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xmag.com : September 2001 : Girl Trouble

"It's All Over"

Here are some things to do while waiting for the world to end:

Threesomes, circle jerks, gangbangs, wife-swapping and any other form of group sexual activity.

These are all a good way to relieve tension and to get to know your neighbors in these questionable times, as you gather around the television for terrorist or war updates. Fear, of course, heightens sexual tension. While the French refer to the orgasm as the "little death."

Psychologically speaking, the subconscious of man has been associating sex with death since Eve took the apple from the snake. And the urge to kill or fuck both originate in the most primitive part of the brain left over from the dinosaurs, so...sharing this sexual frenzy, whipped up by the winds of fear of the unknown--the end of life as we know it--heightens the experience for all parties involved.

For example: Men could stand around in a circle, and vent pent-up anger they're unable to direct at a conventional enemy target by masturbating and ejaculating in unison onto a picture of bin Laden. Patriotic act or perversion? You decide. Either way, it's better than bombing innocent Afghan women and children into the Stone Age.


Say goodbye to safe sex.

With the threat of biological attack whispered in rumors of war, why not take off that rubber and just go bare? Decide your own fate. Pick up a disease for which there is an easily available cure, i.e., Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis. Or contract one like HIV for which there are any number of pharmaceuticals available to allay the onslaught of AIDS well beyond the end of the world. That's far better than your chances with the Ebola, Anthrax, Smallpox and Russian Cocktails picked up through no choice of your own. And with no vaccinations available...When he/she with Hep C says I wanna fuck/get fucked in the ass, what the fuck? By the time your liver starts to break down, we'll all be dead anyway, so...fuck away.



Certainly a good time to fuck around with everyone's attention diverted towards the Big Events. It's kinda like the old standby of the magician performing sleight of hand--distracting your attention over here while he does something completely unexpected beyond your preoccupation. Going to war with Afghanistan, Pakistan, the entire Middle East, let's face it: He or she would never suspect you're stepping out on them. And why deny yourself? After all, we live in the land of Satan. Might as well live down to your reputation. Some terrorist is going to drop Ebola out an airplane over your Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood next week. Might as well be culpable of the decadence you're accused of, found guilty and punished for. And live a little.

"And why deny yourself? After all, we live in the land of Satan. Might as well live down to your reputation."


Now here's where you can really cut loose. Let's face it: There are a lot of things you keep on the shelf and don't like to pull down because deep inside your latent Catholic/Christian/Puritanical guilt or fear of societal disdain, there's a strong message that says, "You better not go there." I say, why the hell not? Furthermore, it's a great escape from the tension surrounding the news of the day--speculation from the pundits on TV; and it's free. You don't have to

rent it, buy it, drink it, smoke it, snort it, inject it, use your VISA, MasterCard or American Express. All you have to do is turn on your brain and let it go wherever it wants to. Then sit back, have a cigarette and say to yourself, "Wow. I never knew I had that in me. Guess bin Laden's followers were right about me."


Dirty Movies on TV

Pornography, now here's my specialty, or, at least it's something I get paid to watch. I say, who the hell is going to notice you going into that porno store to rent a pissing, fisting, fattie, donkey tape when the carriers are steaming off to the Mediterranean laden with missiles? You could be forgiven for watching an ass-worship movie or getting into transvestites for a night or going gay or lesbian with your selections. Blame it on stress. "I'm just not myself lately." And let's face it, as long as you have a porno tape tracking through your VCR, you're less likely to cave in to that nasty urge to watch some program detailing the latest developments in America At War. Feel a little shy about renting those S&M, forced feminization, trampling, smothering videos when you walk up to the clerk in the porno store? Forget about it. All bets are off. Anything goes. What does he care? What do you care what he cares when the whole world is going to hell faster than TV producers can format the news to fit your marshmallow brain?


Obsession Profession

Finally, unless you're going to build some survival shelter in Montana, you might as well give your money to some stripper, lingerie model or escort. Make someone happy. 'Cause when you die, you sure as hell can't take it with you. Or, if the world is plunged into economic chaos, your money's not going to have any value anyway. It is, after all, only an idea that we all agree upon. Spend it while you can. What's going to give you more pleasure: a new Lexus or a real fabulous freak show with a lingerie model you can't get out of your head?

If all this seems heartless and cynical, or you believe a word of it, please remember, according to the Buddhists, it's all folly anyway. And the flesh is just a robe for the spirit, rented at best. I'm not going to follow any of my advice. Instead, maybe I'll retreat to a cottage in the country. Chop wood, carry water. Chant "OM." Write poetry. Jerk off into the face of the moon. As Jim Morrison sang, over thirty years ago in his song "The Unknown Soldier":

It's all over, baby. It's all over.





Girl Trouble from Rex Breathes









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