have you ever dated a girl who worked in a coffee shop? i know that reference might go over a few younger readers heads - shit - does anyone under 21 drink coffee? are there even coffee shops out there anymore? theres like four in the whole world or something.
and i aint talking about some Starbucks girl (which is fine, dont get me wrong). i’m talking about the girl at the little corner place who “doesnt like bras” and “is really into Joanna Newsom”. those girls always had weed laying around and an equally hot room mate. it was fucking rad.
most girls you can take to a bar and they’ll bring a flask and talk to you about ‘how much it sucks to be 29’ and if you DO get laid that night theres kind of a “oh, well, huh” afterwards. i mean, what do you say in 50 years when theres a “grandpa how did you meet grandma?” sort of thing? “well, billy, she begrudgingly let me put it in her after i plied her with $47 worth of mid-priced gin over a six hour conversation about The Murder City Devils”?
but those fucking indie coffee shop girls? it was like Wifeville: Population Her. even if you were at some dive bar every time you hung out with them it felt like a fucking picnic in rural France in the 50’s and you thought the whole summer was going to be blowjobs and sundaes. it was like you were in a sitcom named “Spoonin’!” where the main characters were just you, her, and her cat Pickles (voiced from beyond the grave by John Candy).
and then something shitty happens. like: you kind of, maybe, sort of, accidentally fell into another vagina. you were just walking along and this Very Mean Young Lady tripped you and you just fell penis first into her lady parts where the very definition of “myopic” was written on her vaginal walls. whoops! and then you fucked it up big time. and then she cried a whole bunch. or maybe you did. its ok to cry, fellas. just dont be eating when youre crying. thats just awkward for everybody. saw a dude cry at Subways one time. and he was making the sandwich. not cool.
there is an end to all good things, sadly. which isnt to say there wont be others coming, but the secret to a good Long Term Boner Party is to remember what made it good in the first place, and when its over, its over, and when you gotta go you gotta go. because a perfect Boner Party can become a Moaner Party pretty easy. y’dig?
(photo via jacobsknabb)
bonerparty is like tyler durden, during the 2nd act of fight club. i’m still convinced it’s a real, separate identity, and everything i get told by it, is true and reallly profound in a weirdly shallow way. But I’m scared for what’s coming next… all that robert paulson shit, then funky slow motion sex with helena bonham carter… fuckit i’ll just shoot myself in the cheek now and get it over with. god bless bonerparty.
