Thursday, September 28, 2006

Spectator Sport

This is a brand new poem that I wrote after coming home from The Roar's big finale this past Saturday. I'm not sure how I feel about it in it's present form and I may yet go back and do some revisions to it. I was considering writing a part 2 to this piece in which the speaker admits that the only real reason he knows lovers need time to concentrate during road head is because there was a time when he himself received road head and was told that he was the worst participant in such an act. The punchline: being told that he was the worst when it came to road head made for an experience that was easily the worst thirty bucks he ever spent. I may yet write such a poem just because it makes me chuckle to think about a hooker telling her client that he sucks at receiving road head because how the fuck does a guy receive oral sex wrong? That's just plain bad sexpertise. I can't believe I just used the word 'sexpertise' without killing myself immediately afterward. Anyway, enjoy "Spectator Sport"

Spectator Sport
In the car ahead of me the
girl in the passenger seat
administers head to the driver.

I can tell

because she repeatedly comes up for air
before dutifully going back to work. And

I can't help but feel bad for the
poor girl

because I've been tailing
this car for quite a long time now and
still she works.

It's either a testament to her level of
dedication and
attention to detail or
it's a testament to the driver's
longevity with the hard cock, his
unwillingness to erupt.

I can tell

because I've been tailing
this car for quite a long time now and
still she works.

At the next red light we reach
I'm debating

getting out of my car and
running up beside theirs to
cheer her on,
yell at her words of encouragement
through a closed driver's-side window,

maybe tell her to breathe through her nose more,
stop coming up for air
because she'll never get the job done like that,

maybe start singing something sexy to
get the driver in the mood to splooge,
except that I'm almost dead certain
my appearance at his side
while receiving a

front-seat hummer, a
Honda Civic civil blowjob, a
suck-job in a sedan,

would kill any erection, and
make her work
that much more difficult.

Moments that I wish my
car horn played Marvin Gaye or
Curtis Mayfield,
hell, even any sort of peeler theme
over a soundscape of porn starlet moans,



to put the exclamation point on an
erotic arc and
save that poor girl's time, neck, and jaw.

If the light turns green and the
car is yet to move
I won't rush them,

won't interupt them

because sometimes lovers just need to concentrate,
lose sight of an outside world
long enough

to find a rhythm that works.

-Michael Appleby
September, 2006

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Fucking Restauranteurs!

Click here.

Fucking hell! Do I hate news like this or what? Jessica Simpson is set to open a new chain of barbecue restaurants built around a theme of her portrayal of Daisy Duke in the big screen version of the television classic The Dukes Of Hazzard.

But Michael, why do you hate this news. Jessica Simpson is one of the greatest entertainers on the face of the planet right now and it's only right that she should share some of her restaurant expertise with us little people.

Yeah, she's got restaurant expertise alright. I hate it when just anybody with a big wad of money just wakes up one day and decides, Oh shit, I should just open a fucking restaurant because I know what makes for a fine dining experience.

Jessica Simpson's plan: scantily-clad servers wearing hot pants.

The one word I can think of to describe this bold, new, exciting direction for eateries: original.

Nobody's ever thought of having scantily-clad servers before. Jessica Simpson is like some kind of fucking MENSA president compared to the rest of us for coming up with an idea like that. Wow, why the fuck has there never ever in the history of restaurants been a restaurant with scantily-clad waitresses?

You see, it's not that I hate scantily-clad women bearing food, but when that is your whole idea for a restaurant then you're just a pandering whore. What about the fucking food? What about the fucking ambiance? All you can come up with is a Hooters rip-off? Fuck you. There's all ready a Hooters.

If you're just going to do that at least have the tact and the balls to just have a Hooters menu and just slap a bit of black utility tape over the restaurant name. Then you look like you're just trying to be ironic. As it is you just look like you're a money-grubbing, intellectual-property thief. I mean I'm sure that neither Jessica nor her father Joe are opening this restaurant as some elaborate cash-grab, but rather because they both have a passion for providing the perfect dining experience.

A source told America's Life and Style Weekly magazine: "Joe's going to make a lot of money from this."

Well fuck me. This is just prostitution after all.

Newsflash Joe: you could make even more money if you charge patrons for blowjobs administered by scantily clad servers.

And I'm sure that if that were legal you would soon be able to call that guy pimp.

Anybody remember when Jessica Simpson first came onto the scene and the whole shtick behind her was that she was pure, vestal virgin promoting good moral values and a strong Christian upbringing? Yeah, neither do I.

Fucking hypocrites.