I feel like a have a rock in my bottom right now. I ate a section of a brick. My intestines will not thank me later. My organs praise not for foolish consumption.
I mean, which one should I choose? There are so many rock bottom experiences to choose from! I could go Z-wratic style and regale the viewing public with tales of rock blazing badness. But, thankfully, Z already chose that topic. That would be redundant. And, I worked the next day, so it couldn't have been that bad.
I love how all WWF wrestlers had their own finishing moves. The worst would probably have to be Hulk Hogan's leg drop, pictured above. I'm not really sure how that's suppose to hurt anybody. Maybe it's suppose to cut off oxygen? You know, I've never really given Hulk Hogan's finishing move this much thought....hmmmm.
Hogan, while garnering a modicum of success as a reality TV star(along with whoring out his whole family), never was able to make money for Hollywood; unlike, for example, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. His finishing move, the rock bottom, looked like it hurt; none of this leg drop nonsense. This move is also pictured above. Look at the raw emotion in his face. Hogan looks like he could use a nap. That's what puts asses in the seats! You need a strong finishing move to transition from the WWF to Hollywood stardom. Now, if you'd rather be a reality TV schmuck, stick with the leg drop. Get my drift?
I think I gave myself the ultimate rock bottom finishing move while I was living in Southfield, MI, in the summer of '06. I graduated from Wayne State U in the Spring of '05, just a shade under a decade. HEY! Some people didn't even finish. I'm a finisher, like Dwayne. My plan was to use my degree to teach English language to Japanese people on the Isle of Japan. I interviewed in Chicago, got the job, and puked in a trash can at a bar after(I like the subtle, undetected, public vomit in a bar and not in the bathroom) my interview. For some, that could be fodder for a rock bottom blog, but it takes more for me. I'm on some next level type shit. See Pumpkin Soup episode, or ask Chris Kazor to tell you 'bout it 'bout it.
Also, on my lunch break during the interview, Amy Smart sat at the table next to me at the sammich shop. She's purty. She either had like alien eyes or had some pea-nutty color contacts in, like purple. She was in Scotland, Pa. That's rock top, solid as Barack.
After a near rock bottom pit stop in Minneapolis, working for my Momz in hell, I made my way out to Osaka. Training was fine; met some cool people. Then came the actually working part. Boooo. Hisssssss. Also, my boss was crazy Scottish guy(pardon the redundancy) who instantly disliked me because I, like all lousy Americans, "claimed Irish" and not Scottish. He then proceeded to try and fist fight me. That was the beginning of the end of my time in Japan.
"The Scottish invented Language and oral sex asshole!"
So, everything is NOT going as I had foreseen. I had to come back to Michigan, my vestigial tale between my legs. Or was that just my massive Johnson? Is it kosher to reference Dwayne/my Johnson in the same blog? Heaven does not know, it has nothing to do with rock bottom. Maybe the fact that one of my roommates in Japan was named Dwayne was a premonition of rock bottom things to come?
Thankfully, I had a room to come back to in glorious lovelydom, AKA Southfield, MI. Southfield is an equal opportunity suburban hell hole. Your race/gender/salary will not preclude you from going their to grow old and ineffective and die. Is their another point to suburbia?
I WAS friends with my roommate Jenni until I started living and working with her in Southfield. She would accuse me of such things as stealing her month old cheese. I was broke, I needed a lil' visit from protein Paul. Good ol' protein Paul, building my muscles and such.
Basically, living in a somewhat remote suburb of Detroit, during an economic downturn, sans auto and money, while scraping buy working at coney island "restaurants" is not ideal. In fact, in downright sucked ass. But, their had to be one incident to cement this time in my life as rock bottom:
Enter Eric's slutty neighbor in Ann Arbor. Eric, AKA Raleigh Waddhams, lived in a fairly nice flat in the more residential section of Ann Arbor. A few months before my rock bottom moment, I was introduced to his neighbor at his keg party. She was in her late 30's and wore crushed velvet shirts and tapered jeans. Her hair was a vintage helmet, daring you to touch. She was not what you would consider, say, desirable. There was a reason she lived alone, in her late 30's. She seemed to enjoy booze, quite a bit in fact. I recall grabbing her leg, and assisting her in doing a keg stand. That night, she was so wasted, she was basically comatose, sitting on the ground. I was on the ground next to her, because I'm a bad person. She grabbed my hand, and proceeded to rub her crotch with it, through the tapered jeans. Hell, I might've been wearing tapered jeans too. I had a phase. I think I tried to kiss her, to no avail.
After the crotch touching incident, she went to her place with two of the guys from the party. She decided to take her top off, and sit on the couch with these two guys. One of them took a picture and showed me the next day of her, sitting on her couch in her bra. The gentleman did not take the bait, because they were not bad people.
That was my introduction to crazy, slutty, cool neighbor lady. Her name escapes me. Thank god. I'd like to remain anonymous.
A few months later, I found myself back in Ann Arbor and Raleigh's place, along with my friend Voish. The Voish and I were in town, preparing to make a film. I had a very high brow experience, breaking down cinematography and camera movement while watching La Dolce Vida and Kurosawa films. After this, we headed back to Raleigh's. Now enter the low brow::
As soon as we got there, Neighbor chick appeared outside. She lost the crushed velvet and tapered jeans, in favor of a one piece swimsuit. She had recently added an outdoor hot tub to her arsenal, and was obviously looking for some tub mates. As soon as she opened her mouth, it was obvious she lacked sobriety. I later found out she was hitting the Jager rather tough. There was a wood panel fence that spilt their back yards. She proceeded to pull herself to the top of the fence, while grasping on to one, specific panel. She uttered the famous phrase, "your friend wants to fuck me." You talkin' to me? I'm not the only one standing here, but I'm pretty sure you're talkin to me. Keep in mind, I had not been laid in weeks. WEEKS. Within seconds of uttering the profound and curiously untantalizing statement, the panel she was clutching broke free from the fence posts and she fell hard onto the ground. A less graceful maneuver has never been witnessed by the naked eye. It was clearly one of the more hilarious things any of us had seen in quite some time, so we ran inside, laughing our asses off.
Now, after a few minutes, it occurred to me that she might actually be hurt. I decided to go next door, round the fence deathtrap, and saw her on the ground still. "Are you ok, " I asked. "Yes, I'm ok. I'm just gonna lay here for a minute." In retrospect, her ego was probably more bruised than her ass and she needed some recovery time. Skanks have feelings too people!
I gave her some time to collect her ego, and then helped her to her footsies. Rejuvenated, she cracked a smile. Her efforts, while foolish, had accomplished their effort; she reeled in a young stud(THAT'S RIGHT, STUD!) Ok, maybe not a stud, but this was a lady of indiscriminate tastes. I had a pulse and a penis. That was enough.
She made her way to the hot tub area and offered me a shot of Jager. I couldn't be rude, so I chugged down the cursed liquor of 10,000,000 hangovers. As gracefully as she possibly could, she slithered back into the hot water. While sitting, and looking straight into the water, she slid off her top. Granted, she was not Jessica Alba, but, her most attractive feature was, in fact, her breasts. At this point, I was not really sure how to respond. In fear, I said, " I'll be right back," and briskly walked back sane ground. "You're not gonna believe this, but she just took her top off in front of me!" "What the fuck should I do?" Raleigh, being of sound mind, said, " Don't go back there man!" Voish, being a man who usually thought with his southern head, suggested I, "go back there and bust in her eye."
I chose the latter. I proceeded return to insanityville, pop. 2, and greet my slutty, drunken and wounded friend. I felt bad for her, her head was down and she looked like she'd lost her dog....while topless. Once again, her breasts did appeal to me, and I chose to focus on that. After another shot of Jager, I jumped in the tub, fully clothed. Why I did that is still a mystery to me. Maybe it was cold out, and I didn't want any shrinkage to affect my game. She kept swimming at me like a wasp, stinging and then leaving. I mustered up the courage to take of my clothes and embrace the stings. Keep in mind, this is not a secluded location. We were in full, potential view of many, including Raleigh(which I found out later.) When it was clear she wanted to engage in the physical act of love, she whispered to me, "you're gonna have to get me wet."
Was that TMI? Long, long, long story short, we consummated our strange and impromptu union. I should've quadruple bagged it. Instead, I went bare back. That was enough to constitute rock bottom, however, there was worse to come. After yet another Jager shot, she invited me into her place. Oh god. I needed to use the bathroom, went in, and discovered that her toilet was filled with a massive load of feces and toilet paper. The smell was profound and horrifying, as if the water could not contain it. Was it possible for an average sized woman to create such the load? My word. Was another gentleman suitor lurking in the shadows, poised to pounce? In any event, I pissed on the load and jetted out of that room.
We decided to watch a movie, "Million Dollar Baby." I've still never finished that movie. It was appropriate in the sense that this woman might've been a relative to Hilary Swank's character; gruff, white, desperate, unattractive. Unfortunately, lady had not had her fill. She decided to take it to the bedroom. I won't bore you with the details of this portion of the experience, only to pinpoint my exact rock bottom moment. At some point in the proceeding, I looked down at her leg. I was horrified to notice that there was a dollop of shit on her leg. Call me crazy, but the fact that this lady had shit on her leg was opposite of attractive. In fact, it made me realize who entirely disgusting the entire situation was. I had to fight back the urge to vomit, keeping in mind I'd have to pray to a porcelain God who featured fat loads of slut shit. I quickly slinked back to the living room and put on some clothes. There was no way of expressing the feelings of terror I experienced. She was, in fact a terrorist. Terrorast. Territorial shittings. Made my night shitty, etc, etc. .
In the morning, as I was leaving, she asked me, "Did you get wanted you wanted?" "What," I quickly uttered. "Your stuff, did you find all your stuff," she curiously responded. I'm still not sure what to make of her jumbled statement. The moral of the story is this::: Who cares what the fuck that meant. GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! OUT OF THIS PLACE! OUT OF MY LIFE! I CAN'T KEEP FUCKING UP LIKE THIS! SAVE ME! I'LL NEVER START EVIL AGAIN! PROMISE! I'M BETTER THAN THIS! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
I'm not really sure where to go with his now, but I think there is something to be said for a rock bottom experience. Even if today sucks, nothing will really ever compare to how bad some things have been. Thankfully, I have a whole mental rolodex of experiences to draw from; experiences which simultaneously haunt and help me. I could be in the shower, on some unimportant day, and the image of the dollop will flash before me in my mind's eye. At that point, I can think, "you know, today aint that bad!"
