Ah, the wonders of the internet. You start out with some very basic questions about human evolution and wind up looking at strange cartoon pictures of sexuality. Delightful.
Now, I assure you, I did not begin my journey through the bowels of Wikipedia with the express intention of seeing cartoon men (and some women) ejaculate onto each other in a variety of interesting ways. But once I found my way down that fascinating hallway of animated splooge, I simply couldn’t resist clicking on every new and wonderful term I came across.
Dirty laundry, decaying newspapers,
Chinese take-out boxes, and stained sheets.
Plates stacked under the bed, glasses perched on the nearby table
teetering, waiting to tip and spill and tumble and crunch into the floorboards
“Don’t take them off,” she tells me.
She means my shoes,
and I take her advice.
We slide into bed,
cocoon inside the mess,
and push the trash against the wall.
There’s something poking sharply into my back –
a self-improvement book. “Stupid,” I think.
She takes off her skirt and her blouse and her bra
and drops her panties down past her knees and around the
rainbow painted hiking boots still laced and snug around her little feet.
She smells like cigarettes and magazine perfume and curry, but her lips are soft
and her eyes smile and dance and I can see my own goofy
face staring back: a dirty beard, sunken eyes, greasy hair
and a foolish grin and reasonably straight
whitish-yellow teeth that chatter incessantly
when I’m nervous or when I’m trying
to impress someone.
(They often chatter.)
New Joiesy. I’m from New Joiesy, ya heard? Da fuck ya lookin’ at? Yer a fuckin’ mook!
This is how people from New Jersey talk, or at least this is how they talk in Don Jon, because where I’m from (“The countryside, the central Jersey side, apple pies so good you can cry – side”) nobody talks like that. So, Donny Don, you don’t mind if I call you Donny Don, do you? No? Okay, good. So, Donny Don is addicted to porn. He likes to beat his meat. He enjoys strangling the chicken. He gets a kick out of stroking the sausage. He has fun rubbing the Orangutan. He clearly doesn’t mind spending time putting a bind around the thick line between his thighs. So, fine! And perfectly understandable. Though I think I understand for different reasons than are in the film. What is the difference between a one-night-stand and jerking off? Both are climactic releases of energy (and semen) that don’t go any further than that one single moment. There’s no romantic intimacy, there’s no true connection. It’s just a man and a woman (or a man and a computer/magazine /tablet/photograph/memory/whatever) fucking. The man puts his dick inside a hole in the woman. The man pushes in and out a bit. The man says something like, “Ohhhh” and grunts and shudders and then pulls out and rolls over and goes to sleep. And the woman stares up at the ceiling and wonders what the fuck she just did that for and why it was so unsatisfying and what and what and what and just what the FUCK. Damn! Damn!