Busted: Uhh…it’s OK, You’re Not Busted
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
I didn’t have time today to prepare anything besides my story. But, I will say that Jacob supposedly picked up the pages Chris penciled for my Shear Terror Anthology story and I’m psyched to see them. Also, Jacob’s getting started on my back up story for Caleb Monroe’s Red Chapel (which will be Noel Tuazon from Elk’s Run’s next project). So, exciting day for my comic booking thing. Last year I got two stories put to print. Three days into this year and I have two being worked on for March print. Not a bad start to a new year.
____________________
Question: What do you do when your girlfriend tells you she cheated on you?
Answer: Well, if she has the biggest tit to waste size ratio in all of high school you tell her she didn’t REALLY cheat on you.
M was my girlfriend for the better part of junior year and, as you can probably tell by my little intro, she had the body that most high school kids that didn’t wear black trench coats and/or white shit on their face actively tried to press up against. And when you have a girl like that in high school, you tend to ignore her faults and fuck-ups. If M was flat-chested, that shit would have been done months earlier than when it actually did end.
But that’s high school, what can you do?
There were always suspicions that she was cheating, amongst me and my friends, but anything shy of a video of her fucking some other dude being broadcast onto my television set wasn’t “definitive proof” in my book - even when she confessed to me about her philandering ways.
She had to make a last minute trip out to Ohio to visit her friend who supposedly attempted to commit suicide. All well and good, suicide attempts aside – her friend John, the likely recipient of the O.P.P. that was My P.P., was going down as well. Whereas that should have been a warning sign of some sort I didn’t really pick up on it, I wished her titties goodbye and a safe trip and masturbated every night she was way awhile thinking about them.
Seriously, I’m not lying when I say they were sent from heaven. But that’s high school.
When she gets back to NYC we make plans to go out. She shows up at my place about an hour late, she claims that John gave her a ride instead of her taking a cab and he accidentally went through the Battery Tunnel and ended up in Manhattan.
A likely scenario – I was, indeed, the last exit before the Battery Tunnel so I can see something like that happening – that’s not proof at all that she was fucking some other dude. Her titties, in my mind, still belonged to me and me only.
But, that’s high school so, you know, what can you do?
We leave to go to the movies, turn the corner and in the most exasperated voice imaginable – as if she’s frustrated I didn’t notice, she tells me, “I want you to know why I’m wearing this turtleneck – before you find out for yourself.”
Now, with a preface like that there’s only one reason she’d be wearing a turtleneck and I’d be happy not to know and in case I did end up seeing it I’m pretty sure I can convince myself I left the mark. But, sure enough she pulls down the turtleneck, shows me the fucking mother of all hickies, and just when I’m expecting her to tell me John left it there, thus ending our relationship, she tells me that her suicidal friend placed it on the neck.
She’s fucking crying, no joke, apologizing and saying she never wanted to hurt me and that it was a one time thing and more of a dare – her friend’s boyfriend dared them to make-out and it got sort of heated and next thing you know they’re feeling each other up and sucking necks. And while she’s telling me all of this shit that just doesn’t hold with the big picture I’m convincing myself that my girl making out with another girl is in no-way cheating, even if she did it in the presence of two guys that weren’t me.
And I tell her that. Baby, it’s OK. It’s not cheating if it’s experimentation. Blah, blah, blah now let me at those titties.
A week later she gets her pictures from the trip developed and lets me look at them. Flipping through them I see pictures of what appears to be her, her suicidal friend, suicidal friend’s boyfriend and John taking pictures of each other lying in bed, pseudo-naked, smiling big-ass smiles for the camera.
It was at this moment that I realized M wanted me to break up with her because she didn’t have the tits to do it herself.
But, as long as she had the tits to make me get instantaneously aroused, I wasn’t breaking up with shit.
But, that’s high school – that’s how it goes.
So I convince myself that it was just a couple of kids having fun, cheering up their suicidal friend. Shit – it was practically fucking charity – hearts of gold on all these fuckers – I should be honored to be standing amongst them.
Then my good friend told me he 100% saw M and John making out.
I tried to find a way around that one but my rep was at stake. I broke up with her while standing at the bus stop – put her on the B6 and gave her a “Take care now” smile as her bus drove away.
But that’s high school, you know?
Got back with her three days later after she wrote me a note saying how much she missed me. You know how some guys in high school break up with girls before Christmas so they don’t have to buy them gifts? I’m the only dude who got together with my ex-girlfriend and confirmed cheater two weeks before Christmas. Got her some nice gifts to “celebrate my rekindled relationship” with her spectacular titties and she got me some shit she found on clearance racks and yard sales.
Then broke up with me a week later.
The next day her relationship with John goes a bit more public and I’m sitting around in some collarless Geoffrey Bean piece of shit shirt she found on the floor of Macy’s and reading this shittily produced book on the Beatles that looks like it’s been through three different owners, none of which read past the tenth page, and wishing I could see those titties one last time.
But that…that’s just fucking high school, right there.
____________________
Question: What do you do when your girlfriend tells you she cheated on you?
Answer: Well, if she has the biggest tit to waste size ratio in all of high school you tell her she didn’t REALLY cheat on you.
M was my girlfriend for the better part of junior year and, as you can probably tell by my little intro, she had the body that most high school kids that didn’t wear black trench coats and/or white shit on their face actively tried to press up against. And when you have a girl like that in high school, you tend to ignore her faults and fuck-ups. If M was flat-chested, that shit would have been done months earlier than when it actually did end.
But that’s high school, what can you do?
There were always suspicions that she was cheating, amongst me and my friends, but anything shy of a video of her fucking some other dude being broadcast onto my television set wasn’t “definitive proof” in my book - even when she confessed to me about her philandering ways.
She had to make a last minute trip out to Ohio to visit her friend who supposedly attempted to commit suicide. All well and good, suicide attempts aside – her friend John, the likely recipient of the O.P.P. that was My P.P., was going down as well. Whereas that should have been a warning sign of some sort I didn’t really pick up on it, I wished her titties goodbye and a safe trip and masturbated every night she was way awhile thinking about them.
Seriously, I’m not lying when I say they were sent from heaven. But that’s high school.
When she gets back to NYC we make plans to go out. She shows up at my place about an hour late, she claims that John gave her a ride instead of her taking a cab and he accidentally went through the Battery Tunnel and ended up in Manhattan.
A likely scenario – I was, indeed, the last exit before the Battery Tunnel so I can see something like that happening – that’s not proof at all that she was fucking some other dude. Her titties, in my mind, still belonged to me and me only.
But, that’s high school so, you know, what can you do?
We leave to go to the movies, turn the corner and in the most exasperated voice imaginable – as if she’s frustrated I didn’t notice, she tells me, “I want you to know why I’m wearing this turtleneck – before you find out for yourself.”
Now, with a preface like that there’s only one reason she’d be wearing a turtleneck and I’d be happy not to know and in case I did end up seeing it I’m pretty sure I can convince myself I left the mark. But, sure enough she pulls down the turtleneck, shows me the fucking mother of all hickies, and just when I’m expecting her to tell me John left it there, thus ending our relationship, she tells me that her suicidal friend placed it on the neck.
She’s fucking crying, no joke, apologizing and saying she never wanted to hurt me and that it was a one time thing and more of a dare – her friend’s boyfriend dared them to make-out and it got sort of heated and next thing you know they’re feeling each other up and sucking necks. And while she’s telling me all of this shit that just doesn’t hold with the big picture I’m convincing myself that my girl making out with another girl is in no-way cheating, even if she did it in the presence of two guys that weren’t me.
And I tell her that. Baby, it’s OK. It’s not cheating if it’s experimentation. Blah, blah, blah now let me at those titties.
A week later she gets her pictures from the trip developed and lets me look at them. Flipping through them I see pictures of what appears to be her, her suicidal friend, suicidal friend’s boyfriend and John taking pictures of each other lying in bed, pseudo-naked, smiling big-ass smiles for the camera.
It was at this moment that I realized M wanted me to break up with her because she didn’t have the tits to do it herself.
But, as long as she had the tits to make me get instantaneously aroused, I wasn’t breaking up with shit.
But, that’s high school – that’s how it goes.
So I convince myself that it was just a couple of kids having fun, cheering up their suicidal friend. Shit – it was practically fucking charity – hearts of gold on all these fuckers – I should be honored to be standing amongst them.
Then my good friend told me he 100% saw M and John making out.
I tried to find a way around that one but my rep was at stake. I broke up with her while standing at the bus stop – put her on the B6 and gave her a “Take care now” smile as her bus drove away.
But that’s high school, you know?
Got back with her three days later after she wrote me a note saying how much she missed me. You know how some guys in high school break up with girls before Christmas so they don’t have to buy them gifts? I’m the only dude who got together with my ex-girlfriend and confirmed cheater two weeks before Christmas. Got her some nice gifts to “celebrate my rekindled relationship” with her spectacular titties and she got me some shit she found on clearance racks and yard sales.
Then broke up with me a week later.
The next day her relationship with John goes a bit more public and I’m sitting around in some collarless Geoffrey Bean piece of shit shirt she found on the floor of Macy’s and reading this shittily produced book on the Beatles that looks like it’s been through three different owners, none of which read past the tenth page, and wishing I could see those titties one last time.
But that…that’s just fucking high school, right there.
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