lisa Marie Presley marry him? Clearly she wasn't looking for someone who reminded her of daddy. Yeah, they were both superstars who knew how to move; one of them a white guy who wanted to be black and the other a black guy who wanted to be white. They had their famous estates with fairy tale names. Fans loved to impersonate them. But Elvis was a man's man, and MJ was a man child. So what did she see in him--God knows she didn't need the money. Maybe she wanted to save him. She saw a great talent going down the drain, personally and professionally, and she resolved to succeed where her mother failed.

I wonder how big his cock was. Black guys are justifiably celebrated for the size of their dicks, but it's hard to picture Michael with any dick, much less a substantial one--ironic, considering how many times he'd grab it during his performances. It's almost as if he wanted to remind people (or himself?) that he had one. I always thought it was an absurd gesture, devoid of the sexual potency it was meant to convey. You know what conveys sexual potency? Fucking. But I don't think he ever fucked anything in his life. "He's got three kids" you say? Trust me, whatever sperm made those kids were not motivated by vagina.

To this day, there are only two songs that can literally force me onto a dance floor--"Brick House" and "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough." I can't resist those grooves, I just can't. Maybe that's what I should do to overcome this block. I'll put on "Off the Wall." Damn, the guy could sing.
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