Time flies and nothing comes out of it. The most significant thing happening to me in the last 6 weeks was dropping my friggin’ iphone in the toilet, a posterior – if that’s the correct term. Had no choice but to fish it out and do all the stuff those self-proclaimed Youtube gurus tell you – you know, the hairdryer bit and all that. But my iPhone’s in RIP-forever mode now, folks, and don’t blame me ’cause this time it was a stupid accident though last time it kinda wasn’t.
Yeah. A year ago I got the bright-ass idea of going sayonara – you know, making a fuck-it-all swandive sortie. This was after Linda and I had done our little experiment which had come off so badly, and I was so down and I was so trashed, and you know, all the shit at home, and my skin, like, totally peak disaster. And so there I am at, like, seven in the morning in my new Chucks I got on eBay for 12 dollars and my Xolonso prerips balancing on the guardrail of the Kerry Bridge, like, I’m totally ready to go. And then it hits me – shit, I’ve got my phone on me! And, you know, I’m idiot-thinking how much it cost and how they probably won’t be able to cancel the plan and what about all my private stuff on there? Like, dilemmaville, big time!
So, anyway I’m up on that railing trying to figure out a solution and looking a little crazy I guess ’cause some guy is running over screaming, Don’t do it, don’t do it, Miss – like it’s any of his business – and then, and this is really sick, instead of throwing myself into the fuckin’ Missouri according to plan, I throw the goddamn phone. Can you believe it? A total cop-out. And like, kerplunkaroo there goes all those phone numbers, emails, FB pseudo-friends, turdloads of messages and chats, who knows how many pics and all right down into the shit-brown freezin’ water. And I swear I heard those digibits, or whatever they’re called, screaming as they cooked and sank. I sacrificed that iPhone like one of those lambs in Genesis and I’m left behind as a living member of the shit-faced, beyond-repair human race.
And Mr Goodguy who wanted to be my savior goes, I thought you were gonna jump, Miss. And I go, no way, Jose – just wanted to see if my phone is waterproof.
But you know after that first iPhone loss I felt, like, detoxed, cleansed, purified. It really helped my state of mind. And I figured why not go totally recluse and never get another one. Right? But Mom, surprise-surprise, made me say it had been stolen at school so we could get the insurance coverage and in a couple of weeks I have a new phone and I’m right back in the snapchattinderkik social shitsoup again. And now I’m thinking maybe some guardian angel planned the toilet mishap – you know, giving me a second chance. Only I’m too stupid to take it.
What else is new? Well, Johnny and I haven’t had a bible session since Christmas. Either he is away doing whatever he does at those conferences he goes to or he’s got some other excuse for not showing up. I don’t know if it’s because I came up with those asinine remarks about him finding me sexy or if it’s just that he doesn’t want me to worm out of him what the Hornbacher-DeVos punch-out was all about.
And you know everybody’s acting like it never happened. Hornbacher’s teachin’ and DeVos is preachin’ like so what, whatever. Okay. Only I think I got it figured out. You remember how Johnny let slip that Mrs. Hornbacher had been shacking up with some dude on the side? Well guess what? Reverend DeVos! It has to be DeVos. That would explain everything. As we all know, the reverend is a f-ing slimebag. So it makes sense. Don’t it?
My BFF (lol) Linda says she hasn’t the slightest idea why Hornbacher floored DeVos in her own living room on Christmas day and couldn’t care less. Billy, on the other hand, claims to be in the know. He told me – and keep in mind that Billy is totally incapable of irony – that Mrs. Hornbacher was a member of the Omaha chapter of some devil-worshiping terrorist sect and that she was actually out to kill DeVos. Brilliant theory, Billy! And wait til you hear about some more brilliance from the boy wonder I’m going to share with you a little further on.
But first off, did you know that Linda’s got a new boyfriend? She’s given her quarterback the pink slip now that football season’s over and she’s scored a basketball player. A redhead twice her height. The guy’s a flagpole flying a tomato. And she had the nerve to suggest I give that braindead quarterback a go now that she’s done with him. So thoughtful of you, Linda. So sweet.
I have a confession to make. I stole some cash out of her locker the other day. I admit that don’t sound too cool at face value – it’s just that, well, she’s got so much more money than me and she’s so beautiful and everybody thinks she’s totally hot so I just went ahead and took a few bucks. I mean, like it seems only fair.
Okay, I was going to tell you this thing about Billy. Here it is: He wants us to go into business together.
What kind of business? I ask.
Showbiz, he answers. We can make a fortune, Xena.
And just exactly how will we do that, Billy? I ask.
Camming, Xena. Camming is the shit!
What? You mean like reply girls on Youtube?
There are no reply girls any more, Xena. You should know that. They’ve all moved over to MFC, CB and Fresh Jasmine and all those other places. It’s like a revolution.
MFC? Aren’t those the morons who beat the shit out of each other in cages?
That’s the UFC, Xena. MFC stands for My Free Cam. My Free Cam is the shit. You’ll make a really great CamGirl with your personality and all and I’ll do the technical stuff and be the cameraman.
As far as I know, Billy – though not being an expert on the subject – camgirls don’t have cameramen, they have webcams. That’s the point I believe.
I’d just set it all up for you. You need to be 18, you know. I can get you an ID. I know the internet super good. I’ve got connections in the community. So you can just relax and concentrate on your performance.
Performance? You’re talking about porn, you little asshole.
No, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There are tens of thousands of girls out there who make huge cash just talking to millions of lonely guys. Camgirls are burying the porn industry, Xena. It really is a revolution. You don’t even have to take off your clothes.
I don’t? Thanks, Billy.
They give you tips, Xena. Fives, tens, and much more just for you being nice to them. You can be really nice when you want and you will be helping people. Like I said, I can set it up for you. I’ve got it covered.
I bet you have.
Jesus! Billy’s so horny his zits are leaking cum. But curiosity killed the cat, I wouldn’t be yours truly if I didn’t check out the sites he’s talkin’ about. CB? That stands for Chaturbate. What genius came up with that name? And everywhere there’s these girls. Girls alone in their bedrooms staring into their cams doing nothing more than just looking bored. Only that’s not exactly true because quite a few of them are staring at you with their asses and fondling dildos or holding up their boobs like they’re getting ready for some serious mammography.
(Oh, by the way I forgot to mention when I told you about taking Linda’s money that I also ‘borrowed’ one of her perfumes. Don’t think she’ll miss it, though.)
And it dawns on me that these girls, with their bored looks and their sleepy smiles don’t look that different from me sitting there in front of my computer screen. And I look at myself in facetime and, you know, I’ve got boobs too even if they’re not fabulous like Linda’s and I can wear a t-shirt like that as well if I want, or unbutton my blouse like that. I can do the sleepy smile and the naughty smile. I can do the wicked smile. And I don’t have to fake being bored. I wonder how much those girls really are making? Wonder what Johnny would say?