Monthly Archives: March 2011

I try. Fail. But try.

Again and again as it happens.

I was talking to someone not very close to me. Not close as in this is really the only thing I know about them and it was WAY TOO MUCH. I don’t know what it is, other than proximity, that causes people to unburden themselves to me.

I don’t really mind because, on the off chance, I have actually helped people. I don’t like it but I find if I get a solution they leave quicker.

Then there are other times when there’s nothing I can do but stand there. Because to move would probably trigger my flee reflex. I think some of it is because people have been told some things are easier to talk about with strangers. Well, that’s a fucker I’d like to hunt down and staple his scrotum to his forehead then smash him in the face with a baseball bat.

After that, I’d start bringing the pain.

This guy is telling me his wife went on his computer and found out he’d been having assignations. Oh, bad. With members of the same sex. Oh, badder. And, like a pussy, broke down and admitted he’d been doing it in their bed. Oh, baddest.

Fucker blew apart like a dollar store wind chime.

Now I know I should have been sympathetic or attempt to be helpful but I wasn’t. But for only one reason. Because, from the moment he told me what’s been going on in his life, all I could hear in my head was different lyrics, but the music from Escape (The Pina Colada Song):

I was tired of my lady
We’d been together too long
Like a worn-out recording
Of a favorite song
So while she lay there sleeping
I scanned craigslist in bed
And in the casual encounters
There was this post that I read

If you like anal intruders
And getting chaffed until pain
If you’re not into splooging
If you have ten inch cock
If you’d like your ass to be not so tight
Until I blow one on your nape
Then I’m the score that you’ve looked for
To help you ejaculate.

I didn’t think about my lady
I know that sounds kind of mean
But me and my old lady
Have fallen into the same old dull routine
So I emailed Ripper69
Told him I was the right size
And though I’m nobody’s poet
I thought it wasn’t half bad

Yes I like anal intruders
And getting chaffed until pain
I’m not much into splooging
Have I mentioned I like pain?
I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow noon
And cut through all this red-tape
At a bar called Back Alley’s
Where we’ll plan our release.

So I waited with high hopes
And he walked in the place
I knew his smile in an instant
I knew the beard on his face
It was my own burly daddy
And he said, “Oh it’s you.”
Then we laughed for a moment
And I said, “I never knew.”

That you like anal intruders
Getting chaffed until pain
That you’re not into splooging
But you like man champagne
If you think we can hide it from Mother
I’ll go deep in your crease
You’re the daddy I’ve looked for
Here, let me help you release

Yes, yes, it’s true, all I actually came up with at the time was the chorus but, come on! That alone kept me pretty damn distracted.

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The Doctor Is (Almost) In

http://laffirmations.wordpress.com/

Psycho killer?

I ain’t afraid of no psycho killer.

But a Psycho Chicken??????????

Oh yeah, bad words.

Shitty Sleep

My girlfriend has to have the TV on all night. I don’t care. I usually fall asleep after her so it beats me having to scrounge around trying to find the remote. So last night I’m sleeping and, as happens, wake slightly during the night.

During one time, as I slowly gained a modicum of consciousness I heard something, something disturbing, that I’d heard on the web many times to gales of laughter.

The Poo Poo Guy From Uganda.

Turns out it was part of a documentary, Missionaries Of Hate, about Uganda’s anti-gay bill.

But to awake and have some guy, with seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of the goings ons in bed settings of couplings of that ilk, could be considered a little off putting.

So I turned over and went back to sleep. I’m good like that.

However long later it was, I never know because I don’t open my eyes because I’m afraid there will be a cat (top left in the banner) sitting there staring me in the eyes just waiting for one to peek so he can go into this gawd awful B-52 audio level purring.

So I slowly shift my listening attention to the TV and what the proverbial fuck!

It’s Jim Fucking Jefferies and his I Swear To God stand-up special. Don’t get me wrong, the guy is a riot. But, what is the bit I am listening to? The one where he describes, at pretty detailed length, about putting a vibrating egg up his ass and getting it stuck.

“More fucking shit? At ass crack o’clock? Bloody hell!” I think hoping Brutus doesn’t sense my unease and take that as a cue to poo.

Hey, at this moment anything could have happened.

Here’s the bit. It’s not from the special but it’s all there and uncut. So, don’t be a dink, be an adult because that’s who it’s for.

It starts at 2:33 but sit back and take it all in.

I had to.

Guy’s are gross

I’m sure that comes as no surprise to anyone. Since birth we’ve tried to out gross one another. It’s not as much fun as it sounds. One reason is guys are also stupid. I mean that as no disrespect to my idiotic brethren. It’s just true. Even the brightest of us have pretty dumb ass tendencies.

That’s why we’re so lovable! If we didn’t have the foible of stupidity just think how more insufferable we’d be? And we do it all for you! Our loved ones.

You’re welcome.

That said, I’m with a few friends and, for whatever reason, oh yeah, that’s right, stupidity, we’re bringing up the grossest things we can think of. Now, to me, none of it was that gross. I guess the reason is there was no set-up. There’s nothing startling about a guy (or girl. I know you’re not that far behind us on the evolutionary gross scale) saying,

“Licking a baboons butt!”

Yeah, it’s gross but it’s too in your face. Gross is like telling jokes. You need to do a reveal.

“Licking a baboons butt!” Yeah, that’s pretty gross. “Then French kissing your mother.” Oh! Yeah, lets’ stop now.

But most guys are so obvious they don’t push it.

Good thing I’m not like other guys, huh?

When it’s my turn, after listening to many truly gross things I will admit but none that turned my stomach, I said,

“Don’t you hate it when you’re taking a shit and water splashes up and hits you in the face because you’re throwing up at the same time?”

Oh look! A think and puke piece!

The Doctor Is (Almost) In

Do you have your pretty much together at least once a year but sometimes need a little pick me up? A tidbit of advice? A little morsel to get you through a life that puts the ass in morass?

Then have I got just the guy for you!

Dr. Alo Pecia and his affirmation of the day!

http://laffirmations.wordpress.com/

The good doctor will be posting daily beginning April 1 so mark your calendar and prepare for guidance that, well, most likely won’t help much at all but, hey, what else were you going to do with that ten seconds a day?

A guy is showing. . .

. . .me around his house. Nice house. But, honestly, unless someone is giving you the house, does any guy actually care about a tour? I think it should go, invite me in, show me where booze and food are, show me where I can sit (preferably in front of a television yet out of the way to limit human contact), show me where I can piss, leave.

But, I’m getting one. Carrying a beer so as to assuage the sting. Oh look! A bedroom! Oh look! A home office! Oh look! A couch with what looks like to me two dead kids!

Turns out they weren’t actually dead. They were actually teenagers. And, if we know nothing else about this teenage generation, they sure as hell love to conserve energy. I know they’re playing a video game because I hear the carnage but I’m not seeing, what I would consider, movement.

But, no time to linger! A tours a happening!

Oh look! A hallway! Oh look! A room with a gun case I’m pretty sure I can break into if the need arises.

The tour, mercifully, comes to an end. And not a moment too soon. For I was out of adult beverage.

We pass through the room where the kids are ‘playing’ and, just like medical cadavers, they haven’t moved. At all. Same positions. Same locked stares. Even the father of, I have to assume or hope, at least one of them notices and says,

“What is going on here?”

“Shhhh!” I say. “It’s a test of the emergency inert system. If this had been actual inertia you would have been instructed to call your local mortuary.”

And with that the tour is over and, for my good behavior, I am rewarded a frosty adult beverage.

And a chair.

Away from all others.