I’m at this party. My friend Max has been killing the game. Getting an avalanche of pussy these days. He says the key is rambling. You don’t even have to be funny. It’s not what you say but HOW you say it. Which is true. He can get a girl on his dick by talking about Ugg boots.
I do a lap of the room. Why is it that all people at parties are boring. You don’t hear anything but derivative fluff. The average person considers Kanye West is a dick to be a brave new take on Kanye West. It’s possible to sell this fluff but most people don’t have the charisma. It makes me want to put in my earbuds, jack up the volume to 100. Leave them in until I go deaf. Smile knowing that I’m forever free of this insipid tyranny.
But that’s only part of it. I actually hate overhearing people because I’m jealous. They can talk but sometimes I can’t. I inherited my dad’s stutter. When it flares up I can’t hammer it back without deep breathing and making the Spanish r roll and other shit that I learned from this Ted Talk on vocal training. Though booze can work in the clutch. Some days I can’t say “America” or my last name. At least I’m handsome enough to put my dick where I want. If I weren’t I would have shot up a mall or joined ISIS by now. So, thank God that good looks last forever.
Anyway. What a privilege it is to just yammer about dumb shit. Network, connect, influence. The words you use don’t matter. If they’re the right color and shape then they become incantations. What a superpower it is to just say things, have the chance to sell them. And you people waste it on the fucking Grammys.