"That Boy is Queer on Steroids..."

I was working at the Solid Rock Church (the maniac rich cult of Christ... you know, the one with the giant four story Jesus ornament on the front lawn as you go up I75...) this afternoon. I was in one of the offices putting up "wall-angle," when I hear several of my fellow red-neckian construction workers and an older black gentleman, named Franklin, (who works for the general contractor as a clean-up man)in the next room talking rather brashly about events one of them had the previous night. When all of a sudden, in the middle of conversation where red-neck one is sharing his sexual discretion's, right when he was about to divulge into the juicy details, I was saved by a sudden silence. As the wall I was working on was facing their room (and like most walls in an in-progress building before the ceiling is in place), I peaked over to see what the lack of commotion was about. Not that the conversation was all that interesting, but the lack of silence was. The whole floor, it seemed, decided at that moment to go on pause, As if the giant four-story Jesus had pressed the pause button of some heavenly remote control. I peer over the wall, and the three guys (and a silent electrician, named Tom, who I hadn't know was there before, and was now climbing down his ladder) were all facing the doorway just looking at something. What it was, I couldn't quite see.
The scene was just too strange for me to ignore. Curiosity got the better of me and I whispered, "psst..." to the nearest man next to me. When he turned around, I noticed it was one of the carpet guys named Don. When he looked up at me, I gave him the universal hand signal and shrug for "i-dunno" and mouthed the words, "what's up?" As I looked over to the door frame, which was the direction in which they had been staring.
He answered by smiling and glancing back to the door and into the hallway. Then as if a magic spell was released the workers stopped in their idleness and began to pick up their work again. Yet, they seemed unnerved by something and had picked up their pace at an enormous rate. Then she walked in.
She had an unearthly beauty. She could have been perhaps in her early to mid twenties. Her long straight sable hair matched perfectly with her outfit. It was a business suit, conservative mini-dress deal with a matching vest and blouse. Her skin was paradoxical, both light and dark at the same time. It was both soft as the winters first snow, just as cold, and rough as diamond coarse sandpaper heated from within the very core of the Earth itself. She was quite simply the essence of Wowza! I knew at that moment that even the forty foot statue of Jesus outside had a boner when this lady walked by. And with that thought a snort of laughter escaped from my nose. And that is when I found ten pair of eyes upon me burning through the back of my skull. I blushed and immediately and climbed back down into my work on the other side of the wall. My cheeks burning from discomfiture.
The last set of eyes in the room belonged to the general contractor himself, who was a bit of an overweight, in desperate need of surgery to take his ugly ass nose (with the exceptionally large mole on it) out of the Jim Jones cult leader's asshole, asshole. I had never seen him do any work himself or anything constructive except as a tour guide for women like the beauty in the room. Mostly, he gave tours to the people from the church and made all of the contractors absolutely insane with his perplexing, ever-changing day to day plans for the place, which of course were sent to him from upon high. That is high, meaning the condition as in let's go do some drugs and get high, by the leader of the Christ-cult. And every time that I saw his stubby little fingers fawn nervously all over each other, I could just imagine their desire to snake their grubby little stubs over the backsides of his guided flock as he smiled his snake oil smile amongst their unawares.
Yet I digress. It seems that the beauty and the beast were making the rounds, as he often did, giving her his special "behind-the-scenes" tour, explaining the in's and out's of what he called "the biz." In other words, he was a chump-cake leading around a kool-aid special, and that was it. I knew that they would probably come to my room next and I immediately began to screw in the wall angle once again. Of course my thoughts concentrating on the woman in the next room. Though she was probably one of the kool-aid converted (strike one) and would have nothing to do with me (strike two... um why? Just cause I said so, damn it!) I couldn't help thinking lustful thoughts about her. And why not, hell, I am a guy after all. Come on ladies, we all know you do it too. Just probably not in the perverse manor we guys do. God knows that the rest of the guys in the other room, the whole floor, were probably thinking the same way I was. That is until she spoke.
Just like the Vandals song, her voice, accent, pitch, vocabulary, just wanted to make me scream. One of my pet peeves in life is stupid people, and let me tell ya, this girl sure took the cake. Nothing is less attractive to me than a brain dead woman. Definitely, I like the smart ones. The smarter they are--the better. I love them to be smarter than me, though I will never admit that they are. And there went strike three (Again, not that I would ever in a day have a chance with a woman of such physical beauty, but in my head she was shot down). And my lustful thoughts dropped into that empty void where my thoughts sometimes drift and were once again replaced with the waking dream of "one screw on the gun, one screw into the wall... one screw on the gun, one screw into the wall..." and so on.
They came and went into my room without incident. I nodded my greetings out of respect when they entered and ignored them as they left. A little later, perhaps five minutes or so, when the girl and the GM were down at the other end of the hallway, I heard the laughter and conversation pick up once again in the next room. Though they were keeping their voices down, the super thin walls hid no secrets from my ears.
"Heh heh heh... Did you see that?" said Franklin to the rest. As if they had somehow missed it. Let me point out that construction workers have the bad habit of stating the totally obvious in every waking moment of their conversation with others. I think it is part of the bylaw they agree to once they pick up a Craftsman tool. Either way, all three of them started laughing and making grunting noises, which I could only imagine being a part of the ritual of the "hip thrust" mimicking sex. It is a crude way that guys communicate with their fellow brethren when the need to show that a hot female has either just walked by, walked by yesterday, or will walk by soon. You probably know the gesture I am talking about so I will continue.
They conversed for a bit as I continued to screw in the molding, turning to another wall at the corner, when I hear Franklin shout my name over the wall.
"Hey Mikey! Mikey! D'joo see that ass? I know you saw that ass... Jesus Christ, we all saw that ass," he said and waited for a response.
"What about it?" I responded. And climbed back over the wall so I could see who I was talking to. And there was laughter again from the rest of the room.
"Well, what'd ya think? Would you get on with that or what?" He asked.
"I guess so... I dunno..." I responded. Immediately I could hear the sirens of warning going off in my head screaming WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! loudly between my ears. I began to blush once again, because I knew my mistake. No matter what I said to defend myself, I had already lost their confidence in my masculinity. I already had several strikes against me in that department. One being that my father was one of the "big boss men," and another being that I was one of them "college educated boys." And though I tried to explain that it was because she was a moron, there was nothing I could do to convince them. I slowly lowered myself down the scaffolding to continue on my work, only to listen to them razz me from the other room, at lunch time, and the rest of the day.
I don't really mind at all. I have no real worries about what an ignorant bunch of construction workers think of me, whether it be highly or not. I just wanted to share this story to explain one of the jabs that Franklin took at my expense from behind a wall to his buddies. Without the story, I think the line loses it's capability of being humorous, and it is the line that is mentioned in the title. When he sad, "Man... that bou-oy is k-weir on steriooods..." even I laughed a bit. It kind of defused the rest of their chatter for the rest of the day for me. And it was that line which lingered in my head the rest of the day. So though I may have lost my fellow coconspiritors of machismo stock in my own, now I have a funny tag and story which I can share with you. Isn't that just swell?
Anyway, I am beyond tired and really late for an appointment with a dream lady, who has an IQ larger than mine (namely anything over the number 4), so I will shove off.
Peace out peoples,
-sib-