Track Records.

Thursday, 28 June 2007

There’s no need to state that I don’t have a sterling record when it comes to choice in women. Apart from the last one, of course, and even then You and I both know that I goddamn won the lottery there.

My best friend Blake however, is a whole other can of worms. I am NO ONE TO JUDGE. Don’t get me wrong, but honestly, his track record has been slightly unfortunate. The truth is that apart from one (1) girl (who turned out to be what I can only measure as a mentally UNHINGED freak of nature) they’ve so far been...well...kind of monstrous.

Don’t take my word for it, I could be being harsh, you decide. Let’s take a look at them shall we?

Allrighty, first of all there was The Old Slut. Blake hooked up with her on camp in ninth grade high-school. General Skankiness was her crime, a crime I may have committed myself once or twice. Then, and Good Lord this one is a winner, there’s The Zealot. The Zealot was a member of a local revivalist Christian Congregation that she herself described to me as ‘charismatic’. Which we all know means, when referring to Faith, completely full of shit.

She once quite cheerily told me about a member of her congregation who was “Demonically Oppressed” or as they call it in the films POSSESSED. Yeah, you understand now, The Zealot. Apparently this weirdo from her church was prone to violently exploding into fits during the service, screaming and lurching about on the floor amongst the rows of Christians groaning and dribbling and speaking n tongues.

“Isn’t that freaky?” She asked me.

“I don’t know. How long is your service?”

Needless to say Blake, while not strictly an atheist, was not exactly full of the spirit of Christ, so his new main stab was a bit curious for us all.

She didn’t drink, she didn’t smoke, she didn’t swear, but one day Blake came to school with a love bite on his neck the size of a softball. He couldn’t turn his head. I didn’t try to understand it. I just tried to pretend that I hadn’t seen it. Goddamned religious freaks... Anyhow, Blake broke up with her because... Well I can’t remember why but I think we can all agree that it’s hardly important given the things about her I’ve already described. A couple of months after that her father died out of the blue and she ‘lost her faith’. Funny how things happen huh?

After The Zealot, there was something far, far worse. It was The Queen of the Harpies. Her Majesty came to us from Bear Creek, California and had all the sass and attitude of a feral cat. At first hr foreign-ness was tantamount to some actual virtue and she humoured me briefly. Eventually I came to see the malevolent evil that was buried not so far beneath the surface. Unfortunately Dear Blake was not so astute and failed to see the 666 birthmark under her poo-brown, chemically straightened hair.

Anyhow, a couple of years later Blake was allowed for some strange piece of mercy, o speak to me again and I was able to come into the fold just in time to see him hook up with some hot blonde and promptly send The Queen of the Harpies packing all the way back to Bear Creek California. Unfortunately I still had to hear about the atrocities she had committed. She once threw a thick-glassed High-ball at Blake when he refused to get her an Iced cream. What a fat shit. Also she was violent, rude, over bearing, domineering, repugnant, adulterous, and an all around nine-sided whore. She used to rave on, for no apparent reason about how she was half Mexican? And went about the place calling Marlboro Lights “Luckys” like Marlboro Lights wasn’t a good enough name...(I may leave this list of atrocities open and update you all with an episode out of “The Chronicles of The Queen of the Harpies” regularly.)

Anyway, The Hot Blonde who effectively spelt the end for The Queen of the Harpies turned out to be a Goddamned psycho who shagged Blake’s arse off and then left him without another word for a fat, hairy, smelly, ugly, virgin and that, as they say, was that.

That brings us up to the present day and almost to the end of this entry, Thank Christ. Blake’s last conquest, while not strictly as hideous as the last few, was still a curiosity at best.

Here is a list of her crimes:

1. She was friends with Daphne. I don’t have all the time in the world to explain it but just rest assured that this is serious enough to head up her list of crimes.

2. She was generally rude to Velvet & I, which when you think about it isn’t such a good thing to do to your boyfriends friends...

3. She constantly blanked Velvet & I and people we know

4. She told Blake that she didn’t want to come to our place, and she didn’t want him to go either because we were his friends, not hers. (And on the off chance Blake insisted she come, she would just sit there on the couch and brood.)

5. She wore a BUN!

6. All. She. Ever. Talked. About. Was. Dance.

7. She was a closet Bogan

And all the rest.... Like I said, not enough time to list ALL of her atrocities. So eventually she sucker-punched Blake with the old, “I think we should break up and then maybe after we’ve been broken up a while and I’ve had some space and a chance to think (screw around) then we might get back together again.” routine. Blake suspected that the “we might get back together” clause was just a ruse to make the “let’s break up” part easier for her. And he was right.

SO. Now I’ve decided to take over his choice in women, and I’ve worked out that he needs to go for the exact opposite of what he usually goes for. Surprisingly enough, this equates to super-stinkin’-hot-hottie, who is funny and nice and a little bit flirty and who NEVER wears her hair in a bun. I told Blake about this new criteria and he said to me:

“Go after a really really attractive girl? Pfft! Yeah right! How about I just be realistic instead?”

Clearly Blake has all the self esteem of a billy-clubbed crack whore.

That’s his photo all the way up the top there. If you’d do him, drop me a line and I’ll send him to you, cashed up and a little bit sauced (for his nerves) and I promise if you treat him nice, he’ll mostly do the same. Trust me, whoever you are, he’s done worse...

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