He Don't Love Me, He Just Love My Doggy Style
For those of you unfortunate few who are not acquainted with T-Rez, he is the lead singer of Nine Inch Nails, a raging sex beast, and The Only Man Who Is Truly Worth My Time. However, none of these facts negate my complete and utter fury at El Rezzenator for his dickalicious behavior as of late.
Seriously, I’ve been all, “I hate you! Quit calling me and buying me lavish jewelry and Mercedes convertibles! I will so reinstate the restraining order on your ass." And he's all, But baby, “you are the reason I stay alive!” And I’m all, “Well FINE, then why don’t you stop being a total cocksucker and play the show in the United States on my frickin’ birthday, you a hole!” Then he gets all puffed up like, “My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.” And then I hang up on him. Same routine as usual, right?
But this time, The Rizzel has taken a flying squirrel leap over the mother effing line, babies. On March 31, 2005, he will play two exclusive shows at a bitchin' club sized venue called The Astoria in London. Happy. Birthday. To. Me. Can you believe he's ditching out on the glorious day that marks my dazzling entrance into the world? Whatever!
Anywho, upon hearing this exciting bit of NIN news, I became flushed with the titillating glow of confusion. I was initially elated that Riggity Rez was indeed still alive, then overjoyed that he was going to play a show for the first time since God was a boy. Shortly thereafter, I felt myself getting all percolated and a little faintish at the thought of him wearing eyeliner. Sometime a bit later, it finally sunk in that the gig would be across the flippin' Atlantic. I mean, how could he possibly have convinced himself to play a show for which I can't be present?
I promptly commenced working myself into a complete lather in which I insisted that I needed to go even if I had to start selling Tupperware door to door with Uncle Rico to make it happen. I even went so far as to foam at the mouth a bit and obsessively check air fares. Just as I had myself convinced that it was a perfectly reasonable idea to fly to England for a Nine Inch Nails show, the tickets sold out.
All I'm asking is for Trentastic to simply play the show here at home. Preferably at The Madrid. With only myself in attendance. Then, I'd be able to go, rock out for my 24th, and ogle him like the piece of Grade A North American meat that he is. Is that really asking for so much?
God, I'm pissed. Just look at him. So smug and gorgeous. Lying prostrate on his Tim Burtony log in a billowy, fake forest. Staring off angstily whilst tugging in a provocative and naughty manner at the suggestive tear in the danger zone of his pants. That white hot, perfect, delicious son of a bitch.
