Repellent
My girlfriend and I got sort of half-assedely sucked into watching an MTV Cribs marathon last night, which, I know, is completely unacceptable behavior for two adults. My only defense is that we were both really tired and that I have a sick fascination with all the useless diamond-covered crap that rappers put in their houses. Anyway, there wasn't anything particularly fascinating in this batch of shows... well, one rap guy blatantly admitted to having orgies and smoking pot about thirty seconds after introducing us to his three year old son who sleeps in the next room, which I'm pretty sure is reasonable grounds for the state to get involved. Otherwise, it was pretty eh.
There was, however, one moment where all hope and goodness was sapped from our world; where the forces of darkness closed around us and we were all, at once, entirely aware that we were alone in a Godless universe... It happened during a segment on Carlos Mencia's house.
Things were okay at first; he was showing off his place, being his usual totally-devoid-of-funny self. We had reached his screening room which, side note, me want. I need to watch Evil Dead for the 200th time on a huge screen while I sit in a comfy leather chair 50 feet from my bedroom. But I digress. Mencia was being not-at-all interesting, talking about how he loves to watch the The Matrix all the time (what. a. shock.) when, from out his mouth, striking like a mugger leaping from the shadows, he said...
"My favorite thing to watch... heh... my wife and I sometimes make videos of ourselves making love and I like to watch 'em in here. Makes me look huge in all the right places."
I missed the rest of the episode because I was barfing out my bedroom window for a good twenty minutes. There are some things that just should never cross your mind and the thought of Mencia's flabby, sweaty body thrusting on top of whatever trophy blonde (please, of course she's a blond) he's managed to lure into his sad, humorless world. Her commitment to the craft of goldigging actually inspires awe and admiration in my heart.
Blech... I can't talk about it anymore.
Just, please... Carlos Mencia... don't talk about your sex life anymore. It's too horrible. I'm sure your wife agrees.
There was, however, one moment where all hope and goodness was sapped from our world; where the forces of darkness closed around us and we were all, at once, entirely aware that we were alone in a Godless universe... It happened during a segment on Carlos Mencia's house.
Things were okay at first; he was showing off his place, being his usual totally-devoid-of-funny self. We had reached his screening room which, side note, me want. I need to watch Evil Dead for the 200th time on a huge screen while I sit in a comfy leather chair 50 feet from my bedroom. But I digress. Mencia was being not-at-all interesting, talking about how he loves to watch the The Matrix all the time (what. a. shock.) when, from out his mouth, striking like a mugger leaping from the shadows, he said...
"My favorite thing to watch... heh... my wife and I sometimes make videos of ourselves making love and I like to watch 'em in here. Makes me look huge in all the right places."
I missed the rest of the episode because I was barfing out my bedroom window for a good twenty minutes. There are some things that just should never cross your mind and the thought of Mencia's flabby, sweaty body thrusting on top of whatever trophy blonde (please, of course she's a blond) he's managed to lure into his sad, humorless world. Her commitment to the craft of goldigging actually inspires awe and admiration in my heart.
Blech... I can't talk about it anymore.
Just, please... Carlos Mencia... don't talk about your sex life anymore. It's too horrible. I'm sure your wife agrees.
posted by Clinton at 9:30 AM
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