Last week I went to Best Buy with Belle to buy a DVD I’ve wanted for a long time, Rivers and Tides, a documentary on my favorite artist, Andy Goldsworthy. I foolishly thought they would carry this film because it had been widely publicized, but duh, when will I learn that they only carry films that star Jim Carrey or Angelina Jolie? Why does a simple trip to the giant media store always have to turn into big, disappointing, infuriating fiasco that sours my mood for the remainder of the day?

This is a brand new Best Buy, so the employees are still freshly trained in customer service and they were all up in my Biz. Rounding every corner, there was one in my face, and they only spoke to me, never Belle, while he just stood there like a leashed monkey. He should have been insulted, because each one of them was making a snap judgment that I was the “Boss” of this duo, and they regarded him as if he were a six-month old infant sleeping in a Baby Bjorn.

Making my way through Music I was stopped by a human wall of Mexicans with no less than 47 children and 6 strollers. They were being customer-ily serviced by a friendly Associate who was waving his hands excitedly while they looked on, unable to understand the language he was speaking. I stood toe to toe with the Associate, staring languidly into his face, and after his spiel he paused and spoke to me. “Oh hi! Did you need some help finding something!”

“Um. No. I’m just trying to WALK DOWN THIS AISLE. Excuse me.”

After I picked out the Strangers with Candy and The Wiz DVDs, Belle said to me: “You know, you’re really a selfish asshole. Why don’t you buy a present for your boyfriend?”

This is the kind of shit I have to put up with. I buy one DVD a year for myself, and I’m an asshole. And by the way, Happy Early Birthday KC, you’re getting The Wiz in July.

So I said, “Fine, but I don’t really know what to get him because all of these movies are ass.”

Belle says, “I’ll pick one out – I know what he likes.” Right. “Here, get this – The Unforgiven, he’s a cowboy, he’ll love this movie, it’s perfect.”

I agreed, I bought it, and indeed my pilot did love the cowboy movie.

Later, I told Belle that he had done a good job in choosing a present for my boyfriend, that The Unforgiven was perfect. He said, “I know, because I’m the shit. Who does this kind of thing? Who picks out presents for people’s boyfriends? No one. I don’t see YOU picking out presents for MY girlfriends.”

“That’s because I don’t know how to give a Pap Smear as a gift.”

And I said this because he has once again gone and banged some ugly gaping ho; a strange twat who was “in the neighborhood” and stopped by his house with dyed black hair and dyed black eyebrows, looking like a witch, but he did her regardless.

He told me this the other day while I was cooking us brunch, fully clothed.

He said, “She’s a burlesque dancer.”

I started slamming things on the counter, eggs were burning, toast went cold.

“What?? ANOTHER fucking dancer? Why are you doing this to me? Are you trying to make me insane??”

But of course, in his mind, a burlesque dancer is a universe away from a stripper.

I am so putting my fucking foot down with this one. I’ll spare you the diatribe, but I ranted to him for 25 minutes, and the synopsis is: YOU’RE AN IDIOT AND YOUR DICK IS GOING TO FALL OFF.

I’ve concluded that the sole reason he has been dipping his chicken wing into vats of stripper sauce, is so that I will become infuriated and write about it here. Cuz Lawd knows he like to see his name in print. He do. (Mmmm…chicken wings…) All I have to do is text message him “White Helmet” or just “WH” and he’ll be knocking over cancer kids to get to a computer to read all about HE-SELF. (But when I write about my pilot, it takes him three weeks to find the internet.) Silly man thinks he’s gonna get famous or some shit through Shawna Mooney. Or at the very least, some female attention. We’ll see about that.

I’m about to bust his ass out. All that playa shit is a scam, a lie, a front.

I’M HERE TO TELL THE WORLD THAT:

Belle is a tall, muscular, sensitive boy who wants nothing more than to have his head rubbed by a nice girl. He would much prefer to spoon you and smell your hair all night than have sex with you. He has also been known to cry fat, salty tears into your bosom, at the slightest invitation. When he has a bad day at work or school, he will knock on your door, and if you open it, his head will make a beeline for you bosom, in the most non-sexual way. He wants to massage you, buy you expensive clothes and cosmetics, send you to a salon for pampering, and grope you in public. This is all he wants out of life. In return, all he asks is for a cool girlfriend with large-ish titties who will watch Matrix 1-3 on a weekly basis (or tolerate his watching) and smother him with attention. That – and the occasional MOUTH. Like, every 2-3 days should keep him quiet.

So get in line bitches, cuz this nigga’s on the block. I need to marry this fool off soon, because I fear for the future of his penis. I’ve put together a dowry, so you’ll also get [a photograph of] a herd of goats, an invitation to come to my home and watch me cook turkey bacon in my underwear (er…), a mega box of Lifestyles Ultra Sensitive, a 20% off coupon to Carson Pirie Scott, fifty cents, and anything else you can find in my pantry (exception: the liquor).

Seriously, take Belle off my hands, because I’m too busy looking at my Fly Boy's ass to keep an eye on him anymore. Free to a good home. Please hurry, because he is talking about hooking up with the girl they call “Rat Eyes” and that can’t be a good thing.