Tuesday, 23 August 2005

Guest Post The Sixth, by Adam "Supermercado" 1.0

(Originally posted on MelbourneHumanFemale)

Desci says: Adam 1.0 is our tight arse Tuesday blogger. He blogs about dodgy music and even dodgier other pop culture till I giggle peppermint tea through my nose. He's fun to re-enact Adam Ant film clips with, and, much to my disappointment, I've only been drunk with him once. Possibly because of said re-enactments.

I say the following fully aware of the risk of not only public outrage but a permanent lifetime ban from posting, reading or even linking to this blog. Sorry Desci, you may have picked the wrong person for this guest posting assignment because in a world blog exclusive I can reveal that when it comes to sex I just can't.. be.. bothered..

It's entirely possible that I'm the only blogger in Australia to take such a position (so to speak) as pretty much everything else I read involves people shagging like machines. Now, I support that scenario to an outrageous extent - as long as it's within the law then you have my permission, endorsement and hearty round of applause to get down and do whatever you want. If it's tastefully done and doesn't involve anything that could be considered "European" so much the better, but that's not a deal breaker. If you want to share your wife, husband or significant other with an entire room of fat 40 year old couples then I'll be the first one to take the megaphone and lead the rally in your support. As long as nobody ends up in the boot of a car then I'm satisifed that you know what you're doing and can be trusted to decide between what's right and wrong.

Where the situation gets confusing, and becomes a grade A, 100% Fawlty Towers-esque farce is the fact that I'm right into the concept of sex. In theory I'm as big a fan of the concept as anyone but it's when it comes to the crunch and the the porkometer is turned up to eleven that I start to wonder if there isn't a more productive way that I could be spending my time. It's like a sports team with a top lineup on paper who just can't put it together on the field. I'm effectively the sexual equivalent of the Fremantle Dockers. I once got offered a hot three way with two lovely ladies, then I found out I had to get off my arse and drive to them so I pulled the pin. Needless to say I have not been invited back since. Stress about it? Shit no, I've got far more important things to drop a toaster in my bathtub about. 140,000 child soldiers are slaughtering each other in Africa as we speak and you're upset because you can't pull a root? Well aren't you a selfish cunt.

This is not to say I don't "get amongst it" (as the kids say), but there will ALWAYS be a moment in the midst of it where I will think to myself "christ I'm bored, let's get this over with". The first thing I wrote for this post was a guide to sex music, until I gave up halfway through when I realised that I was far more interested in the musical aspect of the genre than the actual porking itself. When your all-time greatest sex moment is convincing a long-time girlfriend to let you play a computer game while you were on the job - just for comedy value - you've got to take a good hard look at yourself. Unless there's outrageous gimmickery involved in there somewhere then I'm going in with no enthusiasm at all. I think it's just one of things, like camping and movie theatres, that I'm destined never to "get". Alas the red light district of my brain says "DO EVERYONE!" and I'm destined to spend the rest of my life reluctantly manwhoring myself, in a vain attempt to notch up a respectable 'number', to anybody who'll have me. It's distressing, but almost funny in a "you've got to laugh or you'll jump off the Westgate" way, to think that at the same time I'm having disinterested sex with some random woman who lives in Cranbourne that I'm also enjoying a lengthy saga of falling legitimately for a pretty girl who I can barely even speak to without freezing up. So, I've got no problem booty calling somebody I don't particuarly care for to do something I don't particuarly enjoy but at the same time can't bring myself to ask out the person who makes my heart go wild everytime I see her. It's hard work living your life as a walking gimmick.

Who's responsible? Why am I the only male in the entire nation straight, gay or otherwise who is not acting in accordance with the Commonwealth Shagging Act of 1901 and it's subsequent amendments? Can we draw any parallels between what I've become in later years and the time that some pervert attempted to sleaze onto me in the Hawthorn Library (!?) when I was in Grade One? Certainly not - even 1988 Adam didn't go in for that sort of thing. Can we blame the internet? Grand Theft Auto? Big Brother? Yeah, why not. Somebody's got the take the bullet for the fact that I'm too apathetic to be a heartless sex hound. Extreme nihilism - coming to a bedroom near you. If I can be bothered to show up.

Morrissey once wrote "Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body" and I'm happy to admit that having just entered my 24th year I am no closer to solving the mystery. Now there's a man (see also: Brett Anderson from Suede) I would turn for. On paper at least - I'm sure we'd end up drinking pepermint tea instead.

No comments: