|WEEK IN CRAIG: THE BOY TOY SPEAKETH.|
|Amy Blair with Arie|
Like every smart New York girl, I like to keep a man around to cook me dinner, do my laundry, polish my shoes, and occasionally do other things, like, say, write my column for me when I'd rather laze about watching shitty Hilary Swank movies like The Gift. What can I say? I'm a lazy, lazy girl with good priorities.
So, this week I decided to hand over the reigns to my little boy-toy. Frankly, I had no idea he was such an ultra-conservative, George Bush-loving, religious zealot but honestly -- as long as he keeps my floors mopped, dinner on my table, and writes this albatross of a column for me when I'd rather smoke cigarettes and watch "The Apprentice," who gives a damn?
Anyway, I hear The Don's going to take the apprentices to meet George Steinbrenner in tonight's episode, so I'm leaving this week's commentary in the faithful paws of my puppy dog.
Without further ado, I bring you The Week In Craig, care of my good, little worker bee
The Boy Toy Speaketh:
Last weekend, like millions of Americans and other family-valued people around the globe, I was shocked to see Janet Jackson allow that skanky wannabe Backstreet Boy expose her breast on national prime-time television. How dare that Britney-deflowering minion of Beelzebub and Ms. Sister of It Don't Matter if You're Black or White Jackson pull something like that during a football game (an All-American celebration of men jumping on each other followed by ass pats and then group showering)?
Unfortunately, I had to watch this display of unrighteousness in the presence of that infidel, Amy Blair. And suddenly, it all came to me. Depravity is a disease, Blair is a symptom, and I'm the cure. Therefore, here I am to save you from the disgusting ramblings of the sick local hipsters and the commentary of their little Queen of the Damned.
Now, I like to think of myself as progressive as the next guy. I eat the occasional turkey burger, feel comfortable in Chelsea, and even stray from missionary sex every once in a while when I'm feeling saucy. But frankly, I had no idea of the deviance that frequents the streets of this fair city.
Take this Clintonite, for example:
I keep fantasizing about the kinkiest f'n sex and I have no idea why. One of my current ones is fucking a cute blonde (who's on drugs) in a manhattan or queens alley on an old mattress at night...all night. Along with that I get turned on by screwing cheating gfs/wives and fantasize about being the bf/husband catching them in the act and pretending to be upset before I reveal my pleasure. There's the double penetration fantasies with me and another guy banging some girl out driving her wild, and the fantasies of gangbang girls making my d**k the hardest. What the hell is happening to me? Is this unusual?
Hell yeah, it's unusual. Unless your name is Rick James. Question 1: why, with the filthiness you just spewed forth, did you think it was inappropriate to spell out "d**k?" Ditto with "f'n." That's the only sign of sanity in this trash. Question 2: were you trying to slip by the "On drugs" thing by sticking it in parentheses? Question 3: does it make you cry at night to know you have a special place in hell saved for you for eternity?
Oh, it gets worse. Even the sanctity of education isn't safe:
I am doing a research project for school. I am a psch major. I decided
to do this on Men's true fantasies...Please be open and honest. Think
about what she looks like, where your at...etc. you get my drift. I'm
sure you guys already have one or two you've been dreaming about since
Junior High! Don't worry if they are silly or funny,,,it will make it
even more interesting.
OK, first of all, you might want to get a spelling tutor before you hand in that dissertation. I think the committee frowns on misspelling your topic. Now, more importantly, when did the education system become so deviant that they hand out degrees for this kind of trash? You're into psych? Maybe a head beating with a cross will do the job.
As this one shows, our children are in danger:
Famous children's book author seeks young anal-sluts for no-holes-barred perversity, golden showers festivities, and long-term romance.
Famous children's books, huh? I'll bet. Maybe if it's the hard cover version of Barely Legal. Or a French title. Somehow, I have a hard time believing this will attract too many decent women into a long-term romance.
Even my faith in the good lord doesn't save me from fearing this wacko:
I'm gonna smack your pretty, young face with my cock, and force all
9 inches down your sweet young throat.
Your honor, the prosecution rests. Shocker that this guy needs to post an ad, huh? "Soiled panties?" That's hot. "Qualified fuckholes?" I think that's stolen from a poem somewhere. How about a counter-offer? How about I slap you into handcuffs, make you scream to the Lord for forgiveness (the neighbors can listen), and then contact the local authorities immediately?
Predictably, where there's sex, there's drugs:
There'th nothing on earth funnier than thpeaking with a lithp. Go ahead, try it. Thay "Curtheth" really loud and you jutht thart giggling. Hee hee hee...
This poster is obviously a drugged out waste. I think I spotted her wandering around Times Square with dilated pupils the other night on the way to my Young Republicans meeting. I've got two words for you: Betty Ford.
Well, I think I proved my point. I know I'm not the only one sickened by the situation. Remember, help is only a confession away.
Blair adds: Keep it down over there, I'm trying to watch Blind Date. And scoot your butt over to the kitchen. I need another vodka tonic.