October 1998
[Aaddzz Counter]

Current Issue
Back Issues
Article Index
A Herring!
About Us

In Association With Amazon.com
This page copyright 1998 The Shrubbery
Webmaster: Jason Morrison

Portrait of The Artist As A Young Man I Don't Shut Up!
by Ryan Glowczewski

Okay, by all means last month I was pretty morbid and my aim at self deprecating humor turned into something rather morbid.

But OH, the irony of it all.

A few weeks after writing said column, I began dating a girl. Yes, she is real. Yes, she lives, breathes, and is not actually the five thousand dollar anatomically-correct-simalcrum-of-woman known as the Real Doll. Nor was there any shady coercion, physical, psionic or otherwise, neccesary. In fact after a fashion, she even asked me out.

After some confusion of basic matters, such as whether Tab A goes into Slot B or should actually be folded and creased along dotted Line H, everything was working out fine, except for one problem.

Her breasts.

I hate them. Hate Them. Despise, fear, loathe, and tremble at their mighty presence.

Things of mighty power are these awful orbs of destruction. I am made small and powerless in their presence. Why? Why shouldn't I be happy with them? For CHRIST's sake, look at them Ryan! They'd make many a man happy to merely be in their presence, let alone have an inside track on their owner. They're pretty f***ing perfect!

Well, that's why I hate them. They're too nice. Anyone normal would be left drooling. So why do I hiss and crawl in the corner and wet myself in fear? Because they're Omnipresent. I look down to make sure my spoon is in my soup and not in my drink and the first thing I see when I look up? It's not her chin, it's not her incredibly beautiful face with eyes you could crawl into and die in, it's her mammaries. So of course I look. And then I look like some neanderthal frat creep hoping it's past 2 and everything is fair game. And where do crumbs go when we're eating at Subway? Where do you think? And then she brushes them off, knowing I'm trying very hard not to pay attention, and failing miserably, and she's just mocking me the whole time. GRRRRR!!!

The worse part is she knows I fear them and she taunts me and messes with me. Like sticking her Wal-Mart name tag right there. While we're at work! Or, worse, grabbing twenty dollars from me and stuffing it down her bra. I can't even think of these things without whimpering like a little boy and now she puts me in that hell. F**k, keep the twenty dollars. Those things look like they bite. And of course, she gets to watch me squirm.

What is a liberal who wants to admire her as a person as opposed to a sex toy supposed to do?

So I plead for help. Someone save me from this brazen bosom intent on making me its slave. Let me escape from these lactating leviathens and I shall be forever in your debt.

Oh, and Brenda, if you're reading this, I am very,very,very,very,very,very,very,very,very,very,very, very,very,very,very,very,very,sorry. Please do not kill me.

As the Shrubbery's focus this month is on the non-secular, I feel obliged to brief you on my recent run in with said topic.

On Wendsday the 16th of September, I was destroyed by a truck.

Luckily physics saved my life. And a seat belt. Seat belts are very nice things, one should wear them.

Anyhow, after I was hit by this truck and I realized what was going on etc. I was led out of my car by an unknown hero and onto the side of the street.

There, the womyn driving the truck that hit me (okay, I may have pulled out in front of her, I can't remember sh*t about the actual moment of impact) proceeded to lathe me with insults and threats. Like it's my fault she tried to kill me with her truck. Sh*t, I work at Wal-Mart, I deserve better.

While the earlier mentioned hero did his best to calm her down, I felt it wise in my shaken state to heed her warnings to walk away from her.

Retreating from her I walked into a nearby priest. Stunned to find a priest on the side of the road I turned around and I believe I gawked. Before I was allowed to ask what he was doing on the side of the road instead of in his proper place (ie a church) he asked me if I wanted a prayer.

I almost asked, "For free?" Thinking better, I just said "Sure." So after his prayer I'm remembering I was raised Catholic and now I'm thinking that it wasn't at all free and I should be getting some form of receipt and something to show the insurance company, but he disappeared.

And that was my religous experience.

Editors note: Nude School Girls has not been been completed due to Ryan's car crash. The slacker.

Back to Main