Hey readers, Axe and Flip Cameras are asking, what’s YOUR anthem?! I’ll tell you mine and you can tell me yours, to win a product pack from Axe and a free Flip Mino HD camera! I’ve never found a real use for the classic Axe Body Sprays but, I’ve tried their shower gel before and it’s actually pretty good.
Your anthem is an event or experience that changed you. It can be anything but I was thinking perhaps a wild party or a special show that changed you forever and left you feeling less than squeaky-clean. It can be anything so use your imagination. The point is, no matter what goes down AXE can fix you up.
Myself, Razor's Edge & Belladonnakillz at Teknival 2005
So what’s my anthem? It was a breezy July weekend in 2005, and the setting was Teknival, the 3 day pseudo-anarchist rave brought in from the crazy euro kids and their teuf parties. I was single, and, naturally looking to hook up. I’m not quite a player, and I don’t have terrible luck with meeting people, but this event was unfortunately lacking in the single ladies department. It seems like most sensible girls don’t go on drug-fuelled 3 day raves to frolic with their lithe and single bff’s. In short, by Saturday night, I was hard pressed to meet any lookers, so my buddy Pete, aka Belladonnakillz, was cool enough to set me up with a friend, whom he assured was ‘gorgeous’ and couldn’t wait to meet me. I was open-minded and feeling a little lonely so I thought the company wouldn’t hurt.
My memory is a bit hazy, but as it happens, I may have been under certain influences, but what I can tell you, as you may have heard before, is that sex, techno and these funny bits of magic generally do not mix! I remember being introduced to her. I also remember going off to my tent with her to fool around. Unfortunately, the make-out session really wasn’t doing it for me. I don’t know if it was because I just wasn’t that into her, or if it was the crazy stuff doing its work, but after a few minutes, all I could see in my mind’s eye were visions of ants, worms and spiders crawling all over this poor girl. It was like we were rolling around deep in the soggy moss bed that lay beneath the tarp.
I may have been an avid entomologist as a five year old but this experience was a bit much, so I mustered up all my will-power and mumbled something like, “I gotta go….” and stepped outside the tent. The poor thing followed me out, and continued to hang off of me despite my pleas for space. I don’t know what part of ” I need space” she didn’t understand, so in my strung-out, drug addled mind the only logical reaction was to start dry-heaving, in hopes that she might be disgusted enough to leave, or feel sympathy for me since I was actually feeling quite sick. But no! She still did not get it, and my stress levels only escalated until I reached a climax where I actually DID vomit…or maybe it was just a bit of drool hanging off my lower lip. Either way, this was my cue to leave, and I stumbled off into the brush without my flashlight, leaving the doe behind.
I saw her the next day hanging out with a bunch of hippie chicks around the muddy campgrounds that was the aftermath of Teknival 2005. She was topless and her breasts were flopping all over the place. I waved politely, and kept on walking, wishing I had some Axe Snakeskin on me to help wash away the experience.
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I was in my second year of philosophy at U of T when my friend Candy told me to check out this linguist who was speaking about the war on terrorism from an anarcho-syndicalist perspective. I didn’t really know that much about terrorism but I knew that it was bad and that anarchy was the shit. You know…. Mohawks, Sex Pistols, Black and Red and Avril Levine were really popular back then and that’s what I really wanted to explore and learn more about. When I went to the lecture I was blown away at how anti-authoritarian but authoritarian at the same time Mr. Noam Chomsky was. He was standing on a podium wearing an all-black suit and red snakeskin boots. His eyes were bright and shining with academic luster. I had never seen an older man who looked so well accomplished academically before. Strangely enough, I felt a tingly feeling in my stomach attracting me to him. He spoke clearly and precisely. His words shook me and awakened my consciousness, just like Blink 182! I couldn’t understand anything he was saying but I kept on focusing on his luscious lips and how his well-tailored suit complimented his frail wrinkly body. By the end of the lecture my cock was throbbing and I knew that I needed to get to closer to his ideological theories. Who ever thought that anarchy could be so sexy!
His last words still hung like vapor in the air and I tentatively approached Mr. Chomsky. He limped slowly down from the podium and winked my way and I could feel my dick get harder, it was almost like a dowser rod directing me towards his body. There was a crowd of people around him scampering to ask questions:
“Mr. Chomsky, what is the meaning of anarchy in relation to the post-modern-industrial-military-complex and the struggle of the proletariat bourgeoisies?”
“Noam! Is referring to people by their last names a bourgeoisie form of hierarchal oppression?”
“Will you have my babies!!!???”
“What is your perception of an anti-authoritarian Stalinist post-structuralism post-post-modern utopian anarcho-feminist society that is based in virtual reality?”Mr. Chomsky seemed oblivious to the barrage of questions coming his way and just coquettishly smiled and stroked his balding head. I could almost feel his hand stroking up and down my hairy legs. I hadn’t asked any questions, yet he ignored everyone else and turned to face me as I stood timidly beside the stage. Maybe it was because I was wearing my black and red spandex-lycra blend purchased at the local Toronto Mountain Equipment Co-op store at King and Peter? I could feel his eyes penetrating my skin, exploring my thoughts. I felt his voice resonating through my body as he placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “ Hey there, your question was very intellectual. Do you want to come back to my apartment and read the dictionary and maybe have an oral exam?”
I was stunned that he was so impressed by my question; he must have read my thoughts. I did up the first button of my studded leather jacket that I had recently acquired just for this lecture from the Chateau Works on Queen Street, and looked deeply into his brilliant eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated and shook a little as he drew me closer and whispered into my ear his sweet words of wisdom. I could hardly breathe. We were locked in a land of our own, a world consisting of synonyms and metaphors. Our words were meaningless and yet had so much weight. It was as if the universe depended on our every move, yet at the same time it seemed like everything was just a giant void of nothingness and zen.
As he turned he looked back at me, I skipped after him watching his hot tail. I was itching to get back to his apartment and learn how to play with words. After a very restrained academically challenging car ride we linked arms and he courted me up the steps to his private apartment in the Regent Park.
“You know, I have my neighbors in for tea and arabic coffee all the time when I’m in town. Class makes no difference to me. I love Black People too!”
I hardly cared what Chomsky thought of his ghetto-ass neighbors; I just wanted to spank it real hard by now. I had the feeling that he was really into me too by the way that his hand kept on gently brushing against my firm genitals. He must have learned those smooth moves back in Harvard. Chomsky pulled out a dictionary and I let out a sigh of internalized oppression. He turned to page 69 and started to recite random words; cock, ass, prostate, erect, nipple. When I inquired about the order of his dictionary he plainly stated that it was Webster’s Anarchist dictionary and he had bartered in exchange for Zmags at Uprising Infoshop on 6 Kensington. We quickly went from word play to foreplay. Noam grabbed my hair and growled seductively into my ear, “Hibus horte, English is my forte.” I only had one class of Latin in my early youth, but I had a feeling that it meant that he wanted to fuck my ass. His breathing was getting hot and heavy and I was scared that he might have a cardiac arrest but I could not contain my lust. I sunk to my knees and proceeded to take off his gold buckle with my teeth. He gyrated his hips towards my face in synch to the Avril Levine song that buzzed from his Windows XP Excalibur hybrid IBM 3.14 20” laptop with 9000 Gig memory. I had never felt so hot and bothered in my life. As I proceeded to fling his gold-black leather belt across the room he grabbed my wrist.
“We’ll be needing this later”
I attempted to unbutton his fly and slip his hard long withered cock into my moist mouth. My tongue glided from the tip of his anal cavity, over his Choate and his gonads and finally reaching the apex of his fermium. My consciousness became aware of a rising level of yang entering the periphery of my mammalian constructs. It was as if I was transcending physical reality and time itself as my mind produced out higher levels of estrogen almost replacing my motive being. It was the first time that I was able to fully come to terms with my pansexual identity. Noam Chomsky was teaching that how to fuck the system literally, meta-physically, and post maternally. My tongue lingered on his amputated Jew-style foreskin. His hands reached down to my soft baby face and pulled my head away. Our energies were linked as one as I stared into his eyes longingly.
“What’s wrong baby” I cooed.
“I just want this experience to be as non-hierarchal and participatory as possible. I want to feel as though we are a team working on principals of mutual aid and respect. My sexual desires are only in harmony when they are in sync with yours so if I am too vehement in my actions please do not refrain from alerting me.”His words were of little importance to me as the hormones coursed within my blood stream, yet he eyes beseeched mine with an intense kindness. I nodded my head; my shaggy died black sweat drenched hair slipped over one eye. His well-manicured fingers touched my face and gripped my chin, his thumb felt like velvet as it ran over my lips. A coy smile played on his face and he reached for the timer,
“The games have begun”
Timmy added these pithy words on
Apr 30 10 at
6:04 pm
