Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Lesbian Pulp Fiction Day rides again! So what do you do when you're a stranger in a strange land? That's brood pensively for a while in front of your table-of-oddly-shaped-objects, then commence to strippin'. Nothing says "I'm not from 'round here" like wandering the streets half naked. Unlike New Yorkers, however, who eat tourists for breakfast (at least when there's a long line at Dunkin' Donuts and they don't have time to pick up a cappuccino and chocolate frosted before the C train leaves), the citizens of Lesbos are quite appreciative of visitors. Especially when they're young, 'confused,' and have SO perfected the art of pouting.
What would lesbian hell be, exactly? Certainly not the cozy nook depicted here, kept a comfy 80 degrees and chock-full of naked women (though the reclining woman does appear to be headless...hmmm). No, one imagines lesbian hell would be a place of 3-inch acrylic nails, where you couldn't get a decent vegetarian meal and all sporting events were rained out. On second thought, it could just be full of men.

This is Exhibit A for all that is wrong with college lesbianism. Sure it's exciting, the way riding down Suicide Hill on your bike with the busted brakes was fun during elementary school. It's exhilarating because no one knows what the hell they're doing, and if you come out of the experience alive and with minimal scarring, you've won the game. It doesn't seem like this was really the party dorm, by the way: "Oh, man, I'm in Sappho Hall. The curfew there is, like, 9 o'clock." Indeed, indeed. More time for naked pillow fights if everyone's in by nine.

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