Sunday, March 3, 2013

Feels Good To Be Back

It's not like I haven't provided myself with an abundance of blog-worthy moments over the last year, because that has most certainly been the case. I just haven't felt like writing humorously, which has always been the crux of my prose and something that has obviously established my identity in the blogging world.

I'm lucky in the sense that I'm genetically inclined to be in a good mood. When I get upset, it doesn't usually last for too long. My body basically tells me to see the bright side of things and thus my unwavering optimism typically inspires me to write about the subjects that have repeatedly been tackled in past entries.

Editor's Note: Subjects such as, "sex, shit, big butts, Skittles, drinking, weed, friends and family." Seems weird including the latter two with the former, but whatever.

There are some of you who have gotten to know me without ever "meeting me," and I would imagine that I strike you as someone who is outspoken; a person who wears his heart on his sleeve and is actually quite sensitive and emotional underneath the jokes and continuous sex and big weiner references. You have found over my 475 entries that I love my family very much, and I'm always in a state of self-reflection. On the other hand, I could be entirely off-base.

What you don't know is that over the last five years my father had been fighting pancreatic cancer. You know that I lost my grandmother no less than a year ago, but seven months after that - December 12, 2012 - pops lost the battle. With this loss, and the constant struggle of being the oldest of four and dealing with what has been going on over the years, I have been in a state of blogging limbo - too upset to write about funny shit, yet too fragile to address what has been undoubtedly the most devastating occurrence in my 28 years on this beautiful earth.

So yeah, my dad's dead...and he suffered. People say to me, "He's looking down smiling on you and the rest of your family." No he's not. He's pissed. He worked 12-14 hour days, busting his fucking ass, only to be in extreme physical and emotional turmoil for the final five years of life. No chance at grandchildren, no opportunity to grow old with his amazing wife, and no more ability to appreciate the days that I hold so dear. He's also the one whose antics I have laced this blog with since its inception - the person who was straight up the funniest dude on the planet. Not perfect by any means, but we don't need to get into cliches about perfection right now.

If you're going to respond with your condolences, save it. I don't want to read it. I'm already sick of people I'm friends with coming up to me with their apologies, and I sure as fucking shit don't want to read it from a bunch of people I've never met. See the anger? Major tug-of-war that I'm dealing with on a daily basis. 

Editor's Note: Please understand that I probably mean what I wrote in the paragraph above, yet I truly appreciate all the kind thoughts and words of encouragement people have thrown my way.

I compare what has been going on lately to a Pokemon. I basically feel like I'm a fictional character who has been killed, and in death have evolved into a wiser, stronger being than I was previously. Pikachu into Raichu I believe, if my nerdiness serves me correctly. I feel like I'm on a new plain of existence, one that allows me to understand people more and appreciate the private battles that we all have. It's something we all have in common with one another, yet simultaneously none of us can relate to each other. We're all different, and we all handle our problems in different ways. 

I just re-read what I've written and I'm still not sure what the point is of even putting this on paper - I suppose it's why we all blog to begin with...it's therapeutic. Cathartic. A release. An even more important one than what I did all over your...ah nevermind I can't go there right now.

Editor's Note: Had to do it.

I'm not asking for advice, and I'm not worried about what the future holds. I just think the present fucking sucks. But at the same time, I am so beyond appreciative for everything else it's difficult to put into words. I have to be the rock, the dude who is there for everyone. I know, I know...people have to be there for me too. Don't worry I'm on it. I have people there to listen to me, and every now and then I get my bang on which is equally as important.

This felt good...I've been wanting to write for a long time, and I didn't feel like I could progress this blog without delving into this issue. I just came back from a wedding and I finally felt the fire under my ass to just fucking write already. All I could think about during this ceremony was how happy he would have been to be there, and how much love I have for so many people. How many people I've lost over the years and how profoundly each one of them has helped mold me. I thought about how I've talked less and listened more as of late; how doing what makes you happy eclipses everything else, but at the same time you have to embrace the curveballs and know how to handle your business. Like I said, I've evolved. 

My advice to you is to never hide your emotions - never be anybody but you. There's no point. Like a masturbation session, it's all going to come out sooner or later. You're better off letting your body act as it will, as it was predisposed to behave. If at any point you don't feel like yourself, figure out why. 

Also know that you're not special. You may be unique, successful, attractive, big-bootied and intelligent. But you're not immune to the torture life disperses. And always know that every time you see someone on the train, in a car, on the street, in a classroom or in the mirror - that person is going through something that you have no idea about. Perhaps the sooner you grasp this the more compassion you will have for each soul you come across, and you will subsequently increase your self-worth. Life's too short to pity everyone - and our hearts are only so big - but it doesn't mean you can't appreciate what they're potentially going through. 

Know yourself. Tackle your demons. Trying to escape your tribulations is like trying to outrun the wind. Figure out what the fuck is wrong and fucking fix it. But be patient. Self-betterment is not an immaculate conception, it's a gradual process that comes to fruition at different times for everyone. Respect that. Respect yourself. Love who you are, and if you don't understand why. Don't give up. Never give up. 

Monday, October 22, 2012

Porn time.

The debate's on, but after seeing the first two I've decided to watch porn instead. I've been doing more of that lately. Not because it's serving as a substitute...I think I just like it more.

Editor's Note: Due to my sporadic blogging, I don't want to include in every post the fact that I haven't written in awhile. So blah blah blah weiner weiner weiner.

I'll delay the inevitable viewing to lather my computer screen with soft words that upon grazing your pupils will leave a mark that you probably realize is just one of those squiggly lines so forget it. Over the last four months I've been keeping track of things in my phone during either a stroll on a gotta-be-outside, radiant day with commoners smiling or butt-faced shit-fucked hammered with flesh-hawking heathens who don't know whether to puke, fuck or drink.


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"'See something, say something.' I see the Liar and the Son, full of shit. Inside their own spazmatic circle of lying shit." - Some Russian guy. Thick accent. Heard it on a train in Brooklyn it was quite entertaining.

"Fire gets girls horny." -Simon.
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I don't want this blog entry to be all quotes that shit is lame. The brain can only register and be entertained by so many consecutive quotes, most of them being soaking heaps of sheep shit anyway. I'd like to think because I took time to save mine that they're special, but who the fuck knows. I know a question mark should be there but I'm not really asking.

Life has been nothing I've expected it to be. It hasn't been bad by any means - in fact it's been fun - it's just as one gets older there are certain facets of our existence that get brought to light. Basically, if you're in your late-fuckin-20s you better have realized that life isn't a fucking joke.

Somewhat related to life, I have come to love vagina more than I ever thought I would. It's not that I didn't love it before...I simply didn't appreciate it the way I do now.

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"Great word: Supple." -I was wasted.

"They let it all out and dance and it feels good. It feels better than watching 40 Chilean miners getting let out of a cave." -Toby. He was wasted.

"The only reason I want a kid is so I can bang my babysitter." -Luke. He was sober.
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There's something I'm realizing about life. I feel smarter than I did last year and I can't ever remember thinking that. Experience has given me a firmer grasp on what I want and what I need to do to get it. If only life could be as easy as buying the Popeye's chicken I'm eating right now, or lube for your mom's ass that's craving for my cock as we speak. But it isn't, so we have to be instinctive and focused on what's best for the one life we have.

I miss blogging I'll tell ya that. Shit is fuckin fun. I mean I write about fuckin shit and my dick and fat asses and grammar and Skittles and it somehow blends into a collage of delight. If I compared my writing to Chinese food would that make sense to anyone but me?

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 "Girls with boyfriends are called warmups." -Carter. I saw this hot chick with a phoenix tattoo on her shoulder. I immediately thought Harry Potter and that made it even hotter. We talk briefly then she leaves to get a drink, saying she'll be back. This guy then approaches me and introduces himself as Carter. I told him I thought that chick was hot, he said she had a boyfriend, so I said fuck it. Then he dropped that quote on me and I was taken aback. So the girl came back and we had a Harry Potter chat, and bitch didn't know shit. How's she gonna get a tattoo of that shit saying it represented some shit and she doesn't even know shit about it? Please. 

"People might not remember what you ask for, but they will remember how many times you ask." -Intern's dad. Shit is deep.
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Porn time.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Two Years Ago

So I was perusing my blog a little bit today, and because my next post will be much more reflective than humorous I felt the need to re-post this. Enjoy!

Editor's Note: To the ones who still read this - thanks for sticking around. I can't believe this blog is still on your radar considering my pathetic showing over the last year and a half.

Addendum to Editor's Note: Fuck I miss this.

Fat on the Bone

These are the headlines of my four most recent entries:

1) Masturbation Nation
2) V for Vagina
3) I Buttfucked A Pie With My Mouth
4) Shit On Your Dick (guest post by Sara)

You can look at this as a lack of versatility, but I see it as the complete opposite. Obviously most of my material is overly-sexual and ridiculously profane, so each entry could be looked at as somewhat similar in that regard. But I'd like to think of each blog entry as a sex session - all sex is similar in a sense, but different positions make it a different experience. I don't know why I feel the need to justify myself anyway, so fuck you.

Editor's Note: I do kinda want my prose to make filthy love to my readers, so there's definitely a correlation here. Not the dudes though...I ain't makin' love to no dudes. Finger in the butt, perhaps?

I haven't been insulting my readers nearly enough lately. The thing is, not only have the comments been increasing - they're actually funny. How am I supposed to deprecate all over the faces of my readers when they keep giving me gold? I'm sure I can figure out some sort of middleground here.

Until then, I feel like writing about fat-sex. I'm not sure if my significantly-smarter-than-me other planned on writing about this - we had a hysterical conversation about this last night - but she's busy accomplishing things and I'm not, so as they say in elementary school, "Na-na-na-na-na."

Editor's Note: This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but what ever happened to the adjective "phat?" Instead now people say "hot." I miss "phat."

So yeah, two huge people boning. I'm talkin' morbidly obese...like, "Let me lift up my belly and rest it on your back before we do it fat-doggy style." At first I thought it was gross, but now I'm beginning to think it's kind of beautiful - you know, the notion of two massively overweight people slapping sweaty skin together as they thrust in attempts to reach their fat-zenith. Okay, I guess it's not so beautiful after all.

I just mean "beautiful" in the sense that I'm all about people finding pleasure. Whether or not I find it repulsive is irrelevant, because all that matters is that they're happy fucking each other's fat-pockets. Like I've said before, I think the concept of two dudes gettin' down is nasty as hell, but it doesn't mean they can't b-fuck each other's hairy asses if that's what they're into.

The bottom line is, everyone needs to get laid. But when you have two people in their enormity naked and fornicating, the sexual positions in order to gain maximum proficiency become paramount. You have to lean back at certain angles and make sure not to go too fast too soon. Not because of busting too quickly, but because you might run out of breath.

What's interesting to me about fat-people sex is that it seems to be much more intricate, which makes me think it's better. The communication level has to be extensively higher in order for the sex to be worth having, and that in itself makes me believe that people who have corpulent coitus have a greater time than most.

Editor's Note: However, I don't know how oral sex happens. That's also a mystery I don't ever want to solve. Too much belly maneuvering there.

Think about when you have sex with someone - at first the communication level isn't very high. You have to have some awkward sessions when which you don't want to admit that you have no idea what you're doing. Then after awhile you realize that your girl isn't orgasming, and that you have to actually ask her what to do in order for her to like it. Guys are really fucking retarded when it comes to that shit.

But with fat people? They're fat...really fat. And they both know it. You can't exactly hide something like that, so pretty much before every sexcapade they have to sit down and say the following:

"Okay, so...how we doin' this? Should I push my belly to the side this time, or do you want to lift yours up and put your legs behind your head?"

"Uh honey...I'm fuckin' 300 pounds...I can't lift my legs behind my head you dumb bastard."

"Oh yeah...so what do you want to do then babe?"

"I'll lay on my back, but first we need a few pillows so my vagina can elevate in order for your tiny fat dick to make it in there. Then, you lean back at a 55 degree angle and put it in when I say 'bologna.' That's the secret word. But make sure you put it in RIGHT AS I SAY IT, because we only have a one-second window for you to do this before all of our fat readjusts to block our genitals. Got it?"

"Got it. You ready?"

"Hold on...let me just move my tits around for a sec...God these things are everywhere. Okay...1...2...WAIT! Are those potato chip crumbs in your chest hairs? Can you get those out please? I'm trying to be romantic."

"Sorry honey. I'm ready now. I love you so much."

"I love you too. Okay, 1...2...3...bologna! Quickly! Do it! DO IT!!!!!"

(both): "Aaaaahhhhhhh."

Have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it.

Monday, June 4, 2012

March

Been about three months since these hands have given the keyboard a good ol' strokin, so we'll start with March for now:

Editor's Note: Like when you take off a guy's pants, this could be long or it could be short. Either way, the main goal is for me to feel satisfied while simultaneously attempting to fulfill your needs.

March
I dedicated myself to following up on phone calls, online dating and staying out late. There was a 3-day period that could sum it up very well:


Monday: I was on a date with...wait for it...A GIRL! I had met her approximately 10 days earlier at a bar in Hoboken where we ended up having a makeout session before I walked her to the train and gave her a goodbye kiss/butt-squeeze.

Editor's Note/Tangent: I don't blog regularly anymore so I can't allude to my friends as much as I used to. You may remember my buddy Luke - he says that when you meet a girl the first night, you should always spank her. This subsequently tells you immediately whether or not the female is interested in you. As much as I appreciate this notion I don't fully support it, however there are times when which I will incorporate some hand-on-booty action.


So I took this girl to a cheap bar with an amazing happy hour because I'm not an "all-out-spend-100-bucks" first date kind of guy. Anyway long story short, after dinner I took her to a place I could only hope she would even consider referring to as, "her happy place."

Tuesday: Went on a first date with someone I had been talking to regularly from match.com. Please don't think I'm going to waste my time defending why I'd try online dating...that should be obvious. What was great about this girl was we hit it off immediately on the phone and it was the first time I had real emotions since my ex. But before the date, I'm in Manhattan on my way over and I fucking ran into the fucking girl from last night.

Editor's Note: The second "fucking" has a double meaning.

She did live pretty close to where I was walking, but still very weird. After laughing that off I hopped on the train and went on an enjoyable date. There was no physical spark on either of our ends, but we both had a good time and kept in touch for another few weeks until it phased out. I definitely would have banged her if it presented itself, but I don't feel I truly missed out on anything.

Wednesday: Okay bear with me on this one. I'm at the same bar I was at on Monday, this time with a colleague and an intern. We're knocking drinks back when suddenly - I don't know how - Colleague gets in a conversation with what I observed as one butch woman and one not-so-attractive-but-she-has-big-tits woman. Me and Intern are looking at each other with the kind of look you give...you know...when your friend is talking to a couple of ugly chicks.

Editor's Note: I just realized how much I'm messing up my tenses, but I don't give a fuck because blogging is different than writing. I love that.

Intern wisely opted to completely disassociate himself from the conversation. The first woman is in her 40's - she looks like Jane Lynch and she's a fucking gym teacher. Her friend is 33 and teaches some subject that's as irrelevant to this story as it was to me at the time. I had been feeling very indifferent toward these women and whenever they spoke to me I was extremely candid. For example, "I had to take a big shit today."

Not only did they not mind, they insisted that I get with 33's best friend. So now I'm looking at pictures of this average woman who's in her late 30's and is "sooo amazing" that she can't find a man who wants to tolerate her for life. I'm not saying that's the correct assumption, but it's what my "high-buzz, low drunk" told me at the time.

Me, Colleague and Intern then left the bar at around 10:00 to 'take a lap.' If you can't figure out what that means it's fine...some stuff isn't for everyone. So a half-hour later we went back and the women were still there. Then we started drinking for real.

By what I remember to be 12:30-1:00, Colleague went home while me and Intern stayed back. At this point I had basically been drinking, laughing, trading insults and getting my weiner grabbed by these women for about 2 hours. Suddenly Intern leaves because some girl wanted to blow him at his apartment, then the gym teacher left as well. After 2 minutes 33 said, "I'm not going to hook you up with my friend anymore." That left me and 33.

The bar is a 30-minute train ride from my apartment and she lived even further. We then proceeded to stumble out of the bar and hookup on random sidewalks for about 20 minutes. It was sloppy, and by "sloppy" I mean "I was getting a blowjob on 18th Street and my imminent arrest was a coin flip."

After she realized what the fuck she was doing...that stopped, but I remembered that Intern had told me to call him if I needed a place to crash. 33 didn't mind because she clearly proved herself, so on we went to Intern's living room. But wait...

My fucking bag. Gone.

It's one of your typical black laptop cases with a shoulder strap, and my inebriated ass knew that I had it at the bar. But here I am...on Park Avenue at 2 a.m. missing a bag with my laptop, random shit, and a $500 bond that I had recently taken from my house.

33 was a really good sport and seemed to appreciate the fact that I wasn't noticeably panicking. I figured the best bet was to use drunken memory and retrace our steps, beginning with the bar. As we left the bar again to continue this venture, I took the lead as I tried to remember all the random spots we hooked up at in the pitch black.

Editor's Note: Pardon the arbitrary anecdote, but it's amazing how I can finger a girl and she could think it was mediocre, and I could do it the same way to a different girl and she'll squirt. 

I was so drunk yet so focused and after a couple of minutes of marching I looked over to my right and there it was. I felt so happy I wanted to run naked down 18th Street. Sorry if that was anti-climactic, but it was really fucking lucky and it's my fucking blog so go suck something.

Anyway to sum up the rest of the night, I fucked a teacher on my Intern's couch at 4 a.m., then made it to work at 9 and put in 9 hours.

Editor's Note: That sentence is one of many definitions of the word, "Adult."