I’ve crossed the cock rubicon and I can’t jerk off to porn anymore. For the first few weeks of my unemployment it was six to eight times per day. When I discovered that Bing enabled perfect porn searches I was in a kind of heaven. There was no hour unjerked. My penis was beat up and scabby but it responded nonetheless. Looking back now this was the penis Beatles. Studio 54 in the 70′s. Now nothing excites me. Continue reading
My 4 fans ask:
How come you haven’t posted in so long– did you die?
No, I just took a week off.
It was just such a weird week that I didn’t even beat off. Or I did, but less than usual. I have beat off just about every day for the past 26 years, but this week– the car was dead; I would have to take the bus home. The 218 half an hour over Laurel Canyon, drop off at Sunset and Crescent Heights, wait half an hour for the 2– not the 302, which Google Maps had assured me in its public transit directions would pick me up and take me home toute fucking suite– the 2. Because the 302, which is the bus that comes by two minutes after the 218 reaches Sunset and Crescent Heights, that one will just blow right by you as you stand hanging half off the sidewalk holding your briefcase like a jerkoff in a whirlwind of leaves and wrappers stirred up by the 302 and you’ll swear that the driver had a malicious gleam in his eye. Black guy. I assume he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you, cracker!” as he deliberately ignores my stop. In reality, he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you cracker!” As he goes about his prescribed route which does not include my stop. Go ahead and think “fuck you, cracker,” by the way, black people. None of us care. Continue reading
You get a text on Monday morning from a girl you left at your house. The text is inventorying the contents of your jack drawer. Notably there is an artificial vagina in it made by filling a plastic cup with water and flour paste, pushing a hole into it, and covering it with a condom. You microwaved this creation while on cocaine and affixed it to your vibrating rubber duck and ergonomic airline neck pillow and it was the ne plus ultra of artificial vaginas; so far above and beyond the not inconsiderable amount of previous prototypes. This is the one that flew. It is has now taken on opportunistic airborne yeast and sat in the sun and become a perfectly formed uncooked dinner roll with a warped cast of your half-stiff cocaine penis in the center. She’s amused.
She had written you a letter. Like out of Bukowski’s WOMEN. Dear so and so, I’ve read your blog and your OKC profile and blah blah blah. We should have sex. Well, yes. Yes we should.
Still. Shouldn’t have sent her that second text this morning. But no. No. Don’t overgame. She’s a very straightforward person. The larger issue is, making decisions about whether you want to hang out with a girl when you’ve been fucking her at night, receiving her unparalleled blowjobs, but not cumming. Not cumming because she told you very matter of factly that your small penis could not get her off. Also because you were fucking her and it got hot, she got into some position that was going to make you pop instantly; you stopped, and she said you should have gone ahead and cum anyway because your dick is too small to get her off. You can’t tell if it’s because of this or just getting past that rubicon; sometimes you’re either going to cum prematurely or not at all. Then you sleep with her all night naked and just keep making out with her in the morning; her little body… and you should have beat off in the shower, but you didn’t, so all day in the office your nuts feel like some swollen half-fermented fruit hanging overripe from the tree ready to fall off. You can feel your heart beat in your nut sac, painfully. So you desperately want to see this person again but it’s just because you’re horny like an animal at your desk and you just keep seeing that ass, that ass, that ass, the way holocaust survivors must see the mule carts stacked with bodies flashing in their mind’s eye over and over again.
I was supposed to go to Six Flags with Nikol and her kids today. Instead I slept on my couch naked, sweating like fucking Kunta Kinte, with chunks of bloody scabby snot oozing out of my nose onto my white pillow. When I woke up I had to pull a beach towel off me; it was glued to my belly with snot and jizz. Five loads worth. They are redoing the floor in the apartment above me. Installing hardwood flooring. Or rather “hardwood flooring,” some kind of interlocking veneer that you put together like a puzzle. Thin planks that will resonate like guitar tops as my neighbors stomp stomp stomp all over them from 6am to 1am. Nobody who has ever lived above or below me has ever once gotten eight hours sleep in a night. It’s always some biological anomaly like Da Vinci, sleeping for 20 minutes and then waking up to engage in some crazy engineering project involving huge heavy slabs of wood and metal. Manic geniuses building a 1500′s helicopter. The floor crew began work at 9am just as the speedy coke was finally permitting me to start to doze off without my jaw chattering and long strings of thousands of nonsense words running through my brain. They hammer a floorboard in once every minute and a half. Tap tap tap tap tap. After about five of these they use some kind of growling screeching saw or sander in a two second burst.
The artificial vagina is still sitting in my drawer. It is the best artificial vagina I have ever made. The meat of it is one of those donut airline pillows you put around your neck. I knew, when I received this airline pillow as a gift from my grandmother, that I would never use it to support my neck comfortably on an airline headrest. I knew I would be lashing it to a bunch of other weird shit and lubing it up and fucking it on cocaine. Continue reading
I’m horny, and I would like to beat off, but I can’t. The reason is– I buy these special shrimp for my fish. They come in a huge frozen block and I have to saw off one little chunk for them at a time. Today I figured I would cut up a bunch all at once, since it’s a pain in the ass, and put them in a Ziploc® bag for future use. The shrimp smell awful, like rotten clams, and it’s that oily kind of smell, like garlic and onions have, that doesn’t come off you even after washing. The best you can do is kind of cover it up. Continue reading
Roosh has an article today that discusses the effects of porn and whacking off on game. He posits that guys like me who can beat off like a chimp and still go out after girls are rare:
I have a friend who can jerk off six times in a day yet still be amped enough to hit on girls, but he’s an outlier. For the average guy, placing distance between himself and unlimited free delicious porn will lead to the optimal hormonal state needed to get laid. As accessible as porn is today, you should be actively resisting its siren call. Sexual capital in the form of heavy balls is needed to maximize your game efforts.
If you read PUA and man-o-sphere forums obsessively, like me, you will notice that there’s a whole gang of stalwart non-masturbators out there who insist that to keep the Eye of the Tiger when picking up women you shouldn’t jerk off. Nofappers. Men who believe that they are at risk of their sexual desire and urgency being too low to effectively get women.
Wait a minute- really? You guys don’t want to get laid after beating off? Continue reading
When I masturbate, my fantasy is that the girl is using no birth control and begs me not to cum in her, but I do anyway. And I think about how she’s definitely going to get pregnant, and it will ruin her life. That’s what it takes for me to get off. Continue reading
I’m trying to track down my college ex girlfriend. But She’s Korean, and Koreans are impervious to Google.
So are Mexicans, generally. Kenny Rogers the dog was owned by somebody; there was a name on his chip but it was something to the tune of “Miguel Hernandez.” Try googling “Miguel Hernandez Los Angeles” or even “Miguel Hernandez Echo Park” and see where that gets you. It sucks if someone’s considering returning your lost dog but it’s great if you’re on the sex offender registry I guess. Mexicans have 8 last names and 15 first names so good luck finding one individual. And then Koreans are WAY, WAY worse because you have 5 last names if that.
I’m trying to track her down because she was hot, and we had hot sex, and I want a picture to remind me what she looked like so I can beat off to her tonight. Except– what the fuck happened to Julie Kim? How is somebody not on facebook and tons of people knew her and yet no one has spoken to this person in over a decade?
What if she’s dead? What if she died on 9/11? What if I’m beating off to her later and she died being roasted alive by jet fuel and had to leap flaming through a plate glass window and fall 100 stories to her death?
Whenever you jack off, all your dead relatives are watching you.
And they, too, are jacking off.
I almost fucked an inflatable pig this weekend.
Don’t worry, it wasn’t some children’s toy that I was going to put to off-label use; this inflatable pig was designed and built to be fucked. It was an inflatable pig toy for adults, which means in addition to the ordinary flotation properties any air-filled toy has it also had a hole built into it where you can put your dick. I was staying at a friend’s home, and I was drunk and coked out, and she, knowing that I need to compulsively masturbate at these times told me hey: there’s an inflatable pig sex toy in the closet if you want. Continue reading