all butts are different! – (en)

Friday. I work for a real bastard. We’re in the “Motivational” industry, and no industry has inflicted more suffering than ours. Motivational books, speakers and posters that have made billions selling shortcuts to success and tools for unleashing our “unlimited potential”. Enjoy jerks! We have a dream. To crush other people’s dreams! My boss could as well have made millions as the lead role in “The Exorcist” —surprised she doesn’t spit split pea soup, and one of the worst things is her bipolarity, her personality just changes like the weather in Kansas. She only has a tiny bit of a brain… but, to be fair, she has a damn great butt! 
The weekend blasted! I’ve been invited by the die bitch, die, to a gathering in her house. I needed to rest, but no excuses. The longed weekend through the window! Tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll have to leave the comfort and security of my apartment to go to her place, yuck! There she’d fascinate us with the exploration of her universe, presented as a celebration of selfishness and greed to almost inconceivable limits. In all, dread and frenzy, with excessive doses of sex and drugs, no rock ‘n’ roll, blonde rental for the VIPs, and a strafing of breathless dazzling cars. Her mansion more than sumptuous … and my Civic down! But … still, she has a damn awe-inspiring capital ‘B’ turned on its side! How to get there? Her mansion I mean…
Saturday. I’ve been forced to take a taxi in midtown Manhattan. I stress that I have been forced because in New York you never get a taxi for pleasure. Usually it always gets nasty. Anyway, I got cab on Park Avenue and 21st and give instructions that any four years old would understand, but for a taxi driver here seem very complicated, “Go to Brooklyn, to Travers Park.” The driver receives the mention of Travers Park as if asked for Congo, Africa, his eyes flaming hatred and muttering the unspeakably, but the good thing is he finally agreed. There I meet my four fellas from office already zoned. They stuck me in the back of their Chevy Malibu like a bonding experience —pot seems like a sociable drug, and we go 5 mph while making a right turn with the left signal on. No idea how we reached Mill Basin! I’m there, high as hell in a baked-out car, rolling the window down and taking a deep breath of the fresh air, oh my god, look at my face, am I crying? The well-lit mansion is blurred! Yes I am crying!
Sorry. I’ll get myself together before I go on.
The boss lady, exceeding something and hungry for party, but incredibly sexy and glamorous and powerful, was surrounded by a network of emerging artists and some white bitches with black attitude. She was fooling with a handsome blue-eyed adolescent, Strawman —despite his nickname the only man I know consuming just beer, although gossip goes he keeps the molly for the babies, a rarity for someone who is still developing his style. I decided to take it quite. Only pot and beer, I thought, to enjoy the smiles, house tunes, some dreadlocks and babies with flowers in her hair. On the dance area the crowds mesmerized themselves, writhing to hypnotic music. In the chill-out rooms, they talked, sat silent, lay down or held heads in hands. “Your eyebrows have turned into caterpillars —they’re crawling over your face,” said one worried girl. “I don’t like it. Am I hallucinating?” None of these people are young psychotic, bankrupt, unemployed, temporarily or terminally ill. Most of ’em are long-established “special occasion” drugs users —weddings, funerals, birthdays. But most here weren’t married, dead or significantly older. Then again, their mum could just die and their birthday could be next week. It was a cheerful calm, nothing static, as if I knew everything would be fine and there was nothing better that to feel alive. At the same time I felt like the most important and significant thing in the universe and that made me laugh, and when a fella offered me an acid, something that was in the drawer of memories as my hippie’s espadrilles, it seemed like a great idea. The definition of candy tripping describes my experience perfectly. It was a trip on LSD accentuated by feelings of ecstasy, living life like a boss…
Some minutes? Hours? Later and a six, I needed to evacuate my bladder. The door was blocked behind, but the boss moved aside to allow me the entry, “Lazy bastard!” was her welcome. Strawman was also there, with a CD in his hand with snow chopped into delicate one-and-a-half-inch lines. It was going to be another experiment of death. I’m not promiscuous unless drugged or drunk, and I am an opportunist, and dat ass!! … so I got in, into my second bonding experience —especially when there’s three of you crammed in a minuscule toilet cubicle. I have my boss just in front of me, her back against my chest, and then she bent forward to sniff some snowflakes, and there I was, encased between that egregious booty and the door —if you do not know the feeling, then we look a very different kind of porn. I didn’t mean to make a baby with her in the closet, with the floor throbbing to the beat of the house music bass and the strobe light slipping through the slot in the door. A massage in the back with dual intent occurs everywhere, but how difficult is knowing today where injustice begins and ends, who is and who is not your brother, against what or against what not your struggle is directed. How difficult is not screwing up! So I raised her white dress, she wasn’t wearing panties, I hold apart her dumps —the situation was a bit pathetic with Strawman smiling, but, as I am not allowed to kill her and she seems to be never ending when it comes to the special projects, as I won’t hit her, tempting as that is —if I win the lottery then it’s a different story lol, I have this ridiculous belief that we’ve a right to almost everything, that we live in an instant gratification world. OK, I thought, greedy fucker when it comes to drugs, PLOP! Arrrhhhh! I shove my evil dick in her popper as deep as I can, unleashing my unlimited potential, and then loved watching it coming in and out. The anal dictator not even flinch!
As in life, occasionally there will be some shit, and as I didn’t find any better thing, I wiped it in her white dress. Then it occurred to me that hotboxing in there too long would get me busted and kicked out fast, so I got out. The up-and-down adrenaline rollercoaster caused me a hallucination —her husband was right outside the door. He asked me for his wife and I pointed the thumb toward the bathroom. He abruptly opened the door and got my boss lady out. His face contorted with grimace of disgust “Oh god, what’s that smell?” Then he noticed the brown stain on the back of her dress, looked at an inocent Strawman, and then looked to me like someone that had killed his mum right in front of him. With a resigned anger, business are business, he embraced her. I believe that true love is not laughing at the poop stains on your partner.
Sunday. Most of the day sleeping, lying in another world, lost in time as in Quantum Leap, looking blankly at the abuse blues… masturbation is a lost art …
Monday. The boss was wearing sunglasses because she contracted a mysterious eye infection —a black eye which was hilarious. Not so the letter on my desk to go and visit that “special person” in Human Resources. By the textbook man! And then what happens? And then I’m fucked. Basically. But not all butts are the same!
All butts are different! – Dugutigui

About Dugutigui

In the “Diula” language in Mali, the term « dugutigui » (chief of the village), literally translated, means: «owner of the village»; «dugu» means village and «tigui», owner. Probably the term is the result of the contraction of «dugu kuntigui» (literally: chief of the village).
This entry was posted in English, Humor, Politically Incorrect Language, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

24 Responses to all butts are different! – (en)

  1. Simply hilarious! And it seems that a perfectly good dress was defiled by a perpatrator of a popular posteior possessed by a prestigiously pompous pundit.

  2. I believe you need a nice long vacation. New York can be stressful.

    • Dugutigui says:

      Please. I would greatly appreciate it if we could conduct this conversation entirely within the realm of reality. If you don’t believe New York City is America’s best, grandest, most fully realized city, the beating heart of this nation’s art, culture, business, and thought, then fine. Go live in Phoenix or whatever. You don’t need to be reading this post at all (except for the fact that you have nothing better to do, because you live in Phoenix or whatever.) Are there good cities? Sure. Some pretty decent ones, here and there. If you put together the most attractive and vibrant portions of Atlanta, Miami, New Orleans, and… wherever doesn’t suck in Texas, without all the urban sprawl, you could piece together a single fairly tolerable city. But you can’t. And it still would not bear any resemblance to the metropolis that is New York.
      Yes you have Los Angeles, a vast agglomeration of neighborhoods of varying quality sewn together with highways and plagued by a fatal set of geological fault lines and juice stores. The sorts of people that live in America’s best city, New York, are naturally turned off by the essence of Los Angeles, that’s why we live in New York. If Los Angeles was as cool a city as New York, no one would live in New York. QED.
      Hahahahaha!!! Just kidding! 🙂 🙂
      BTW, I’m living in sunny Alicante (Spain) 🙂 🙂 🙂

      • I love New York City. I used to work there and live in Brooklyn. Now I live on Long Island. But nothing is like the hustle and bustle of the City.

      • Dugutigui says:

        Agreed!! The fact that nearly ten million good-looking people tolerate today’s sidewalks coated in an ice-encrusted layer of snow covering near-frozen slush lakes is de facto proof that New York is America’s best city. If it weren’t, they would get the fuck out of there, pronto. 🙂 🙂

      • Dugutigui says:

        Here’s THR on the character of each city:
        Los Angeles: It’s New York with palm trees, as they say. Or the opposite: New York is L.A. with subways. And lousy weather. And cigarettes. The comparisons between America’s polar-opposite biggest cities have shrunk over the years because of similarities in professions, constant work travel, the Internet and people relocating between the two — or giving up and going bi (coastal). The old (Big) apples and oranges (citrus country, get it?) adages don’t apply much anymore, least of all in the entertainment/media business, where lifestyles are built around work, work and more work. Yes, it’s no secret that people in New York exercise, practice yoga, get Botox and have moments of superficiality. And people in L.A. are always on the move and in a bad mood, with their therapists on speed dial. They even get drunk sometimes — if the calorie count is low enough. Still, there are a few palpable differences between the industry types. (We’ve noticed New Yorkers are less likely to include cell phone numbers in their e-mail signatures; Angelenos, always in their cars, do so more often.) THR decided they were worth nitpicking about with a handful of insiders who meet, play, eat, drink and exercise away their stress on the Left and Right coasts.
        🙂 🙂

      • ~meredith says:

        This reply is as funny as the post (wonderful!)

  3. mooonalila says:

    Wow, I like to be allowed to click on that like button… 😀
    Correct me if I’m wrong : is it again about baiting a mousetrap with cheese ? 😉

  4. Himani B says:

    I greatly enjoy your sense of humour, Daman..thank you for the giggles 😀 ah I could never write like this!

  5. hahahaha… I love this post !!!!

  6. Mélanie says:

    you’re too much, ombre! 🙂
    * * *
    @”All butts are different! – Dugutigui” – excellent conclusion, so: vive la différence, amigo! 🙂

  7. Remind me to never go to see a motivational speaker in New York! I’d be afraid I’d be staring at her butt the entire time and embarrass myself.

  8. Heartafire says:

    Excellent post…Love your blog!

    • Dugutigui says:

      Thank you for allowing me —being selfish and supercilious, to win the respect of intelligent persons like you, and the affection of children, having no fear of perfection —because I’ll never reach it 🙂
      Thank you!

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