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Thursday, January 29, 2004
Goddamn it, there is no such thing as a bisexual, Matt Holland. But we'll hold off on that theory for the moment. I read your post, and something now came belatedly to mind, a bit of an anecdote. Approximately five months ago (I was working at Waldenbooks at the time, which will prove to be important information later on) my grandmother had a stroke. Nothing serious, just a bit of a jostle, really. To call it a "stroke" is stretching the truth a bit for means of spicing up my story. Moving on, this twitch of her heart sent her on a painful journey down a flight of steps headlong, which resulted in four or five broken bones and a short hospital stay. Slightly distressed the following day at work, I told my manager about my grandmother's depleting heart efficiency in passing, and she displayed an adequate amount of compassion while still maintaining her hard-ass exterior for purposes of class distinction (me, the worker bee, and her, the queen). I should tell you that I had put in my two weeks retirement notice some three days prior. Anyway, two days later (a week or so before my parting with the Waldenbooks company), as luck would have it, I woke nearly three hours late for work, and, as luck would have it, I was to open that day, alone, and be there, alone, for three hours. At about the time I was zipping away from my apartment, my manager was disdainfully unlocking the doors to a Waldenbooks that, for the first time in five years at the very least, had made no money between the hours of 8 AM and 11 AM on a weekday. Needless to say, when I showed up, she was livid. So, concluding that blaming Sony (the makers of my alarm clock at the time) probably would not be beneficial, I feigned tears and told her my grandmother passed away that morning. Of course, she couldn't question this because I had told her of my grandmother's deficient heart just days earlier. In fact, she gave me the succeeding four days off to go back to Denver for the funeral and to congregate with family. There was no funeral, because no one, indeed, had died. Nonetheless, I did go to Denver to have uncomfortable sex with my now ex-girlfriend (if you knew her story, you might say karma has already gotten me back ten-fold). So, there you have it, a little tale I've entitled: How Curt Wallach Beat the System Just by Sacrificing Morals or Who's the Bitch Now, Waldenbooks?

No such thing as a bisexual, Curt? That's right. I was forced into explaining this last night to a "bisexual" female by the name of, well, we'll call her Diane. Diane Hemming. I have never met a bisexual who does not prefer either the dick or vagina, respectively. And she was no exception. In her case, it's the vagina. However, she is a lesbian who will, at times, settle for the dick. No one, and I mean no one, has no preference. We're talking chocolate and vanilla ice cream here, people. If a man who extremely enjoys fucking his best friend, a rough trick named Bill, also thinks it's kind of fun fucking his next door neighbor Jennifer, he's not bisexual. He's gay, gay but fucking Jennifer because he fails to have a man around to fuck while fucking Jennifer. I don't know why I felt compelled to share this. I just hate people who say they're bisexual. It's like trying to one-up the increasingly chic gay population. Also, though it pains me to say this, I do not think there are lipstick lesbians. However, if you'd like to argue that last point with me, and if you live in the Denver metro area, call 303-744-7586, and Diane Hemming, you and I will discuss it over some wine and pornography. Maybe we'll work into a three-way.

Vote Edwards. Actually, vote anyone other than Bush.

PS -- I'd like to apologize to Matt if my story irked him in any way. I lack pretty much any sort of feeling, though I am sorry to hear of your grandmother and I hope life finds you quite happy quite soon.

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