Imaginary Fucking with Megan Lent – Part 3 of 4
I think everyone has at least one fictional or deceased person who they’d absolutely love to bang. I have many. I know that this is weird concept. I also know that I like it. It’s like vaginas; they look like little aliens, but I still like having one. Of course, for breakfast this morning, I dipped powdered sugar donuts in a Go Girl. Just because I like something, doesn’t make it normal.
I am not an idiot. I know that John Cusack is a real person, and I also know that he is currently alive (I mean, if you consider having to pretend to like Jeremy Piven living). But I do not want to have sex with John Cusack. I want to have sex with John Cusack. I want the skinny dark-eyed Irish boy wearing a trench coat outside of my bedroom window, discussing improvements in walkie-talkie technology with Anthony Michael Hall and arguing about records with Jack Black. I want to say things like, “ooh, you can blast in MY eyes” (get it? Like Say Anything…? But with semen?) and “ooh, you can run away with MY jury” (like a vagina!) and “ooh, you must love dogs…and…like….pussy.”
I think that women such as myself who grew up surrounded by the Cus, have been spoiled for real-life romance: I only really want to date people that Johnny C has played. (Or voiced. The con man he “played” in Anastasia is kind of totally dreamy for an animated Russian.) I used to date a guy whose name was only two letters off from his sister’s name solely because this reminded me of the John/Joan Cusack dynamic. My closest male friend is pretty much Lloyd Dobler: he’s sensitive and emotional and listens to me play fake femme punk songs about boys I secretly still love, and I loaned him a pen once and he was like, “she gave me a pen and I gave her my heart,” except he didn’t say heart, he said “bagel,” but that’s beside the point. The Grosse Point Blank, if you will. John Cusack is probably an abominable human being whose onscreen persona has ruined me for actual, three-dimensional people, but I will definitely always be in love with him (or the fake-him, or whatever; this is too meta, even for me).
About the Ranter:
Megan Lent is a wonderfully unsuccessful blogger who likes to whine about literature at http://apostrophetothestars.blogspot.com/, and occasionally contributes to the steamy world of small-press fiction at Metazen and Housefire. She was the 62nd best speller in California in eighth grade, and used to run a brothel out of her parents’ house in Chicago. She lives in LA.