take a picture (it will last longer)

‘wait, are those milk crates?’

a million and one questions were flingin flangin off of the empty walls inside my head - but that was the question that came out first.

in hindsight it probably wasn’t the most important question to ask, but it certainly seemed to be pertinent at the time.

i think i may have been in shock.

no answer came back to me – apparently they had their own unanswered questions pinballing inside their heads – so i took it upon myself to find out the answer.

its not like it was rocket science.

‘holy shit!… those really are milk crates’

again a blank screen greeted me.

but eventually a beavis and butthead snicker (heheheh) snaked its way out in response.

‘damn dood, that’s fucked up’.

and indeed it was.

way fucked up.

way way way fucked up.

‘who is that in the picture?’

which is the twenty four million dollar question.

when i went to bed last night, people still didn’t know.

which is probably a good thing.

considering that the 'who' in question is a she, and she’s naked.

naked and tied to two milk crates.

technology really is a bitch.

at least that’s what she’s probably thinking right now.

that’s assuming that she knows.

that’s assuming that she knows that somebody took pictures of her spending some quality time with a guy.

that’s assuming that she knows that somebody uploaded ‘nekkid’ pictures of her onto the internet.

that’s assuming that she knows that everybody has seen her naked and tied to a makeshift closet made of milk crates.

unfortunately ive seen them, and if ive seen them… EVERYBODY has seen them.

because im usually the last one to know about this type of thing.

not because i don’t want to know, but mostly because im usually too far-removed to hear anything but the same regurgitated old news.

usually i hear the ‘so-and-so just got engaged’ kinda old news.

or the ‘we broke in and stole their keg’ kinda old news.

and maybe even the ‘guess who got arrested for pissing on a cop car’ kinda old news

in other words, the same ol boring shit.

this was not boring shit.

this was something else.

at first glance the IM that i received appeared to contain a link to some cheesy XXX girls-gone-wild porn site.

at first glance this link just so happened to have a montage of pictures that just so happened to feature a very pale ‘college’ coed engaging in some pretty standard paris hilton activities.

which on its own would be pretty boring shit.

even the part about being ‘tied to two milk crates’ .

except for that fact that one of the milk crates contained a sweatshirt that prominently featured my house’s letters on it.

which would still be pretty boring (because there are plenty of places with the same letters) if another milk crate didn’t also prominently feature a tshirt that i had helped design while i was in school.

suddenly this website wasn’t boring anymore.

in fact it was damn near as far away from boring as you can possible get.

because these pictures may have been taken by someone that i may have known.

because these pictures may have been taken in a place that i may have lived in.

because these pictures may have been taken of a girl that i may have met.

‘who is that in the picture?’

i must have gotten the link towards the tail end of the daisy chain because that was the question that everyone was already asking. IMs, emails, IRC's were flying fast and furious.

fortunately i didn’t know her.

because i wouldnt have known what to say to her if i had.

part of me cracks up at the sheer audacity of whoever these pics belongs to.

‘damn dood, that’s fucked up’.

part of me snickers at the girl for 'volunteering' herself for such a bad situation.

‘wait, are those milk crates?’

and part of me shudders with revulsion - this girl is probably just like any other girl that i could meet out there. she’s had a history. she’s had a boyfriend. she’s engaged in intimate acts with her boyfriend. and she’s trusted him.

asking someone about their history is one of those awkward, often glossed over moments that every person faces when they begin a new relationship. a person’s ‘number’ used to matter. a person’s ‘number’ used to be important. you could tell a lot about a person just by their ‘number’.

supposedly a guys number was always double his actual number plus one or two for good measure. supposedly a girls number was always half her actual number minus one or two for good measure.

go figure.

after today i could care less about a persons number.

instead i just might concentrate on dating someone who’s past doesn’t include:

‘holy shit!… those really are milk crates’

transit pictures compliments of thisisgrand ~ hear jen's womanhood roy ~