[Another from the Manson LiveJournal. This is what happens when I decide to write an anti-monogamy rant before eating a proper meal.]
The hunger. The craving. The urge. Whatever you'd like to call it, we all experience it from time to time. An internal push toward some act or some substance. Sometimes it manifests as a creative impulse to write music or to paint, to write a story, some form of artistic endeavor. Other times it comes on as a physical push, the undeniable need for sleep or food, the craving of a pregnant woman for ice cream or peanut butter or the stomach's late night demand for Mexican food. That's why they call it a sex drive. You're driven to it by hormones and various internal and external stimuli; sometimes at the wheel with hands at ten and two and the pedal to the floor, other times clinging to the door handle and screaming for Christine to stop and let you out. It's part of being human, coming to grips with and learning to cope with the demands and desires of the brain and the body. As a human with 36 years of experience, I'm going to share with you something that I've come to learn over the past few months, with regard to the previous:
Fucking is like fast food.
Let me elaborate on that.
For the sake of argument, let's say that you, like myself, are a fan of McDonald's. They have decent burgers, a 99 cent menu, they've had pretty much the same things there since they opened. You like burgers. Burgers are good. And you love these burgers and could eat them, happily, for a long time. But sometimes you don't want burgers, you want chicken. Granted, McDonald's does have a chicken sandwich, but their chicken is nothing like KFC's chicken. And so one night you sneak over to KFC and get yourself a bucket of Extra Crispy and some biscuits with honey, and all is good with the world.
And then you have Taco Bell. Mexican Pizza. Chalupa. Toxic hell on your stomach but so worth it. And they're open `til 4, sometimes later. McDonalds might have a wrap in select markets and KFC has wraps but they're nothing like a burrito. Taco Bell has shit nobody else has. They have chicken and beef, sure, but they're nothing like the others. All three are exclusive. And don't start me on pizza. I eat a lot of pizza, especially when we're on the road. I even worked at a pizza shop back in Ohio, the Pizza Oven on Rt 62 a few blocks from my parents' duplex. (There's your plug, where's my pepperoni? You bitches). Pizza Oven has wings, but not like KFC's wings. And Taco Bell has a Mexican pizza, but it's nothing like Pizza Oven's Taco Pizza. Each with their subtleties. Little changes in the flavor. Each food tweaking the stomach just a bit differently.
Now just for the sake of argument, let's assume that McDonalds should find out that you went to KFC, maddened by the smell of fresh-baked biscuits and that tasty coleslaw. Should McDonalds, with their inimitably perfect double cheeseburger and internationally known arches, be upset about KFC feeding you? Would Mickey D's be threatened that you will never again patronize them and instead become a permanent fixture on KFC's doorstep? No. Because McDonalds is about burgers and KFC is about chicken. KFC doesn't have burgers. McDonalds doesn't have chicken. Will KFC never give you extra gravy again because they found out you had a Grilled Stuffed Chicken Burrito at Taco Bell instead of one of their wraps? Probably not. And will Taco Bell give you the proverbial middle finger and run you back across the border if someone tells them that you had taco pizza from the Pizza Oven instead of your usual Mexican pizza? Doubtful. They know that what they have, you can't get anywhere else. They're secure in the knowledge that you'll keep coming to them for what they have so long as they treat you right.
As I said at the beginning of this interruption of your standard programming, sex is a lot like fast food. Fast food has basic concepts: beef, cheese, bread, chicken. Sex also has basic concepts: oral, anal, kissing, foreplay. You can mix those up however you like, though I suggest you keep hot nacho cheese away from genitalia, and I'm not going to get into that right now. The concept stands that no matter how you dress it up, tart it out, show it off and market it, you still can only work within the boundaries of the basics. Yet at the same time everyone has their favorites, their loyalties. I prefer McDonald's over Burger King and KFC over Church's. You can get a burger just about everywhere whether a massive gourmet half pound monstrosity at a bar and grille or those tiny little ones at White Castle. And you can usually get a decent blowjob on most street corners if you look in the right neighborhood. But if it's not the kind you prefer, it might not satisfy that craving. If you're dying for a nice filet mignon and all you have is Arby's...sure it's beef, but it's not going to stop that craving. You won't be hungry, at least temporarily, but you will still want the filet. If you've had your boyfriend on your mind all day and all you've got at hand is...well...your hand and some Spectravision, you'll fall asleep that night without your cock tenting the blankets but you'll still want him. That's the funny thing about fucking and food: if it's not what you're craving, it's not going to fix that hole in your mind. The hole in your stomach or the tingle between your thighs, yes. But if it's not what you wanted when you started, you're still going to want it.
I love McDonald's. I want seedless toasted buns in my hand and enough meat in my mouth to make my jaw twinge. I want the biggest fry you can give me by law and an M&M McFlurry and a Diet Coke, extra large. I want everything on the dollar menu, even if those bitches raised prices to $1.50. I can't get it out of my mind and I've got Free Sample coupons for Wendy's and Steak-n-Shake and Rally's and you know what? I gotta eat. But you're the only burger joint in my life and I can't even drive past them with my window down without wanting you. I got tired of making myself a sandwich at home so I ordered in Italian. And it was from a place we've tried and enjoyed before. I still have the menu. And it was damn good eating, and it stopped me from being so hungry, and everything was fine. I didn't starve. I didn't get food poisoning. I didn't sneak off for a one-night stand with the Jack In the Box. So why has the Hamburglar who stole my heart so long ago turned into a walking Grimace? Because Daddy had some calamari?
You're going to have to explain this to me. What happened to our Happy Meal? Your speaker's all crackly, my order is wrong, and yelling at the display screen is getting me nowhere when the cashier can't hear me. I want to speak to the manager, and I will be more than happy to pull my car around to the side and wait for you to get in, provided you don't take too long. I'm still driving without a license.