Friday, March 05, 2010
"I am a Miscreant" In Defense of Miscreants by A Miscreant (Meant Mostly for Other Miscreants.)
UFO. "Gone in the Night." From the Album, No Place to Run.
"People try and tell you
Those Married Men Blues
How it ought it to be.."
I'd like to tell you a little more about the night that you just read about in my friend's diatribe against miscreants.
But to be honest I don't remember a lot about it. I remember I passed out on my friends comfy sofa. Then I remember waking up because my toes were being licked by a dog.
I guess dogs like to lick the sick (which is just another thing I don't like about dogs.)
Sure, I am a little grossed out by a dog licking my toes. Who wouldn't be? (Your zoophilia aside.)*
I remember when I woke my socks were damp with blood and saliva. I recall lapping sounds. I am sure the dog had been there a while.
But enough about the dog. Just thinking about that dog licking my ingrown toe nail is making me sick. And I don't want that feeling improaching on the mild buzz I have.
I have a good buzz on because I just discovered wine. Not real wine, but Sangria from Carlos Rossi. Good stuff. Real mellow. A nice buzzy headed feeling that you don't have to "work to" like when you drink beer. And nothing like the reeling, floating feeling you get from drinking too much liquor.
I am going to try and remember some other things from that night.
I remember getting kissed a few times by a girl. The girl was a cousin of a friend of (JAVI's AKA HAPPY AKA X-MAN.)
I remember the girl got crazy ass pissed at me. She was deliriously drunk from shots of Patron. She shouted explicatives at me while fingering her Infinity car key ring.
She said stuff like, "You're a pedophile!" "You're a rapist!"
I've got to admit, I was impressed with her ability to read personality. But I was also pissed off, because I felt like a 1970's poster of Farrah Fawcett. Completely, see through.
I was like. "Look dude. You might be right, but I am wondering just how you came about your information. I mean... you just met me. I have not given you a god damn clue... as to any inclinations I might have."
The bitch was unamendable to my logic. She just kept screaming at me. Eventually I had to wake up Javi and get the hell out of his friend's cousins house.
I heard her scream as we exited the house.
"The cops are on the way. I know you touched my daughter!"
On the walk home I talked to Javi about my confusement.
"That bitch got a daughter?" I asked Javi.
"Her?" He replied. "No fucking way."
I was pretty confident about that, but I like to be sure.
So far nothing criminal.
Still, I know you want to call me a Miscreant. Also, you probably don't like how I called you out on why your dog likes peanut butter so much. But fuck. You got a weird relationship with your dog.
That's how you get labeled a criminal. The thing is (like my friend suggested) we all do criminal shit. Some of us get caught. Others of us don't.
Now you can think to yourself that the reason you don't get caught is that god favors you. But that kind of fallacy is pretty easy to refute.
I won't, because simply calling your rationalization a fallacy has embarrassed you enough. And if there is one thing I am not into... it's embarrassing you.
Now that you have accepted my premises, the only thing we have to discuss is the degree of guilt we criminals should feel.
A person who commits a crime, but knows it wrong, is an asshole. A person who commits a crime, but has a clear conscious, is...well...he's an asshole too. Just an asshole of a different type.
Maybe he is self-deluded. Maybe he is irrational. Maybe he suffers from egomania.
I hope I don't suffer from any personality disorders. Heck, the only reason I think I am smart is my mommy told me I was.
And I am pretty sure my mommy would not lie to me.
*Scientists say that women are far more turned on by scenes of animal/human sex contact than men. (Though my quick trip through google could not confirm my assertion.)