Archive | February, 2012

Fuck “Your” and “You’re”

10 Feb

and “there,” “their” and “they’re–” I need a chick who throws a diæresis in “coöperate,” and an “æ” in “diæresis,” but doesn’t use a diæresis in “diæresis” because you are not, without this forewarning, going to pronounce “diæresis” as though “iæ” were a a monosyllabic diphthong. I need a chick who carefully searches for the correct combination of keys to make a circumflex over “rôle,” but ONLY when discussing a part played by an actor.  I need a chick who says “AN historian.”  In fact, she better really hammer the “ANNNNN” in a sly nod to anyone else out there who thinks someone who says “a historian” is an illiterate savage.  I wouldn’t date anyone who says “I would like” unless they’re talking about some counterfactual fantasy universe.  I wouldn’t like to date that person.  See, I can say it, because I’m not really ever gonna hear someone say “I would like to go out with you” outside of a counterfactual fantasy universe.  I’m never gonna hear someone use the correct “I should like to go out with you,” either, but I WOULD really fucking like to date that person.  She’d have studied classics and she’d use words like “Grecism” pronounced as though it had a cédille, but she would cringe a little every time because pronouncing a “c” like that is the fucking opposite of a Grecism.

Also, no fat chicks.

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What Always Happens Is

9 Feb

I’ll be having a sex dream, right?  Usually this starts as a regular dream, but then an attractive chick shows up and I just grab her to start fucking.  Last night the scene was that I was back in my college looking for my dorm room, but the doors were all sci-fi futuristic and I couldn’t find mine.  I went into some random room and there was a hot blonde chick in there and I pulled up her skirt and bent her over her bed. This is what happens, whenever a hot chick shows up in my dream- the narrative of the dream, whatever emotional message it was trying to tell me, goes out the window and I just grab her and rip off her clothes.

Anyway, I had this chick bent over with her rump exposed, and she was all giggly, and I got on top of her and lined up my dick and went to push it in, you know?  Except my body pantomimed this thrusting motion in my sleep and my boner rubbed gratingly against the sheets and it woke me up.

And this happens to me EVERY FUCKING TIME.  Only ONCE have I ever had actual intercourse in a dream; this was, interestingly, in the selfsame college dorm room heretofore mentioned when my roommate’s bed was right next to mine and I couldn’t jack off for like a week.  I guess I was so horny that I just powered through it.  But anyway- every time, my boner grinds against my mattress on the first pump and wakes me up instantly.  It is the most frustrating thing in the fucking world.

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Diary: I Need a Girl

8 Feb

I canceled my drinks with (REDACTED). Even though I like (REDACTED) and would totally enjoy hanging out with her.  She is–  she took me to a museum once.  She is really smart.  She knows a lot about art and literature and stuff.  And I think she kind of had the hots for me.  See, why couldn’t I date someone like that?  A chick who went to Harvard and has her shit together and knows who fucking Albrecht Dürer is and can distinguish between different phases of his career.  Who knows who Lucas Cranach the Elder is.  Someone who has a finely tuned taste for the works of various Northern Renaissance engravers, is what I need.  Someone who can tell apart multiple different interpretations of works by Claude Debussy.  Who can hear the orchestral version of some Claude Debussy shit and know that it was orchestrated by Maurice Ravel, or whoeverthefuck. Who legitimately enjoys these things. Someone who knows about plants and animals. Hummingbirds. Insects. Continue reading →

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Diary: Going to a Party

7 Feb

This party.  Now I’m too tired to go to this fucking party.  Jesus.  Too fucking tired to do anything.  Woke up too early.  And spent the whole day alone and now I’m tired and weird.  And (REDACTED) isn’t going, and (REDACTED) is going to flake.  And no one  I know is going to be there.  And I can’t get drunk. Because I’m going to have to drive.  And it’s going to be lame.  And google maps doesn’t work on my fucking computer.

But fuck it, I’m going to go.  Maybe I’ll get some ass. This chick (REDACTED).  Even though she used to date Chris, I think she wants to fuck me.  Or, I think she wants to fuck people. And I am a person.

But who knows. Maybe she’ll just fuck Chris.  I bet she’s the only chick there, and the rest of it is a bunch of loser UCLA dudes.  I’ll make a long drive, spent and exhausted, and I’ll get a DUI.  I’ll get raped in jail, and I’ll get AIDS.  I’ll spread AIDS to my cat (through a scratch or something; I don’t fuck my cat.  Much.), and my cat will die.  And my dick will get cut off somehow.  Somehow my going to this party will result in nuclear annihilation for the rest of the planet.  That’s how bad this party is going to suck.  At this party, some cold I’m carrying will combine with some other virus someone else is carrying—but not an STD, because I am definitely not getting laid at this party– some virus I’m carrying will combine with tetanus I get when someone at this party drives a nail through my dick and it will create a supervirus that will kill the whole planet.  But especially the people I love; they will die first, in front of me.  And my car will get stolen. Continue reading →

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What Now, She Says

6 Feb

We go out a couple times. We make out, maybe we bone. Or maybe we don’t, and I just never call you. Or maybe we do, and then we get married and move slightly out of town to some place where people of modest means can get a pretty big yard, and we get a goat, but the fucking thing is too loud and keeps chewing through the fence- they are surprisingly clever animals. Maybe it actually figures out the latch. But point being the goat keeps getting out and getting into the neighbor’s yard and eating his heirloom tomatoes or whateverthefuck- maybe we laugh at this. Maybe this discord with our neighbors only brings us closer together, like, us against the world. Maybe not, maybe you never wanted to get it in the first place, maybe you never wanted to move to the suburbs, maybe you secretly blame me for everything moving too fast and now you’re stuck here out in Calabasas or something and now you’re like 33 and if you leave me you’ll never have biological children, but if you stay with me you don’t know how you can stand even one more fucking second in this house in the middle of nowhere and separating the bank accounts is going to be such a god damned pain in the ass, and the goat isn’t cute anymore, it was a stupid idea, and it has an expected life span of like 35 more years but any place you give it away to might use it for meat and that would pretty much be unconscionable. You don’t want it, but you can’t get rid of it. That’s what it’s going to be like with you and me in like four years. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t have a fuckin crystal ball.

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Girls who can get off, and girls who can’t get off

5 Feb

Every few months there’s a scientific study about how only point eight, or whatever, percent of girls can really get off through vaginal penetration.  Something on Jezebel, or some shit, and then all the comments (that don’t somehow work hating men into it) are talking about how more guys have to give better head, etc.

Virtually all girls seem to get off with me, but I accept that this is a lie. If they want to pretend to get off, and not tell me, fine.  I’m not going to press the issue. If a girl gets to the point in life where she’s fucking me, generally she’s fucked a thousand or so guys before me and if she can’t figure out how to come on a dick– old dog, new trick.  And frankly I don’t care.

There are a couple girls who clearly actually get off, or at least put on such a kegel-and-light show that even the foremost expert couldn’t tell they’re faking. Girls who get off early, and get off multiple times.  This is great, obviously, especially because if a girl pops in the first minute sometimes it’s nice, for once in your life, to give in to your own urge to pop off real fast.  Nothing on this Earth feels better than premature ejaculation. Nature’s way.
Continue reading →

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The McDonald’s Corporation of America

4 Feb

It was my job to throw out the lard. Or whatever the fuck it was– 100% healthful canola oil or some shit– it was this huge tall bin of white, semi-congealed fat from the fryers with chunks of Filet o’ Fish and floor-dropped hamburger patties that had been stewing at just above room temperature for days. They had a special dumpster for it, this big black steel trap with a heavy lid that opened onto a thick grate, and inside was just months and months worth of this rancid meat fat. The black box would heat up in the sun during the day and all the fat would melt into soupy grease, then it would cool by night and recongeal into a thick gelatinous mass. It smelled like a corpse and there were clouds of flies.

One time I found a dead skunk in there. Someone had left the lid open and the creature had somehow wormed through the four-inch holes in the grate-top, driven mad by the smell of meat. It had dropped down into the grease, which must have been liquid at that point, and I guess it couldn’t get a grip on the slippery walls and probably exhausted itself trying to stay afloat. By the time I found it the grease had recongealed and it was like Han Solo encased in carbonite– its muzzle frozen in a snarl of fear and pain and its little claw forever reaching out, futilely, for the steel bars that were just out of reach.

It was a message– a symbol of some kind. God was trying to tell me something about the self-destructive nature of my dreams. But I couldn’t wrap my mind around it; I was beat, and I had to go mop down the kitchen and get back to making Quarter Pounders. So I dumped my bucket of warm fat over its face and went back inside.

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Peanut Allergies

3 Feb

I had a buddy who was allergic to nuts.  Before it was cool.  I didn’t even know about it until a dish featuring almonds was served and he politely declined.  He just tactfully, simply stated: “I can’t, I’m allergic to nuts.”

No one does that now.  Anyone who is allergic to nuts, or especially people whose children are allergic to “peanuts and tree nuts,” which like “autism spectrum disorder” is now something that happens to approximately seventy per cent of all rich kids—everyone who is allergic to nuts makes it into this big movie-of-the-week where they’re going to swell up and die just from looking at a god damn peanut. Continue reading →

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Girls Who Like to Get Fake Raped

2 Feb

I have a friend who has a rape buddy.  She texts him with a few hours notice, and at some point that night he comes over, fakes breaking into her house, and fake rapes her.  Knowing her she probably screams her fool head off and is completely committed to yelling “no” and “stop” and fighting back, etc., and basically— like, I bet she did not arrange with him to back off when she says “banana.”  Once she hits send, the rape train is coming to town.

Obviously, this is weird, but this is the kind of girl who had a real rough life and you sort of expect these things.  Similarly my college ex girlfriend lost her virginity by being gang raped at fifteen and she used to beg me to fake rape her.  I couldn’t do it without cracking up.  It seemed to me like the dude who studies karate and when you’re drunk he says “punch me.”  Like, no, it doesn’t work that way.  How about some time in the next few weeks I’m going to come up behind you and punch you when you least expect it. Some time in the next month a van will pull up and a masked man will throw you in back and he will not stop when you say “banana.”  And it might not even be me.  I might farm this one out.  You think it’s going to be me, but in fact it’s my roommate McClure and I’m getting him back for that case of Yuengling he bought.

Anyway, this came up again last night because I went on a first date with a girl who likes to get fake raped.  Needs to get fake raped.  It came up early, as these things often don’t— I forget what we were even talking about beforehand but she came out with how she had to dump a guy because he was too much of a pussy to choke her.  She was saying that it’s a symptom of the decline of manliness basically— men are too pussified to hold a girl down and smack her around, and that’s what women really want.  Her, anyway.  To get choked once in a  while and held down and fucked even if they say no.  It felt like a let’s-get-this-out-of-the-way-early thing.  And it kind of felt like a don’t-stop-fucking-me-when-I-say-no-later kind of thing.
Continue reading →

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Protected: Male Birth Control

1 Feb

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