Mind Thoughts... with Michael Ian Black - In Spite of Everything, I Would Still Let You Suck My Dick

We were never meant to last, you and I. Our paths converged for a few sun-dappled moments, but we could not walk together for long. We were too young, too different, too encumbered by our fears. Too drunk on Bacardi and Diet Cokes. Too hopped up on amyl nitrates. Too prone to infection from various open wounds.

When we met that night, you and I, that summer night outside the 7-11, I thought you were perfect. Your eyes, glassy and vague. Your hair, mostly shaven. Your lips, smeared with lipstick and Cheetos residue. Even your zits looked good to me that summer night, zits I wished to puncture with my teeth, and whose nectar I wished to drink.

“The fuck you looking at?” you slurred in my direction. Were you peeing? Were you peeing there on the sidewalk? Looking backward through the fog of time, it is hard to remember now.

“You, you dumb bitch.”

“The fuck,” you said.

We made out, you and I. Right there, on the hood of that guy’s car. We made out below the flickering hum of fluorescent lights, among the gnats and moths and beetles, on the still-warm hood of some guy’s rusty Chevy Geo. We kissed and I scraped Slim Jim gristle from your tongue, and I felt you up, and I forgot about everything, even the winning scratch-off lottery ticket I had come there to redeem. You made me forget all about those $5, baby.

But we were never meant to last. How could we? I wanted us to get on the bus to Tampa. Wanted to start over in Tampa where I know a guy. You told me you wouldn’t leave your baby behind. What’s so great about a baby?

We said hateful things to each other, you and I. We used hateful words. You called me “needle dick.” I called you “frigid.” You said I couldn’t fuck an acorn into a squirrel. I said you your pussy could solve global warming.

My mom let us stay at her place. Her place smelled like the cat. The cat smelled like piss. The cat bit the baby.

“Fucking cat,” you said.

“It’s the cat’s fucking house,” I said but I was drunk.

You stabbed me with a fucking key. It didn’t hurt. We fought and fell asleep and when I woke up you were gone. The baby was gone. My wallet was gone.

But the joke was on you, Brittani, because there wasn’t shit in my wallet.

I have thought about you over the years, thought about those few days we shared, thought about the things we said. I have thought about you, Brittani, and here is what I think; were we to meet again, in spite of everything, I would still let you suck my dick…

And also finger my butt.

Previously - I Will Kill You

@michaelianblack