2002-01-20 - 9:58 p.m.
�A pretty girl is like a minstrel show�.it makes you laugh, it makes you cry, you go�it just isn�t the same on radio�it�s all about the make-up and the dancing and the OH��
God, how boring. Just the ONE run-in with a demented crackhead at three in the morning on a dark street this weekend. Talk about Dullsville. Oh, that? I�d been nicely baked in the oven of fun that is a night chez pixgrrl and was wending my merry way back, my thoughts turning, as is their wont, to licking orange marmalade off, say, the lead singer of Stereolab (made from organic fruit by a future-retro Marxist collective, natch) when I was rudely disturbed by someone having a bit of a set-to with a nearby shrub. Shouting and kicking at plant life can under no circumstances be construed as reasonable behaviour, so I figured either this guy�s been traumatised by a childhood incident with a hedgerow, or he�s off his mash on crack.
�A pretty girl is like a violent crime�if you do it wrong you could do time�but if you do it right it is sublime�I�m so in love with you girl, it�s like I�m on the moon�I can�t really breath, but I feel lighter��
Disappointingly, it seemed to be the latter as he turned his attentions to me as I gingerly tried to sneak past. �What the FUCK do you want?� he�s suddenly asking me. �Anything but this� was an initial thought, as he underlined his already-salient point by jabbing his fingers into my chest like I�m faulty vending machine that�s just swallowed his change. I believe I got as far as the sound �Ouaeih� before he deftly changed his line of questioning. �Where the FUCK are you going?� Well, it was a reasonable point if he meant the vague direction my life seems to be taking, but I had a feeling he wanted to know where I lived, so I kept schtum. �Why the FUCK were you trying to walk past me?! Don�t you fucking pull that shit on me! Don�t think you can fucking ignore me!� Awww. If the little poppet just wanted some company he should have just said from the get-go. Oh, hang on, I seem to be backed up against a wall. My. You�re quite tall, aren�t you? �What fucking TIME is it?!� At last, a question I could answer! �Um. 3am?� �Don�t give me that SHIT!� Bollocks. �Um�3.30am?� I offered as a possibly less threatening alternative. �Where the FUCK are you GOING?!� �Just�home�� I whimpered in my best hurting-me-wouldn�t-even-be-sport voice. �Well�.GO THEN!� He lets go. I regain control of my sphincter and leave him to return to his bush-bothering. To steal a line from �Naked�, I wonder what it�s like being him? A bit hectic?
�A melody is like a pretty girl�who cares if it�s the dumbest in the world�it�s all about the way that it unfurls�a pretty girl is like�a pretty girl!�
