From the head of The Danaconda

What's Up With It?

2012-01-31T18:52:00.005-05:00

Hey blog-readers! Actually fuck that enthusiastic, interjectory bullshit because my fucking tooth hurts. Good thing I made an appointment tomorrow with el dentisto because I feel like I got face-fucked by a pornstar wearing an aluminum condom. And don't give me any shit about "interjectory" not being a word because you knew what I was alluding to, so go suck a donkey dick.

Editor's Note: Toothaches make people irritable...I needed to do that.

So what else has been happening? I'm not asking you by the way...I'm merely thinking out loud. I went out with some college buddies over the weekend and got into a "Bohemian Rhapsody" singalong at the bar, which was incredible; I danced with an engaged chick and wish I banged her; I drank a shitload of Southern Comfort with Luke; I smoked a healthy amount of ganja for lack of a better word, and the way life worked out I slept with two dudes.

Now before you get all "Dan's gay!" on me, let me clarify by saying that my close friends Luke and Elmer happened to have slept in my bed on Friday and Saturday night respectively. My bed is big and there was no touching involved in any way.

Editor's Note: I don't believe I woke up with morning wood either morning.

I also went to New Orleans a couple weeks ago for a bachelor party, but I can't really talk about that. I have to send a test run out to the guys who came along with me and see if I can get permission from the collective. All I can say for now is that I was so defeated when I returned from the 3-day trip that it took me a full 36 hours to recover/hydrate. I might have also had a bite on my neck from either a stripper or a spider.

So I guess that I'm back to my partying ways. The only difference is that I'm much more cognizant of how much I drink - I won't just get wasted when instead I can manage a high-buzz, semi-drunk evening. Why get your dick sucked for 2 hours straight if you can get it for 1 hour, and then again 3 hours later?

Editor's Note: Don't worry, I don't think that analogy made any sense either.

I still sometimes miss having a girlfriend. At the same time, I love getting with chicks. I can truly empathize with either side of the single vs. not-single argument. However, I think that I'm now capable of being a kick-ass boyfriend, whereas 2 years ago the idea of daily interactions and consistent sex was not in the realm of possibility.

It's important that I reiterate that I've always been grateful for consistent sex. I've never expected it to happen, and when it does it always comes as a shock to me. I always spend some time either during or after to be thankful. I'm not really thanking anybody...I'm just appreciative.

Even if the chick's ugly. I'm at the point in my life where if I'm banging a chick, it's cuz I want to bang her. I'm not going to bang a girl and the next morning be like, "What did I do last night?" I've been shitfaced hundreds of times...I know when the beer goggles are on. Sometimes it's better to wear them because they find girls that will do much more than the ones you see when the goggles are off.

Moving on, since I live in Brooklyn I want to meet more bloggers. Whether or not it's to bang is not really of importance at the moment...I'm just down to meet people. I feel like it's weird that I've been blogging for 3 years and have made very little effort to meet fellow bloggers. If you're in the city and you're not a rapist/molester/STD-giver/fucking psychopath then let me know.

Random Observations, Part XVI

2011-12-28T10:26:00.004-05:00

1) If the queen had balls, she would not be king. She'd just be some chick with balls and a vagina. Doesn't seem kingly to me, nor worthy of worship. "Hey everybody, let's kneel for that fuckin' weirdo whose got two nuts and a vadge." No thanks.

2) I have a New Year's resolution: But I'm not telling you. Not because I want it to be a secret, but because I think the chances of execution increase exponentially if I keep this to myself. I assure you it isn't anything super cool like "eat fruit out of a girl's butthole," but I'll be quite content if I can achieve this objective.

Editor's Note: And of course, there's my ongoing goal of successfully urinating in the shower while doing a handstand. Still have to try that.

3) It's great to feel young. I'm 27, which is not old at all. But when I'm with my brothers and their friends I feel like I'm in college again and it's fucking awesome. All they want to do is get fucked up and bang girls. My brother said to me, "Dan if you were 16, I'd get you sooooo much pussy." Wonderful. Instead I was born way before him and went to college a virgin.

4) If you put peanut butter on your dickballs and a dog licked it off, it would probably feel outstanding. I'm not saying I'd do it...I'm simply being realistic. If you actually think about it for a second and not be such a weirdo about this, it would be very difficult to deny the fact that it would be pleasurable.

5) Is it possible to hear "Lean on Me" and not want to sing? It's like listening to James Brown and not wanting to dance. It doesn't make sense to me.

6) Some male porn stars have HUGE cocks. I truly don't envy it though. I mean granted it's awesome that these dudes have tons of hot chicks housing them regularly, but there's definitely a line in the sand when it comes to my weiner size. In some of these pornos these dudes whip out their junk and it seriously looks like a farm animal. I feel like a dick that brobdingnagian would do more harm than good in the dating world.

Editor's Note: Yes, that's a word. Look it up.

7) Black girls get pissed when you touch their hair. Not all of them I'm sure, but on the dance floor I've noticed that white girls don't mind it as much. Another difference is that black girls throw their shit up on you a lot harder than white girls. That's mostly fun as hell, but at times a girl can definitely grind too vigorously. That ass is pressed against my dick so hard I can't even get a boner!

8) Pimple-popping is sort of fun. You know what's fucked up? That the other day, a small part of me was disappointed when I didn't have a pimple on my face.

9) You know you're at a white-people bar when "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" gets played and everyone raps it in unison. No explanation necessary.

Partying and Perversion

2011-12-14T19:10:00.004-05:00

Hi everyone...yet again it's been far too long since I've graced the screen with my prophylacticly profound prose. I know that sentence didn't make sense, but I'm a humongous fan of alliteration.

Editor's Note: And tities. And backgammon. Been on a huge backgammon kick lately.

Life has been eventful as of late. After a couple weeks of being single and treating the dating scene like a retard taking trigonometry, I once again remembered how to talk to women. In addition, the new job is going well and...oh yeah...nobody cares about that.

You care about women - about female stories. Isn't that why you'd even bother to read me? Well tough shit, because I don't kiss and fuck. I mean fuck and tell. At least for a little while. I'll just reiterate the notion that dating is getting fun again, and as life progresses my contempt for women continues to wither. In fact it's safe to say that I kind of like them.

In other news, I very rarely smoke blunts anymore. Don't let that lead you to believe that I don't bong out with my shlong out, cuz I do. I'm merely attempting to conserve my weed for as long as possible, and you can't do that when you're stupidly smoking blunts to the face every fucking day.

In terms of booze, it's safe to say that I still encompass the ability to be a fucking monster when I go out drinking. I think that's a good thing. I mean...there are good monsters, right?

Editor's Note: I'm the kind of monster that goes home with a girl and falls down her stairs cuz he's so hammered, only to STILL BE IN PAIN three weeks later. Must be a bruised bone.

Speaking of monsters, an intern at my company completely wiled out at our holiday party. This dude had over 20 mixed drinks, and by the end of the night had done a faceplant right in the middle of the restaurant. This, of course, was after he asked the bartender for another drink. Only thing is, the bartender was actually a cop who had recently been summoned due to a noise complaint. Yep...there's always "that guy" at the party.

I kind of like the fact that I'm usually not "that guy" but I always have the potential to be. Keeps life interesting. I think people at work are starting to figure out what I'm capable of in terms of partying and perversion. What's bad is that I think I've been behaving myself very well since I started this job.

Birthdays and Lapdances

2011-10-13T11:08:00.004-04:00

If you take the headline literally you may infer that I was at a strip club over the weekend. Long story short, I got drunk and saw some titties. Long story longer, I fasted on Yom Kippur, broke the fast, then met up with EZE and we drank 16 of our 18 beers. After quoting 90's movies and talking about how chicks suck, we got our shit together to go to a place where oh-wait-my-shit-doesn't-need-to-be-together-at-all.

Editor's Note: You ladies would be happy to know that I didn't hate on you as much as I used to. EZE said he took the hate for me though.

Now it's not the first time I've ever been to strip club, so I believe I'm experienced enough in the art of the lapdance to be able to appropriately critique. By the time the night was over I got 3 lapdances...that could have been soooooo much worse if 1) I had less willpower, or 2) I had more money.

The first dance was from a Venezuelan girl. She had a great body, nice face, and an accent that canceled out any qualms I had with her face. She also did a spectacular job at making me think she was attracted to me. I'm not trying to get a lapdance from a chick and be fucking cynical and act like I'm not paying her to like me, so it was a fun time if I may write so myself. She didn't have the best rhythm though and that was disappointing. Seemed at first like the dance would be more lively which is what I was looking for, but it was rather tame. This was at the height of my drunkeness so I kept talking in Spanish - I did have 7 beers after a small meal after not eating for 24 hours - and she said that it's cute when white boys do that. Makes me wish I knew more.

Second dance was from a thick white girl that I was really excited for. The thing is, when you've been in a relationship and were faithful then you've only been in physical contact with the same body. Also, I'm a sucker for big butts. I wasn't sure if she was moving to the music well or just good at humping. I'm not saying being good at humping is bad, but a lapdance with rhythm is way better than one without. Sometimes when you get a dance the stripper will put your hands on her ass or tell you to pull her hair, etc., but this one didn't do that. Kinda wish she did.

Third one was from a girl with a nice face, no chest and a big butt. I think she was Spanish. She wasn't as proportionately thick as the aforementioned girl...just the booty. When the dance came around, she had absolutely no moves. She was a "slow grind" kind of lapdancer - you know...hands on the knees, leaning back/forward as she moved her hips in a same circular motion the entire time. I guess I was a steady mix of drunk and tired at this point, so I don't have as many qualms as I would have if it was my first lapdance of the night. However, I had to ask her to turn around whereas the other girls knew to do that halfway through the song.

Editor's Note: In case you haven't ascertained, I love getting lapdances. I remember the good old days in college when we'd be at a party and girls would just come up to guys and dance on them for no reason whatsoever. To me, getting a good lapdances is almost equivalent to eating a good bag of Skittles, and that's saying a lot.

See the thing is, most dudes don't give a fuck if a girl is good at dancing when it comes to a lapdance. Guys just want a chick who is going to hop on and hump the fucking bejesus out of them while they grab her ass. Me...I'm not like that. I demand more because I'm a fan of a girl who can feel the beat and make my boner as big as possible, because we all know that a boner doesn't necessarily mean that the weiner's length is at its zenith. Not every girl can make that happen.

In an attempt to transition to something unrelated, today is my birthday. I'm 27 and I feel pretty damn good...I've accomplished much over the last year, though obviously I have a long way to go to achieve what people refer to as "adulthood." I'm going to a happy hour tonight where perhaps I'll get a story or two for you after the fact. If not, I'm having a party at my apartment Saturday night which is sure to render some kind of inappropriate occurrence.

Whoops, I Passed Out

2011-10-05T10:04:00.002-04:00

Introductory note: I was going to post this last night at around 11:00 but passed out...I guess that's fitting.

Wow I haven't done this in awhile - what I mean by "this" is smoke a blunt while writing. But I don't wanna get all deep about the meaning of life and run my fingers about why religion should be a one-word oxymoron and why to be gay is more normal than you'd think and why your mom seems to never get enough of my balls...I don't want be 'that stoned guy.'

Editor's Note: Too late. Except I have no problem constantly referring to your mom and my balls. She loves them.

So I'm 26. Gonna be 27 next month. That's what happens...people get older. But that's not why I'm discussing my age. The reason is because I started watching Internet porno like a month ago. Isn't that odd? I just go online...and there's SO MUCH PORN.

Editor's Note: On a side note, isn't it fun just being by yourself sometimes? I'm sprawled out with granola bars and mango lemonade and I look like a bum. I keep thinking I come up with the best idea ever and then it's gone from my brain the second my concentration takes me elsewhere. Blogging in bed while blazing rocks.

But no, I'm not going to watch porno tonight. Some nights you feel it...some you don't. It's not like it's going anywhere. Internet porno and masturbating will be around tomorrow, or even the day after. It's kinda crazy to me that there are plenty of people who don't masturbate. I'm not trying to call you out, because it's fine that you do it. I just don't get it. Like, it doesn't compute in my brain.

It's also kinda crazy that at least hundreds of thousands of people blog. In danger of crossing the "life is insane, man!" stoned line, I'm just trying to convey that I didn't have the Internet till I was 12. My gym teacher smoked cigarettes during class when I was 5. Fast forward to today and some 5-year-old has a phone and that dude gets blown up on Youtube. I think that's the simplest way to describe how influential the Internet is.

Okay...I'm gonna save this entry and go eat a burrito. I should've gotten it from the fucking burrito place next door, but instead I went to a market and bought some shitty ass frozen burrito with this stupid fucking mango lemonade that's actually really delicious. So I have to go heat this burrito up. To you, the transition to the next paragraph will be one second at most...but I'll be back in about 10 minutes.

Editor's Note: I just bit into a not-in-the-microwave-long-enough burrito and hit a cold patch. Heated it back up and life just got a little better. I'm eating the burrito and you know what I'm thinking? I assume you do: that burritos are fucking spectacular.

Do you think that people write about what they don't like more often than what they like? I don't like that. I also don't like how much I have to pee right now. I've always talked about how awesome it would be if I could transfer my bodily-obligation to pee to someone else - they would go to the bathroom and I'd get the sense of relief without having to get up. And most importantly, I wouldn't be drenched in my own piss.

Before I stop writing I want to let you know that I was sleeping over Ace's apartment Friday night and I was on an air mattress he let me use. Then at about 7 in the morning I caught myself in "one of those" dreams and almost busted. Imagine that, just being at a friend's house and blowing a huge load all over his air mattress. It was actually scary how close it was to happening, but luckily I combated the almost-wet dream and forced myself back to real life where hot girls don't just have sex with you for no reason.

The Interview Process

2011-10-03T22:18:00.000-04:00

Being newly single and trying to get a girl is somewhat similar to being unemployed and seeking a job, don't you think? Well that's where I'm at with you ladies. I am gratefully employed in a monetary sense, but I'm necessarily back in the lady market looking for what suits me best. And unlike trying to become employed, I know I can take my time. Good things come to those with big weiners. I think that's how it goes.

Editor's Note: Like many of my analogies, this one isn't perfect. But I think you understand what I'm trying to say. Basically...stop being so fucking literal. I have the same problem, which is why I don't like to listen to most people.

Going out and trying to get girls is like going on an interview: It's the basic notion of "putting yourself out there." Sure there are times when you know someone who hooks you up with a job - just like you might know someone who hooks you up with a chick - but for the most part you're on your own, and you shouldn't rely on anyone but yourself. Execution is still necessary regardless.

So here I am: going on what we'll call "female interviews," though the job that I'm looking for is certainly not in the long-term. When you're single after being taken for so long you pretty much realize that when things are going well with a significant other, it beats being single any day of the week. But that's not easy to do, and anyone who believes that it is is in my opinion, a fucking idiot. So you play the game and go on interviews until you can get your dream job, or something that can ideally manifest into it.

Editor's Note: I know writing "is" next to "is" is awkward, but I assure you it makes sense if you read it again.

Now just because I go on an interview, it doesn't mean I want the job. The thing is, I haven't been on an interview in awhile so I need to refresh my etiquette - make sure I got my head on straight for when the right job presents itself. As of now I'm going on interviews not giving a fuck if I get the job or not. But of course whether or not I actually want a place - or girl - to hire me, I'm going to pretend like I want them to.

Editor's Note: It's not like you can meet a girl and be like, "Look I just got out of a relationship and I'm not ready for another one." HUGE turnoff. For any girl with half a brain or a miniscule amount of dating experience, it's already understood that guys just wanna bone. But a guy fresh out of a relationship who makes the already-obvious even more obvious is just desperate. And no one likes desperation. Even ugly chicks.

So though I'm more chivalrous than you'd believe, at present times in partuclar I couldn't care less if a new girl thinks I like her more than I truly do, similar to how a company may think I'm more interested than I actually am. I just want to use the girl to refresh my skills. Whether those skills are conversational, reading body language, dancing, or banging from behind so I could feel the always-amazing suction slap from that big ol' donkey butt - I'm going to do what I can to get back in the game.

That's the other thing: I don't care who the girl is...as long as it's not her. I don't mean that as a slight to my ex - I loved her more than any significant other I've ever had - though after awhile enough is enough, and usually after something ends after an extended period of time, you want something totally different.

So to any vagina-haver reading this - though it might bite me in the ass one day - you should know that I'm not very interested in the thought of you. I'm merely interested in what you possess that can serve me temporarily. I suppose it could develop into something more and more often than not the best things happen when you least expect it, but as of now I am about as interested in that as a vegetarian is in a hamburger.

Though some of this prose may come off as crass, at least it's honest. If you don't think I'll treat you right, I don't feel like I need to spend the time to convince you of a truth I know is as close to guaranteed as a man orgasming during sex. I have no reason to hide anything because everyone out there is as fucked up as I am, if not more. In fact my guess is that most people are way more so than me, mainly because if I have a problem I don't keep it in like a kid too shy to take a shit in the public school stall. But I digress: Right now I've been single for only three weeks and during that time I've had a cramp while running a marathon known as "dating," and I believe that the only way to solve my cramp is to fight through it.

I'll end this with a quote I used years ago, but I believe applies to this specific entry: "Everyone wants to get laid and everyone wants to get off, but no one wants to get laid off."

Balls, Asses And Cigarettes

2011-09-27T13:28:00.004-04:00

"I've always wanted her to put my balls in her mouth but she won't do it. I think it's because I brought it up too quickly in the relationship...I made it too big of a deal."

That was basically what this guy Jason told me a couple weeks ago when describing his current situation with his girlfriend. He seems to be fairly happy with her - they live together and they appear to get along just fine. The refusal to suck balls is something that bothers him, but obviously isn't a dealbreaker in the relationship.

I feel the same way. If I had a girlfriend and I was all like, "Put my balls in your mouth" and she was all like, "Fuck no, that's disgusting," I would get over it. But at the same time, doesn't that tell the guy a lot about how his relationship is going to work?

Ask anyone who's been in a successful relationship and I'm sure a common word that each couple will share is "sacrifice." So should she sacrifice 5 to 30 minutes of her life and shove her boyfriend's ballsack in her mouth and suck on them like she's getting to the center of a Testicle Tootsie Pop? Fuck yes.

Editor's Note: I'm not a big fan of balls in my mouth. Shit...I didn't mean that. I mean that I'm not a big fan of my balls in a girl's mouth. It's not like I don't enjoy it...I'm just a very ticklish person and I end up squirming more than relaxing. Besides, my balls aren't that great - I feel like they're small and not very optimal for oral pleasure. If I didn't have a rockin' weiner I'd be pretty useless on the genitalia front.

But like I said - not a hands-down dealbreaker. Cigarettes on the other hand...that shit will quickly eliminate you from the Danaconda radar. I don't care if you were the even-hotter spawn of Marilyn Monroe - if I'd rather eat your ass than make out with you, we're not meant to be together.

Speaking of butt-eating, the same night I was talking to Jason this dude Leo who was with us was talking about how you can really mark your territory with a woman. He said, "You could eat the pussy...but if you wanna own her, you eat the ass. But that shit is nasty."

First off, I love the incidental double meaning behind "that shit is nasty." Secondly, I can't say I agree with that one. At the same time if you're the one performing oral pleasure you do kinda own that person at the moment. For instance, I love how guys think they own a chick because she's giving him head. Uh...I'm pretty sure if she bites down I'm fucked. During a blowjob the guy isn't in as much control as he thinks he is, and the chick knows it. Until the facial happens...then we got it on lock.

Editor's Note: I love giving facials. But if you're a cigarette smoker that loves getting facials it still doesn't negate. Even if you're a smoker-only-when-you drink it won't work out. So in summation, if you're on a dating website and advertise yourself as a "single attractive female who loves getting facials and only smokes when I drink," we still can't be together. We can still bang though. Cigarette smoking doesn't count for a simply-sex relationship.

Wait so back to the balls-in-mouth thing: I'm trying to figure out if there's an equivalent action a man can perform on a woman. If I had a girlfriend, I'd pretty much do anything she'd ask of me in a sexual sense. Only thing off the top of my head that I wouldn't do is Red Dog it, aka eating her out while she's on her period. But is there anything that is similar to ball sucking?

I don't think so. The thing is, putting one's nuts in a girl's mouth really isn't that bad. This dude's girlfriend blew it waaaaayyy out of proportion. It's not like he's trying to fuck her in the ass while punching her in the face...it's just balls. Deal with it.

Editor's Note: An awesome pickup line just occurred to me: "Hey baby...how about you blow me like it's way out of proportion?" Awesome but ineffectual, I'd assume.

The Sweaty Grind

2011-09-20T13:13:00.005-04:00

Last weekend was my first one going out as a single dude in quite awhile, diving back into the cesspool otherwise known as dating. I went to a beer garden and...well...drank a lot of beer. After lots of the aforementioned beverage, almost-but-probably gay bro humor, and most importantly alleviation of the inevitable drunken munchies, we went to a different bar at around 2 a.m.

Editor's Note: It's not like I was married for 10 years and didn't know what it was like to be out in public, but it definitely felt a little peculiar being back into the swing of things.

So we arrived at the bar and there they were...all the wasted single people gettin' funky on the dance floor. And man was it disgusting. There were just so many sweaty philistines pressed up against each other mindlessly moving to whatever beat they desired, grinding and yelling to the club songs that I no longer know. It was narley, and if you read my writing you'd know that I don't mean it like Michaelangelo "That was tubular dude!" narley. I spent about 20 minutes there and made a drunken decree that I would spend much less time at these places in the future.

Editor's Note: We'll see how that goes.

The next day I woke up, had breakfast, and that's it...I had the shits for the next two days. It was abysmal. The worst part about it was that I went to a buddy's house on Saturday for the first time, and within two minutes of meeting his parents I was lighting up his toilet like it was fucking Independence Day. I would imagine girls don't write about these experiences, but they know damn well that it happens to them too. I was pretty much anally-excreting syrup for the ensuing 24 hours. I know you've missed my poopie prose terribly.

Editor's Note: Lots of people have told me to lighten up on "Number 2" humor, but I just can't. For some reason it comes to my mind rather frequently, and I can't not write something once it's at the cusp of my semi-functional brain.

After the day had passed and I ceased to wish that I no longer had a rectum, I spent my Sunday on the couch watching football. It was pretty much like getting a 9-hour blowjob. Following the football extravaganza, I went to bed and had a rather disappointing dream. Here's how it went:

I was at a college campus for a reason I do not know, and I was talking to this girl. She had red hair that was straight-but-curly, perhaps because it was wet. She also had a big butt. Not like a big butt that's gross, but a big butt that I'd like. You know...a big butt. Anyway, she told me that she wanted me to give a massage, and if I was to do so she would reciprocate. But not with a massage - she was basically saying that if I gave her a back rub she'd give me a dick rub...with her mouth.

Obviously I complied, and we went to her room and she laid down on her stomach. I straddled her with a boner so stiff and massive that you'd think I was about to joust someone with it. I started to rub the back of her neck with my right hand, and she moaned in ecstasy as she flirtily twitched her lovely fat behind. She was clearly enjoying herself thoroughly as I began to slide my hands down to the middle of her back.

Then I woke up.

WHAT THE FUCK? What a fucking cocktease bitch. I mean, I fucking massage her like she said under the stipulation that there would be reciprocation. And what fucking happened? Nothing. Nothing besides a diving board for a boner. Dream Dan got fucked over by some cute-ass redhead who got a free massage out of it. Not cool ginger bitch...not cool.

Editor's Note: On a sidenote not-at-all-but-somewhat related, I recently read an article about a sperm bank talking about how they won't accept any more redheaded donors due to "lack of demand." I found that amusing. This was not, however, the case in Ireland, where the sperm bank owner said that ginger jizz was still "selling like hot cakes."

Random Observations, Part XV

2011-09-14T10:35:00.003-04:00

1) Relationships don't suck as much as they used to. I'm newly single and I finally have a somewhat restored faith in women, though I can't say that I have much of a desire to bang any chicks at the moment. But when that time comes, it's good to know that though there are many promiscuous blowjob givers out there, there are also some quality females. However, I assume I'll be seeking the former.

Editor's Note: Civil breakup and extremely painful... I don't feel very funny at the moment and though it's not good to force one's writing, I would prefer not to let my blog fall by the wayside again. Like me and your mom, I'm just gonna try to plow through this. In terms of the now-defunct relationship, sometimes you simply don't see eye to eye with someone and differences that a couple has will inevitably surface. That's all I'll say.

2) Dreams can be really freaky. I recently had a dream that I shit myself, then I woke up from the dream and reached under my ass. Turns out there was actually shit there. I fuckin shit in the bed and had shit in my hand and had to clean doodie off my sheets. Then luckily, I realized THAT was a dream too. I often dream in levels "Inception" style.

Editors' Note: I'm sure that will help me meet new women.

3) I now live in Brooklyn. I also work in Manhattan. Because of this, I'm obviously walking around the city all the time and I've come to observe certain bits of etiquette, or lack thereof. One thing that continues to vex me is "Umbrella Etiquette." What do you do when you're walking down the sidewalk in the rain? Do you have to keep moving your umbrella around so you don't hit people? Aren't these fucks supposed to watch where they're walking? Does ANYBODY IN THE FUCKING CITY ever watch where they're walking?

4) We have a new table in our apartment. But because all of us work on Mondays, we asked my friend Rick - who has a "Cosmo Kramer" sort of employment - to wait in our apartment from 1-6 p.m. for the delivery guys. So because he was bored, he invited a girl over and proceeded to bend her over our kitchen counter. I just hope there isn't any funky stuff on our silverware. It's called a dishwasher, not a jizzwasher.

5) Apparently I was putting my belt on the wrong way for 26 years. It seems that literally everyone else on the planet loops the belt around their waste counterclockwise. When did this become the norm and how did I not know this until a couple months ago when Ace told me that I put my belt on like a homosexual?

6) Some people are upset with our country. The night the aforementioned "how to put on your belt" update was given to me was the night of Van's wedding. When the party was over we went back to our hotel room to go to sleep, and Rick - who is so eccentric that he has 4 different nicknames on this blog - slept on the floor. Suddenly during the night he was overheard sleeptalking:

"We need to fix the system. There has to be a new way of doing things," he said.

But then the subject drastically changed, and amazingly enough he talks in his sleep the same way he does in real life:

"I have a wet, slippery vagina. I know it might not seem that aggressive, but it is."

I Just Participated In An Orgy

2011-09-02T11:49:00.002-04:00

No I didn't. But I got my blog unblocked at work, which is just as good. I've never really wanted to participate in an orgy anyway, now that I think about it. Too much multitasking, sweat, the possibility of chlamydia, and the even-worse possibility of another dude finding his way in there.

Editor's Note: My blog was blocked at work for 3 months because it was labeled as pornographic material. I don't know how someone could possibly think that. Regardless, since I'm not "the new guy" I thought I'd talk to the IT guy to unblock it, which he did. So now it's safe to say that I'm back like HPV that was in remission.

Not much has happened in my life over the last 3 months, which is a beautiful thing. I smoke once a week, I drink way more than that, and I probably masturbate around once a week as well which is a huge step up for me. In terms of doodie - which any reader who knows me knows that they can associate my blog with feces - I still do a lot of that, although last week I was sort of constipated. I don't know what happened...I went like 3 days without a poop. Luckily that ended so overall I'm feeling pretty good.

My new job is interesting. It's funny that I couldn't access my blog for a trimester, meanwhile there are people in the office who yell "cunt" at the top of their lungs. Whatever...we live in a world full of hypocrisy as we all know. For example, I made fun of my friend for only lasting a minute during sex, then a week later I didn't fare much better. Hey, it happens. We can't be Ron Jeremy every night.

Editor's Note: My weiner remains big though, and don't even try to give me that "size doesn't count" garbage. It fucking counts, and it fucking counts a fucking lot. You're not pleasing no lady with a thimble dick.

Man it feels good to be writing again. It's unfortunate that I spent all this time accruing readership, then as my blog started to reach a zenith it fucking disappeared. Hopefully some of you are still around, as I always look forward to reading the perverse comments that I hope to inspire. It pleases me to know that there are people just as/more disgusting than I.

I'd like to use the final paragraph to welcome myself back. The Danaconda will continue to spit venom for the time being.

A Different Part Of My Brain

2011-06-03T17:13:00.005-04:00

First week practically under the books at work, and I obviously haven't blogged this week. There have been many times in the past when which I've written something along the lines of, "I apologize to my readers for not blogging," but this time I'm really not very sorry. I've been so busy that I'm pretty sure I haven't had a boner yet at work, which is weird because I get boners, like, all the fucking time.

Editor's Note: Someone's blasting techno music right now, and that most definitely won't give me a boner. It reminds me of some s&m German shit, which I am not into. Or maybe I'm just saying that. Anyway, what I will do is make an effort to respond to comments like I always do. When it comes to that, I've been slacking like a fat stripper.

See the thing is, I can't let my new job and my lack of boners deter me from my blog, which I love more than I love most things. I think of my brain as a butthole filled up with shit, and this blog is my toilet paper. Is there a higher compliment than that? Most likely, but I'm too drained to think of a better one.

I wonder how long it'll take at this place before people start realizing what a fucking weirdo I am. I don't feel the need to mask it ever, and I've been pretty outgoing so far as you could assume, but yeah...you people know the deal. All it takes is one inevitable offsides comment and everyone's gonna think, "What the fuck is wrong with that kid? Why does he keep talking about shit? Why is he making fun of all our mothers and talking about how big his weiner is? In fact, who even says the word 'weiner' anymore?"

Well, I gotta get back and continue the work thang. I'll try to check in more often - don't think this will be the end of the Danaconda. Now that I have over 300 followers it would be fucking retarded not to blog. It would be like flirting with a hot chick at a bar all night, getting her to like you, then when she agrees to come home with you you don't fuck her. Some people do that...they're called pussies. Or they just get whiskey dick. That's the worst. That's when you have to really get in zen mode and try to dig deep into your spank bank so you can get back in the mood.

Okay I'm out. Have a good weekend like I'll try to do, and don't ever...EVER...forget to house it.

Editor's Note: HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUUUSSSSSE IT!

Oh Fuck This

2011-05-27T10:37:00.005-04:00

I had a post written but then it got deleted because I'm on a cocksucking PC because the person I'm training to replace me at my job is on my Mac. I was a lot happier 2 minutes ago when I was in the midst of an always entertaining blog entry. Fuck me sideways in the ass with a spiked dildo named Charlie.

Basically, in an attempt to remember what I just wrote, I'm starting a new job next week. Because of this, I haven't allocated the appropriate time to write in my blog as of late. I did, however, have time to get drunk with Luke Tuesday night. I didn't plan on getting drunk...it just kinda happpened. We had one 40 of Old English, then another one, then a beer. Then instead of going to the movies, we went wandering into the woods. I think that's the beginning of a horror movie.

Editor's Note: Or a gay porn.

One funny part I do remember was when we were in his convertible with the top down and this black chick was staring at us. Was she checking us out? I doubt it, though I have been known to get pulled over by cops for being too handsome. Or maybe that was for speeding.

Anyway I yelled out, "What are you looking at?" and she freaked out. Normally it's unnecessary to name the race of someone in a story, but everyone knows black chicks freak out more than white chicks. If you yelled out "what are you looking at?" to a white girl, she'd just go "ugh" as she'd flip her stupid hair.

Editor's Note: I just realized that I haven't been nearly as anti-white-girl as I used to be. That's a shame, because I enjoy shitting on them for some weird reason. In a metaphorical sense, I mean. But in a literal sense - as previously stated - I'd totally piss on a chick if she asked me to.

Okay that's enough for today. I gotta clean out my desk because I'm done with my job after 5.5 years. It will be difficult to write during the day from now on, so expect me to do it at night so I can have my lunacy available to you all when you wake up in the morning. Then again lots of you are from weird places like other countries and the west coast, so for you people that doesn't apply. Whatever...just read my fucking blog.

So...Goodbye? (Story Time)

2011-05-20T11:08:00.006-04:00

I don't want this headline to make you think that I'm ceasing the blogging thing, cuz I'm not. I'll wait while you breathe a sigh of relief...

...

I'm referring to the fact that according to someone who's either really smart or strongly affected by hallucinogens - probably the latter - the world will be ending tomorrow.

I completely forgot about this until Al the Tollbooth Guy told me. "Oh shit," I said. "I'm going to the Bronx Zoo tomorrow...I hope I don't get buttfucked by a monkey right before the world ends...that's not a good way to go."

"No, it's not," he replied. "You should probably just get really drunk. I think I'm gonna beat my kids real good one last time before I go."

Editor's Note: He was laughing as he said that, so we can only hope he was kidding. Though I've had many conversations with him - to the point that we're on a first-name basis with each other - I can't say I know the guy too well.

Anyway, since the world may end, I was thinking about all the things I'd do if indeed the day of Armageddon has arrived:

1) Actually, scratch that. I'm pretty sure every blogger in the fucking world has done this before, so I'd rather not.

------------------------------------------

Moving along with something totally unrelated, I think I'll tell a story about my past. I've alluded to this story before, but don't believe my readers know it in full. The thing is, yesterday I was hanging out with my sister and her boyfriend Smitty - Smitty and I go way back. He said that he likes my blog, but overall really only reads it if he's in it. Therefore, I shall tell a story with Smitty and I. It involves nudity, funneling, vomiting, and pricker bushes.

It was the summer of 2003, and Smitty's parents were gone so he decided to throw a party. I brought these three girls from camp with me so I looked like the man, even though none of them were even slightly attracted to me. When they met me at my house my dad was looking at me with that "I'm proud of you son," look. It was a nice moment.

So we arrived at Smitty's - a house in a quiet, suburban neighborhood - and the party began. Biff and I had bought a 10-foot funnel named Finkelstein that we used almost daily, and I borrowed it for the evening because Biff couldn't make it. There were about 8 or 9 people at the party when the 3 girls I brought decided to leave - I think we were starting to get sloppy.

Editor's Note: I was drinking a lot. By the time the night was over I had funneled around 20 beers - sometimes in life, when the time is right you can drink like a motherfucker and not get too sick. Those nights are few and far between, but greatly appreciated.

After a few more drinks it must've been around midnight when two party-goers, Roy and Jamie, went inside to hook up. Because they were both really drunk, they didn't realize that we can see everything from outside. Smitty was delighted, and proceeded to watch a solid portion of the hookup from the patio.

"She's got huuuuge titties! He's suckin' on 'em!" he exclaimed.

After awhile that got old and they ended up leaving. I believe at this point there were only three people left: Me, Smitty and Lee. There was no more beer, but luckily Smitty let us ransack his house until we found some. We were drinking everything - towards the end of the night we were putting Bud Light and Corona into the funnel and ripping it down. I'm pretty sure I puked in the bushes after that one.

Then, as expected, Lee exercised his habit of getting naked. We have no idea why...I guess looking back he was - and still is - pretty gay. But if you remember, the movie "Old School" was in that summer, so people were streaking all the time thanks to the famous Will Ferrell scene. Lee as usual suggested we do it, but this time Smitty and I figured we might as well since all the girls were gone. I feel like it should be the other way around, but whatever.

Before you know it, it's 2 a.m. and there are three guys laughing and yelling as they're running around the block butt naked with their little weiners flopping, and their arms in the air like they just won a boxing match. The rocks digging into our bare feet didn't seem to matter - nor did the possibility of people seeing us and calling the cops - we felt invincible.

Editor's Note: If you look at the first sentence of the paragraph above, I just noticed it could totally be a lesson in the difference between "there," "their" and "they're." I should definitely use that in a seminar.

Once our multiple circling of the block was complete, we arrived back at Smitty's - Lee went jumping straight into the in-ground pool, I kind of just slowed down, and Smitty went to jump into his hammock.

As you may have appropriately assumed, it is very unlikely to simply land into a hammock if one is approaching it at full speed. Therefore, Smitty flipped over insanely fast and landed right into his pricker bushes. "Guys...help me up," he said. "I'm stuck."

Editor's Note: I'm not sure if the fact that he has excessive body hair makes the prickers worse.

Fully cognizant of the fact we were still naked, we helped Smitty out of the prickers. It was an intricate process to say the least. Once he finally arose from the evil bushes, he jumped into the pool to clean himself off. I think because he was so drunk he forgot how to swim, because he looked like Little John from "Robin Hood Men In Tights" - I implore you to click on that link.

As you know, sometimes when you're in the water you accidentally swallow some...it happens. But when you're drunk, the odds of puking increase tremendously. Let's do a tentative timeline of those 3 minutes of Smitty's life:

0.2: He's running back to his house fully naked.

0.10: He flips over his hammock into the pricker bushes...still fully naked.

0.11-1.11: He's stuck in the pricker bushes.

1.12-1.30: Two naked dudes help him up, and he jumps into his pool.

1.31-1.40: He's flailing his arms aimlessly, and in his attempt to successfully swim he swallows some water.

1.41-3.00: He's vomiting on the side of his pool, while still in it. Luckily he got all of it out of the pool and managed to projectile a decent amount of it into the bushes.

After that, I'm pretty sure we passed out inside. So overall it was a pretty interesting night, but the one thing I'll never understand is HOW THE FUCK MY FUNNEL DISAPPEARED. To this day we have no idea how a 10-foot fucking funnel could go missing, and Biff still hasn't forgiven me.

Editor's Note: Hope you enjoyed story time. Have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it. HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUUUSSSSSE IT!

Will You Go To Prom With Me So I Can Waste A Shitload Of Money Just To Try To Get Laid?

2011-05-17T11:36:00.002-04:00

I have a brother who's a senior in high school, so he's getting ready for the prom. So are his friends, and the following are true stories.

Friend #1: Was in Disneyworld with his girl, got down on one knee to ask her to FUCKING PROM, and had Mickey Mouse and all the other douchy mascots ask with him. She said yes, and tears were in her eyes. He'll probably get laid.

Friend #2: Made sure that throughout the school day, his girlfriend received a rose in each period with a word on it. All the sequential roses read when combined, "Will you go to prom with me?" or some horrifically unoriginal shit like that. It culminated with him giving her a rose at the end of the day to really drive the point home. She said yes, and he'll probably get laid.

My brother: Has a girlfriend, which means it's assumed that they're going to prom. He'll probably get laid.

Editor's Note: I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I've been laying serious farts today. My part of the office truly smells like dead fish mixed with coffee. If I wasn't leaving this place in 2 weeks it's possible I'd be fired for this emission.

Listening to these painfully gay stories from my bro forced me to reminisce when I had to deal with the prom fiasco. So let's take a trip down weiner lane for a moment:

It all started in the high school library - I was on Ticketmaster online getting tickets for a Green Day/Blink 182 concert. The librarian told me I wasn't allowed to do it, and she fucking shut off the computer literally in mid-transaction. This concert was at Madison Square Garden, so tickets were running out quickly.

I almost cried. I told her she had no idea what she had done, but because I was a respectful kid in high school (a pussy), that was the extent of my reaction. Luckily a teacher who liked me let me go up to her classroom, where I was able to land four tickets to the concert. I was so happy I could've given her cunnilingus right on the spot. It was for May 30.

I think you can gather that May 30 was also prom, which I found out a week later. I had never gone to a high school dance before because I was a semi-punk kid who hated that shit, but I knew I had to go to prom. So instead of me going to see two of my favorite bands, my sister, cousin, her friend, and my fucking father went. I still to this day haven't seen Green Day.

Editor's Note: My dad doesn't even remember the concert. But when I complain about it he'll say, "Oh yeah I remember...man that was fun!"

I had a prom date who was also my best female friend who was my age. We had an extremely platonic friendship since age 12 - never hooked up once. I had later found out that a sophomore liked me so the man in me thought that I could actually get ass if I take her to the prom instead. With a little convincing from my friends, I rescinded my offer to my friend, and asked the sophomore to prom. It took a full year to repair the damage I had done to our friendship.

Editor's Note: I'll admit, not one of my finer moments. In fact it's probably the only thing in my life so far that I truly regret; well, that and the incident I always mention when I was drunk and tried to balance on a fire hydrant in the rain. I still feel bad about the former - I was too immature to realize what I had indeed done to this person.

So I get my date, do the stupid pictures thing, do the stupid limo thing, and go to prom. I didn't drink because she didn't, and she didn't like to dance so we only danced - terribly, I might add - to a few songs. She looked very nice, but that's about it. AND she wouldn't let me wear the tuxedo from Dumb & Dumber.

For the after party we went to a lame comedy club, so prom pretty much blew all balls. Oh yeah...almost forgot...the actual dance was at a hotel right by my crazy aunt's house. That's the same one who during the recent thanksgiving was thankful that she doesn't do speed or coke anymore. Anyway, she showed up at my prom to take pictures of me and my date. Luckily I'm one who needs more than that to be embarrassed, but it wasn't really a welcomed addition to the evening.

Moving on, after the comedy club I took her home and I believe that was her first kiss, and it was like kissing a brick wall. It actually hurt my tooth. I really hope she's not reading this, but whatever....I guess it wasn't her fault, because no one's good at first.

Ugh, I really want to see Green Day.

Blowjobs Are Inphallible

2011-05-16T11:09:00.003-04:00

Yeah so some people commented on my last two entries, but Blogger went all apeshit so I couldn't read a lot of them. Under normal circumstances I'd say something like "Suck it, Blogger," but this is the first time anything funky has gone down.

Editor's Note: Speaking of Blogger, how come I've never been B.O.N.ed (Blogger of Note)? I mean, I've had over 450 fucking entries...can't show me any love? Are my constant references to weiners, doodie and drugs not to be deemed to be perused by the masses? Whatever, I'll keep trying. In the mean time, I think if this blog becomes a book - which it hopefully will one day - "Weiners, Doodie and Drugs" sounds like a pretty awesome title.

Anyway, Dr. Phallus is back as I've received an email from a female who wishes to be anonymous. She has asked me the following:

"I see this guy about once a week for sexy time and I usually end up blowing him at least three times in a couple hours. There's 'real' sex thrown in there, too, but he definitely hits the BJ jackpot when he comes over here. I ask if guys get bored with it because usually by the third BJ I'm kinda bored with them. But he doesn't seem to be, so I was wanting a boy's perspective on the thing."

This a tough question to answer: I believe I'm speaking for every man on the planet when I state that one can never receive too many blowjobs. However, men can only climax so many times in a few hours. So yes, after a while I suppose we can be a little worn out - and just like anything in life, once a process gets repetitive the redundancy can diminish its value - though I don't think 'bored' is the right word.

Of course he's not bored! He only sees you once a week and when he does, he's getting his dick sucked...repeatedly. Basically, as you imply, your mouth is a slot machine and this guy hits three 7's every time you meet up. I know I'm a dude and I'm supposed to look out for our kind, but since you wrote in and want my perspective I'm forced to say that it seems you're kinda getting the shit end of the stick.

Now I'm fully aware that lots of girls truly enjoy giving head, but you have to make sure you're getting some lovin' back. I mean, if you're throwin this dude a beej every hour, what are you getting in return? Guys aren't as energetic post-climax as girls either - after we bust we need time to relax and refuel the tank...that takes time.

This isn't a "relationship" - you're clearly using each other for sexual needs - so make sure there's some reciprocation. Don't just be content with having a man around. You've basically set a precedent that this dude is going to get nonstop blowie action every time you see him - because of this, I doubt he's going to be so keen on pleasing you.

I'm worried that your hookup is like the grandson who gets $50 every time he sees his grandma, or the guy who has a nice co-worker who brings in donuts every day. Once the bar is set, that's what's expected. If you only give him $20 one day, or you decide that you don't want to bring the nice frosty donuts into work, he won't like you as much.

But luckily, you're not his grandma or co-worker - you're a woman, and women have the ability to use their woman-parts. Utilize your strengths, and tease him a little bit - take charge. Start blowing him and stop...tell him to do something to you first in order for him to earn it. You know what he wants, so take that information and use it to benefit you, that way he's more than a mere companion with a weiner - he's someone that gets you off.

Though I must say to you, 'job well done'...literally. Three beaners every time you see him is no small feat, and I can't blame you for being slightly bored with having sausage in your mouth for that long. I would imagine that the third blowjob takes a lot longer than the first one. You're a dedicated woman - one who deserves commendation.

You Like Chinese Food

2011-05-12T12:49:00.000-04:00

I got a fucking fortune yesterday that read, "You learn something new every day."

Thanks, fortune teller. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that cliche is taught to you before you learn that vaginas have two holes.

Editor's Note: That's a bad example, because I'm pretty sure I didn't know that vadges had two holes until I was around 20. I was in Israel with my siblings and they were ripping me apart. I think even my 11-year-old brother knew that. He's also the same one who corrected my then-14-year-old brother when the kid thought it was called "pubric hair."

When I upsettingly read this fortune I thought to myself, "You know what? I could totally write some fortunes for people." Therefore I took the free will to lay a few down on the computer screen for your perusal.

1) "You will win the lottery and lose all your friends."

Editor's Note: I'll still take my chances though.

2) "Those who hold it in, have to wipe more later."

Editor's Note: I hate those wipes when you spend more time wiping than pooping. This is also a metaphor for procrastination. But speaking of poop, my editor caught a mistake in the paper before it went to print - he wrote "poop culture" instead of "pop culture." Hehe.

3) "There are such things as stupid questions. Those who truly wish to learn will still ask them."

Editor's Note: Whoever said that there aren't such things as stupid questions is just trying to be nice to you. When my reporter went to the check cashing place and said, "Can I get my check cashed?" That's a stupid fucking question.

4) "If you spank her, you'll soon see where her desires lie."

Editor's Note: Odds are if you first meet her and give her a spank, she won't like you. However, it is a good way of gauging if she's worth pursuing in terms of a one night stand. If you meet a chick at a bar and you're talking for a little while - and you spank her, and she doesn't get pissed at you - it's on.

5) "Forgive after you've held a proper grudge."

Editor's Note: People who let everything go aren't taken seriously. You have to get pissed off sometimes in order for people to realize what they did was wrong. Of course, you shouldn't get pissed off too often, because you still won't be taken too seriously.

6) "You will be spited, slighted and blighted. So will I."

Editor's Note: Get your head out of your ass if you think you're exempt from the shit in this world.

7) "When it is dry, you will not multiply."

Editor's Note: No woman wants to be with a dude who can't get her off. Sure, lots of them settle, but it doesn't mean she wants it that way.

8) "When tomorrow comes, you may not."

Editor's Note: I suppose you can interpret that as, "you're not going to live forever," but I just mean that you're not gonna get laid every day.

Okay, that's it for now. I guess you're technically supposed to go to 10, but I'm gonna be a badass today. The reason for the headline, by the way, is that my friend Duke actually got that fortune from a cookie once. Incredible.

I've Blogged A Lot

2011-05-10T11:32:00.002-04:00

So...450. That's a lot of blog entries. My first one was in October 2008, so that means I arguably could have had three kids by now if I had been getting bitches pregnant. Luckily I've only resorted to anal sex with them to avoid such a dastardly occurrence.

Editor's Note: Okay...having kids isn't THAT BAD. For some reason 'dastardly' came to mind, and oddly enough I haven't used that word once since this blog's inception. I love when that happens...I think you've come to see that my vocabulary is expansive as my weiner. And on the opposite end of the spectrum, that's probably the 500,075th time I've written the word "weiner." And if any of you females got insulted by me referring to your general population as "bitches," then you haven't been reading me very long. The ones who have know that I'm a chivalrous motherfucker. My hatred for bitches has lessened since this blog began.

Over the years as I've written about my life to a bunch of strangers, I've noticed a growth. No, not on my body, in my maturity. It may not always reflect in my prose, but at present the following is going on in my life: I'm in a so-far successful relationship; I haven't smoked weed in over 4 months; I'm starting a new job in 3 weeks; I'm saving money, and most importantly my penis remains big. Seriously, it rocks. Thanks genes.

My flaws are still glaring, and the ones I think I can control I am always trying to. For example, I still can't fix things or draw very well - and once the television goes on after 11 p.m. I'm guaranteed to fall asleep - but that won't change. I do, however, have the supreme ability to be reckless when I drink, so I'm trying to limit the nights of getting shitfaced. Gotta get a boner before you could fuck. I think that's how the saying goes.

Editor's Note: I also fart way more than the average person, but I don't consider that a flaw.

It's one thing to assess yourself in your mind, and it's another to see your antics on paper. It gives a whole new perspective on shit. Over the years I've re-read some of what I've written, and there have been some crazy fucking times. Absolutely none I regret, because they make me the strapping lad I am today.

Editor's Note: Okay, I definitely regret that time I passed out in front of my house and puked in my car. I also regret that time I tried to balance on a fire hydrant, slipped and almost castrated myself. Other than that I'm pretty satisfied. I probably got kicked out of 8 bars since this blog started, but it's tough to look back on those times and wish it hadn't happened...probably because I look back and mostly can't see anything.

But yeah, if I hadn't been such a psycho over the last however-long, it wouldn't make for very entertaining reading. My friends and family certainly contribute to this as well. I'm fortunate enough to have an abundance of them, and throughout this online journal I've been able to capture some nutty fucking times that will now never be forgotten. The No. 1 example that comes to mind is my trip to Texas. If you ever want some fun reading, read all of my "You Don't Mess With Texas" installments.

There are also the people who are active in the comment section...many of you have inspired me greatly. Whether you've inspired me to answer a question you may have, or if you've given me an awesome idea for a topic to write about, or if you've simply made me laugh, it's appreciated. In addition, you've all allowed me to make fun of you mercilessly, especially the women.

So I'd like to thank my readers for...you know...reading. As for the people who canceled their followship of me - and most recently the last person, presumably after the rape comment I made - your loss shitfuckers. Eat a dick, choke on it, then puke it up and think of me.

On The Brink Of A Milestone

2011-05-06T12:35:00.004-04:00

I am one post away from 450. I'm not trying to get all sentimental about it - nor will I be doing any anniversary-style bullshit - but it's still kind of a big deal. That's a lot of fucking blog posts, even with the occasional recycled cop-out.

Anyway, I have here 10 quotes I've heard mostly over the last couple of weeks, so may these amuse you and serve as a catalyst for an awesome weekend. HOUSE IT!

1) "Okay, so apparently you don't care about me and everything was a load of bullshit. I was pissed last night and have every right to be. You peed in my bed and on me again for a second time. It's costing me money to get it all cleaned up. Then as we are outside you just ripp [sic] ass right in front of my face while I'm bending over to pick up dog shit."

From a girl dating a friend of my co-worker. He showed me the text message his friend forwarded him and I just had to let my readers see it. May this also show ladies that guys have absolutely no shame, and will show their friends anything.

Editor's Note: It gets funnier each time you read it. At least I think so.

2) "Martinis are like breasts: Having one is not enough, and three are too many."

Van's viewpoint on martini consumption.

3) "You know kiddie porn? How come we weren't into it when we were kids?"

Once again, a friend of a different co-worker of mine. And once again, I couldn't deprive you all of hearing about this fantastic quote.

4) "Can I have a Whiskey Sour?"

My grandmother, a diabetic, ordering a drink at a diner. She went out for lunch with my father and ordered the drink when he got up to go to the bathroom. She also ordered jalapeno poppers when he got up a second time. Needless to say, my father sent it back.

5) "When my shnitzel's in her mouth."

My father, when I asked him how guys can tell if women like us. Something tells me he has no right to tell my grandmother what to do.

6) "All you do is fuckin' plow 'em, and they're gonna fuckin' queef."

Luke, who was slightly inebriated when discussing how apparently easy it is to make a girl queef.

7) "I don't get it, how do people make the watermelons seedless?"

"You roll it up a certain way...then you fuck it."

Ace asking the question last night at dinner, followed by Carl the Firefighter's brilliant answer.

Editor's Note: I think, "Then you fuck it" could pretty much be the answer for anything. And I throughly enjoy the irony behind "planting your seed" in something as a method of removing the seeds.

8) "Jam out with your clam out."

Cousin Harvey, who came up with the best "Rock out with your cock out" after we literally spent a half-hour trying to invent new phrases.

9) "I couldn't get it up because you were yelling at me!"

Van, who makes another appearance. A few years back he met a chick and when they were about to bang, she said crazy stuff like, "Is the condom on right? The condom better be on right...I'm not fucking getting pregnant." Well, I guess that's not too crazy, but "You better finish...NO GUY has never had sex with me and not finished" is pretty nuts.

So a couple weeks ago he ran into her at a party, and after a few drinks he called her out in front of 15 people, while simultaneously calling himself out as well.

10) "Oh okay...so next time I'm raping a chick, just walk the other way."

My friend, who shall remain nicknameless, who compared rape to smoking weed because they're both illegal. At my Super Bowl party people were smoking weed, and he told me months later that it had bothered him. "You should have walked away," I told him.

This is how he replied. Loudly. At a bar. Drunk. Then he drove home.

Now That's Impressive

2011-05-03T10:55:00.002-04:00

All these people are interviewing for my soon-to-be-former job. I usually introduce myself to them, but who really fucking cares? It's not like I'm going to be working with the soon-to-be sorry bastard. Should I tell this person that it's okay to masturbate at work?

Editor's Note: I'm just kidding. Not about the masturbation part...about the soon-to-be sorry bastard part. It's a fun job that I'd work at forever if I didn't care about not making any money. Anyway, since I'm friends with my boss at my upcoming job, I've discussed the jerking off at work thing...I don't think it's gonna happen. Not proper dimensions in the bathroom.

So I woke up this morning feeling rather peppy and I figured, "Hey...I have a blog...maybe I should blog today." So I am. You know sometimes, I'm so fucking profound it scares me.

And since I'm doing the blogging thing, I thought I'd make a list - cuz you know, people like lists. This list is about things that impress me, because though I'm easily amused I'm not easily impressed.

Six things over the course of my life that have impressed me

1) The beer sniffer.

2) Ace's motor skills.

3) Dudes who do 'the worm.'

4) Celibacy after you try sex.

5) My brother's friend Danger.

6) Hour-long sober sexers if you haven't yet busted that day.

Footnotes:

1) The beer sniffer: I was flying home with a few friends from Vegas, I think. We had a layover in Atlanta so we sat at the bar and had a beer. Well, my friends did. I didn't because Ace decided to be unorthodoxally spastic by spilling a full fucking beer on my lap.

We left the bar to wait at the terminal when this chick sitting next to me noticed that my entire crotchal area was doused with beer. She leaned over me, sniffed my dick and said, "Hmmm, is that Budweiser?" Uh...yeah! How the fuck did she know that? She said that she was a waitress so that's how she knew, but we all know that meant 'stripper.' Nonetheless...impressive.

2) Ace's motor skills: I don't mean it like, "he's coordinated." I mean it like, "being able to drive well under certain situations." The situation I'm referring to in this instance is when Biff had some beer and bad Chinese food, and puked in Ace's car while he was driving.

Now typically, when someone pukes in your car you can pull over, but because Ace was driving 60 mph on the Tappan Zee Bridge that was not possible at the time. In addition, Biff attempted to open the window in order to puke out of it - a kind gesture - but in doing so opened the window just enough to allow puke to circulate throughout the car, whapping Ace in the face while he still needed to maintain control of the car. Not easy.

3) Dudes who do 'the worm': I can do the worm, but it doesn't impress me. The reason why is because it hurts my fucking nuts every time I do it. How the shit do guys do the worm without hurting their balls? I just don't get it. I can't tell you how many times I've done the worm, and there hasn't been one time that I haven't been in incredible pain afterwards. And guys know what I'm talking about - the nut pain starts at the groinal area, then travels to the lower stomach, then travels to the chest, then up to the throat. Eventually, you feel like you're gonna puke up your nuts.

4) Celibacy after you try sex: Once you have sex, I'd imagine that you subsequently realize how awesome it is. No? That's why it impresses me when people can have sex and then give it up for an extended period of time. I mean...why not have sex if you can have it? Lots of people are celibate, but it's not by choice. Actually is it considered 'celibacy' if you simply can't get laid?

5) My brother's friend Danger: I fucking love this kid. Every time I see him, he does something that impresses me. Kid's a freak of nature. I once wrote about a water park adventure I had with him and my brothers, and the kid literally took a shit in the parking lot. IN THE PARKING LOT.

Last time I saw him was at my Super Bowl party, and just when I thought he couldn't be more amazing, he managed to once again prove me wrong. He was able to blow smoke out of his mouth, without even smoking. Have any of you heard of this? He'd close his mouth and puff out his cheeks, then make some weird frog noise with his throat. Kind of like sucking dick with his mouth closed. THE KID CAN BLOW OUT FUCKING SMOKE FROM HIS MOUTH WITHOUT SMOKING!

6) Hour-long sober sexers if you haven't yet busted that day: I just don't get it. I'm not saying I'm the worst guy in bed, but I sure as shit can't have sex for an hour. I can understand if a guy catches a beej and then goes right into sex after he busts - I can also understand if the dude is wasted - but how is it possible to go for an hour in your first sitting? If you're a dude who can do this, I expect you to give me pointers.

Editor's Note: Through this blog, I've heard many-a-girls say that they don't even want a dude to go for an hour, but still - much respect.

Moving On To Greener Weiners

2011-04-27T11:01:00.003-04:00

I know...you just read that headline and you're all like, "Oh my God Dan's not blogging anymore! What do I have to masturbate to?!" Don't worry, blogging I shall continue. I'm talking about my job.

Yes, that's right - it's time for a new job. I've been at my newspaper for over five years and in one month I'll be making moves into New York City to help launch a finance blog. I know, you thought I was going into male modeling - I can't blame you for thinking this - but alas I must use not only my good looks, but other talents to complement it.

Editor's Note: I wore a suit to the interview and got a ticket for being too good-looking. Okay fine...it was a parking ticket. Fucking $65. My mom said, "It's the Yin and the Yang...you get a new job and life just shows you that there's a balance." Uh...how about the fact I'm a fucking idiot and forgot how long the meter was running for? And I'm not even smoking weed.

So I went on two interviews, and of course during the first one the guy says to me, "So...I read your blog."

"Oh shit," I said. "Should I stop doing that?"

"No way man. If you stop writing it I won't be entertained."

Phew.

Anyway, it's a little weird that I'm going to have to be all adult and stuff. I guess it's about time though...I mean, I am 26. I have to get a new wardrobe that's "business casual"...that means I can't wear jeans and punk-rock T-shirts to work anymore. Bummer.

I noticed that a lot of dudes at this job wear the sweater over the button-down, with the collar going over the sweater. Know what I mean? It's kinda gay. Not gay in the "this looks stupid way" ... gay in the, "I like men" way. However, I do see myself conforming to this style as well, because I do believe I'll look rather ravishing. But I digress - this is not a fashion blog.

At the risk of rambling, I think they should have a "go to work naked day" in July. I think it'll increase camaraderie amongst employees, and more importantly it'll get the people who aren't in shape to get their shit together. If you don't like the way you look all you'll be thinking all year is, "Oh-my-god oh-my-god oh-my-god, I have to make sure I lose 10 more pounds before 'Go To Work Naked Day.'"

Editor's Note: Camp counselors and lifeguards will be excluded from this day.

Okay, fine. I guess that idea is a little ridiculous. Maybe it could just be a "bottomless day" then. But that won't work...people will think I'm only suggesting it so I can see weiners all day, and that's certainly not the case. But if we only did "topless day" then it's discriminatory towards women, because we'll only be looking at titties on chicks and fat dudes. Looks like "Naked Day" is the way to go. I totally just thought that through. Glad you were with me.

Mother Loose Story Time, Part II

2011-04-21T12:07:00.003-04:00

I believe I was a junior in college, can't really remember for sure. One of my friends and teammates on the baseball team - we'll call him Gumbo - told me that at this bar in Connecticut, they serve penny drinks until midnight. Seemed like a sweet deal.

I took my roommate Toby and we left to pick up Gumbo and Adam at another apartment complex on-campus. When we arrived, the two had already practically finished a bottle of rum. I should have known. To make this story easier to picture, Gumbo was - or is - 6'4, 230 pounds of pure guido.

Editor's Note: My good friend Mack also played baseball with me. I invited him to come out with us that night, but he refused. He never went out with Gumbo because he knew he was bad news. I like to try to give people the benefit of the doubt. The only other time I had been out with Gumbo, I puked my ass off, pissed in a plastic bag in my dorm room thinking it was a toilet, slept through six phone calls from Mack at 6 a.m., and missed my first college baseball game. Gumbo showed up at the game in the back of a police car.

So off we went in my Chevy Monte Carlo. The ride was joyful, full of laughs. Gumbo was sitting shotgun while Toby and Adam occupied the back seat - Toby was his usual jovial self as Adam rapped practically every song we listened to, presumably hoping one of us would say, "Wow man...you're really good." We didn't.

It was getting late, and we only had an hour left of the "penny drink" discount. But we didn't care...it's not like you need more than an hour to get housed when each drink costs a penny.

We were a mere two miles away from the bar when suddenly the puke wave hit Gumbo. Hey...it happens to the best of us. The only problem was that he didn't tell me until it was too late - the motherfucker yelled-as-he-was-puking, "Pull over man...right now!"

I stopped the car immediately - we were in front of a Chase bank - and instinctively tried to open the passenger side door for Gumbo. But, as stated above, it was a little late for that. The dude starting ralphing all over my extended right arm, along with dousing the floor, the seats, the window, and himself...in puke.

Editor's Note: Fuck you Mack.

With time running out, we drove to Dunkin' Donuts to clean ourselves up. All we had to clean with were tons of those crappy paper napkins and the sink from the bathroom. We reeked. And as you all know, puke smells in a car forever. It also manages to find wedges that are impossible to clean. Ace should know...Biff and I have wrecked his car with pukeage on numerous occasions.

Of course, we sucked it up and went to the bar anyway. There was no fucking way we went through all of this bullshit not to get our cheap drinks. But Gumbo refused to come in - when you puke from drinking, you either rally or pass out. He chose the latter.

While this doofus slept in my car, the three of us went in to drink. I think it doesn't take a genius to know that we didn't get there in time, so Toby and I - who felt absolutely deflated and defeated - each had a drink while we watched Adam hopelessly hit on jappy girls who were surrounded by frat guys in sweaters, button-downs, and caps with a tear in the brims.

Editor's Note: Fuck you Mack.

After an hour we said "fuck it," woke up that fat slob Gumbo, and got on the highway to head back to college.

Then things got interesting.

I didn't think it was unorthodox for Gumbo to have consumed as much alcohol as he did, but apparently he was doing it to get his ex-girlfriend off his mind, who he dated for years and just recently had a break-up with. Therefore, he was extremely depressed.

We were on the highway going about 60 mph, when Gumbo started to complain about his ex. "I can't believe we broke up," he mumbled. "I miss her so much." Then his voice started to crack and stutter, and the three of us were all undoubtedly thinking the same thing:

"Wait a sec...is he crying?"

Within one minute this massive man was bawling like a baby back bitch. "I (sniff) just (sniff) love (sniff) her (sniff) so (sniff) muuuuuuuch. Aaaaahhhhh. Waaaaaaaah. Waaaaaa!!!!!"

It was awkward. Toby had never hung out with Gumbo before, so his Asian face was white. I knew Gumbo fairly well, but nowhere near the level of comfortability to discuss this topic with him. Apparently Adam didn't mind weighing in.

"Are you crying you fucking pussy? You stupid little faggot. What the fuck is wrong with you crying like a girl? 'Ahhh I miss her....aaah I love her.' Shut the fuck up!"

This only caused Gumbo to cry harder and louder. And because this is the person who just puked all over me and my car, and cost me a night of getting hammered for 10 cents, it was difficult not to laugh at him.

At this point, he was - or seemed - insanely depressed. "I just wanna kill myself," he cried. "I don't give a shit anymore. I need her...I love her."

He then opened the fucking passenger side door while my car was at 60 mph on the highway. Whether or not he was really going to jump out, no one knows. My inkling is that he just wanted attention, but regardless he still flung this fucking door open. I reacted quickly and shut the door while holding onto the wheel. For the next 2 minutes I absolutely berated him.

"HOW DARE YOU!" I yelled.

Editor's Note: "HOW DARE YOU!" became an inside joke that Toby still doesn't stop using to this day. He loves mocking me for saying that.

"After all the shit you put me through tonight, you're gonna pull some shit like that!? If you're gonna kill yourself, kill yourself...but DON'T FUCKING DO IT IN MY CAR!"

At this point Toby and Adam were silent. Gumbo continued to sob, but it was more silent at this point. He apologized profusely and went on to discuss his chronic depression. This night couldn't have been over soon enough.

Editor's Note: Fuck you Mack.

Adam eventually tried to uplift the mood, which worked for Gumbo. He started rapping the song "Juicy" by Biggie - a typical white boy "let's cheer up" song - and Gumbo chimed in and before you know it, all was well.

I had never been so happy to back on-campus. We drove to the gym to pick up Adam's car, when Gumbo decided to flee the vehicle and call his ex. She picked up, and he commenced to walk into the woods completely out of sight. "Are we gonna leave him?" Adam asked.

I couldn't give a fuck.

I finally got back to my apartment and told the story to my roommates. If I remember correctly, my roommate Joe had just gotten back after I had finished telling it for the seemingly 50th time. Apparently he had a story of his own.

"Dude...I just had a sixsome."

I don't think it's possible for two people's nights to be more opposite.

Editor's Note: From then on, any time someone did something really fucked up or stupid, it was called pulling a "Gumbo." Oh, and two weeks later Gumbo - this fat lying fuck - told my female friends that we went to the bar and had a great time, and that he saw what a terrible dancer I was. The dude was passed out in the car the whole time. What a goon.

Fuck Grits

2011-04-18T15:04:00.005-04:00

First off, for the sake of being PC, happy HOLIDAYS to those who celebrate Easter and Passover over the next two weeks.

Editor's Note: I kind of mean that. I mean, I want you to have a happy holiday because I'm not an asshole - seriously, I do - but I couldn't care less about bunny-fucking and bonnets. I have enough trouble caring about the Jewish holidays.

Well, it would appear that Saturday now ranks quite high on "worst hangovers ever." I went out with Biff on Friday and spent a shitload of money, only to puke it all up the next day. Probably had 15 beers, along with a diner trip at 4 a.m. that I have no recollection of. Apparently I was passed out on the table the entire time while Biff kept apologizing to the waiter while housing mozzarella sticks.

The next day, we went for breakfast at some terrible bougie brunch place, and I ate grits which only made my life - and hangover - significantly worse. I never had grits before, and I gotta say: They fucking suck.

Anyway, I also spent way too much money, which stressed me out a great deal. I just can't afford to keep up with some of my friends who make more than me, so I'm not going to. From now on I'm all about house parties, pregames, and an 8-drink max when I start boozing. Eight drinks should be more than enough for someone who's 5'10, 150 lbs.

What was interesting about Friday night was that when we woke up in Biff's apartment Saturday morning, there was a cushioned chair doused with liquid. We couldn't tell if it was piss or not. I did a smell test, and three of us concluded that it could not have been urine.

Now don't get me wrong - I'm certainly capable of doing something like this: I'm in a very prestigious club. I also once woke up in my bedroom in the middle of the night and proceeded to piss all over my sneakers in the corner of the room.

Editor's Note: My buddy Elmer was also sleeping on a mattress on the floor that night. Good thing I missed him.

But I didn't do this. In fact, we'll never know who did it. The only thing that compares to this ongoing question - besides that whole JFK thing - is when I was 16 and I went to Worcester, Massachusetts with Biff, Ace and Spaceballs:

I was hitting on this hot girl at a mall and then pussied out when it was time to get her and her friends to hang out with us. I know...I was a pussy. I was also pre-pubescent with no confidence, mainly because I was inexperienced with women, and subsequently due to this did not know how big my weiner really was.

When we got back to our hotel with 2 bedrooms and 2 couches, our collective horniness increased tenfold when the Britney Spears dance special was on HBO. I'm sure most of you remember, but Britney was ridiculously hot back in the day.

After watching the entire performance, all of us wanted to jerk off: It was no secret. I'm sure I've blogged about this before, but I can't remember after 445 entries.

Regardless, the next day no one had admitted to masturbating. I refuse to accept it...somebody must have. You have no idea just how horny we all were. I'm telling you I didn't - you have to believe me. Do you really think that I would keep something like that a secret after all the ridiculous stories I've given you over the past two years?

At this point, whoever's lying is simply doing it out of pride, because if we were 26 at the time it would have been admitted to immediately. I think it was either Biff or Spaceballs. Ace would have admitted it by now - the guy has openly discussed his masturbation habits at work - but Biff would keep it a secret. Spaceballs would tell us under normal circumstances, but his dad was in his hotel room. I could see why that's not something he'd want us to have over him.

Time To Move

2011-04-14T09:40:00.007-04:00

I'm lucky enough to realize that some of you are actually insane enough to anticipate my blog entries. I have not been fulfilling expectations, though I assure you I still have a big weiner. I know that may seem like it has nothing to do with anything, but having a big weiner has everything to do with everything...all the time.

Anyway, I need to move out. I've given up my bedroom to my brother because he's been sharing one his whole life with my other bro, so I thought I'd throw him a bone. This means that I stay at my girlfriend's place a lot, and I sleep in my sister's now-vacant room, because she lives with her boyfriend.

So yesterday I came home and my blanket was gone. Turns out my brother had it in my old room - along with 2 other blankets - because his girlfriend slept over. Why the fuck do you need three fucking blankets?

I retrieved my probably-splooge-filled blanket and tried to go to bed. Oh wait...there was dog shit on the floor. Who knows how long it's been there, because it wasn't soft. I then realized that I had a bottle of water from last night, but for some mysterious reason there was a piece of gum stuck to the inside of the cap. Then, as I was finally able to lay down and read before sleep time, I went to take a piss, only to see used condoms in the garbage to further verify that either my brother or his girlfriend came all over the blanket(s).

I need to move out.

Okay, back to work. I'm gonna be writing a guest post for Natalie soon, and my regular piece with Annah. Hope to see you all again soon, and feel free to berate if you do so wish.

To end on a happy note, look at this picture of this chick riding a bike...she should probably not use a tan seat because it totally looks like she's packin' a dick sandwich.

Post Entry Editor's Note: As this entry ended, Ace sent me the following email containing a brief conversation with him and Luke. The subject is: "This is why I don't get work done."

Ace: You've got mail.

Luke: Your mom's a hot piece of tail.

Ace: And yours is really good to rail.

Luke: Don't forget to bring a pail.

Ace: Her blowjobs never ever fail.

Luke: She sends me naked pictures in the mail,

and sometimes on the phone.

But only when she wants to bone.

Somebody call Robert Frost.

Don't Touch Me While I'm Eating

2011-04-07T10:49:00.005-04:00

Yeah so I was in Maine until Monday night and working like a broke hooker the last two days, but I have returned in my ongoing attempt to enlighten you through my lunacy.

Maine was unbelievable as usual - to sum it up I had about 35-40 drinks, a lobster roll, four packs of beef jerky, I saw my family, went bowling, and I hit my sister in the vagina with a snowball.

Editor's Note: I also didn't masturbate once. That's not bad for a 4-day trip, don't you think?

So what do I talk about first? I guess I can tell you about my amazing snowball throw, but it's not that much of a story. As do many of these occurrences occur, it was an accident - I threw a snowball at the door, and wonderfully coincidentally my sister opened the door as the snowball slammed her in the vadge. She leaned over in pain and I laughed like a super villain - this is what inspired me to write the latest poll.

In terms of the beef jerky - well...I just absolutely love Maine beef jerky. The problem is when I have the regular kind - not the teriyaki - I fart like you wouldn't believe. When we were at the bar it got so bad that I had to walk over to other groups of people, fart near them, then walk over to where our group was hanging out. It was even offending me, and everyone loves their own brand.

Oh! I also didn't smoke any weed. That makes it over 3 months since I've puffed the ganja. Pretty impressive if you've been a reader of mine over the last year.

Editor's Note: I did take a hit of hash though. You know...hash on the pin, light it, put a glass upside down over the pin, then lift up the glass and inhale all the smoke that accumulates. That shit put me in a catatonic state. But still, it wasn't weed.

To somewhat change the subject but still stay on the subject of Maine, there was this woman named Karen who's 37 and dates my cousin Harvey's best friend, who's 30. That doesn't bother me - age differential means nothing to me - but what does bother me is that she's one of those, "I'm gonna flirt with every guy in the room, even though my boyfriend's right there."

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Quick Tangent: One of my mom's best friends is 14 years older than her husband, and they have a wonderful marriage from what I've observed. Wanna hear something weird, though? Her first husband had the same birthday as her. Then they got divorced, and she married this guy who also has the same birthday.

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So yeah, Karen is way too much. It's not that she isn't a nice person, she's just overly flirtatious and it's really fucking awkward.

Unfortunately, during one dinner I had to sit next to this 37-year-old wannabe whore bag while I was eating. And she kept...fucking...touching me. I HATE when people touch me when I'm eating. And furthermore, she kept reaching over me to touch my cousin who was sitting to my left. How in the name of Jeff Foxworthy am I supposed to eat while you keep leaning all over my shit? Eventually I shot my sister a look, and fortunately the woman realized and stopped what she was doing.

Okay, the proverbial fat lady is singing because I have to get back to work. Glad to be back to try to amuse you ladies and gents, bitches and dicks, and anything and everything in between.

Thinking Like A Vagina

2011-03-31T13:02:00.003-04:00

Since I lack the necessary body parts to be woman - something I'm eternally grateful for - I can't theorize from their perspective. I mean, I guess I wouldn't mind playing with my own boobs, but I digress.

Though I believe I'm more in-tune than most dudes, I still have an extremely hard time figuring out what the fuck is going on in the minds of you vagina-havers. Therefore, two blogger friends of mine - the Tsaritsa and Coyote Rose - have been kind enough to give me their two cents in regards to some methods on how to garner male attention.

I'm going to Maine tonight so I won't be around till Tuesday. Hope you like what they have to say - perhaps their stories will remind you of shenanigans you pulled. HOUSE IT!

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the Tsaritsa

I was an awkward, boy-crazy teenager, up until about the time I turned 17, when I sort of settled into myself and became more familiar with dating. I had never had a boyfriend or been on a date until I was well into age 15, but that didn't keep me from having crushes on just about every boy I met or saw.

My fantasies were purely romantic in nature, like holding hands while sitting in a park or going out for dinner with whoever was my crush of the moment. I wrote about these crushes in my journal, but I didn't take any steps to bring my fantasies to fruition. I was too shy.

When I was four years old there was a boy who I would hold hands with at story time and give a kiss on the cheek every morning, our "morning kiss," and in the second grade I had a similar relationship with another boy whose hand I would hold during science class. I was pretty forward back then, but at some point in elementary school I lost some of my confidence in that arena.

Anyway, in high-school I didn't even reveal my crushes to my close friends, for fear that my secret would become public knowledge and make me a complete embarrassment. Like most teenagers, I was afraid of looking stupid in front of everyone (I've since overcome that fear), and so only the closest of my friends knew of my most intense idealized loves.

I remember walking down the hallway to class with a friend one time and spotting one of the boys I was mildly obsessed with at the time. I didn't know what to do, but my friend suggested that we call his name over and over to get his attention. We may have been 10 feet behind him in a crowded hallway, but she began calling his name and I also chimed in with the chant. He didn't hear us, or he heard us and chose not to acknowledge us. Which is just as well, because I don't know what I would have done if I had gotten his attention. I had no game.

My idea of attracting boys was playing hard to get by acting like I didn't see them. I thought that would make them come to me, oddly enough. And of course it never worked. There was one boy who I had a class with that I had a major crush on. This one did actually talk to me and we sometimes walked to the subway station together after school. I tried my best to get his attention in a romantic way, but I really had no idea what I was doing.

We would have deep conversations about religion and other issues while waiting for the train to arrive but the idea of hanging outside of that context never came up. I never brought it up – I just waited for him to do something about it which I was sure he would eventually. I was so certain because he sometimes would take the Ridge-Spur with me to Girard station, where he would get off, and then wait with me at that station for the local to arrive so I could continue on my way home. He didn't have to wait with me, but he did. I was convinced we would end up together. Except a few years ago I found out he's gay, so I guess he just really liked me as a friend. Oh well.

There was one summer when my friend Becky and I would dress up in crazy clothes and run around our neighborhood looking for fun, because we had nothing else to do. We would stroll the blocks acting kooky, trying to draw attention to ourselves, and if we spied a cute Rivers Cuomo lookalike (my type back then was the typical indie dude with slicked back hair, jeans, Chucks, and Buddy Holly glasses) we would try our best to act casual and make brief, but flirtatious, eye contact. Sometimes we followed them around and tried to be inconspicuous.

I also don't know what we would have done had we gotten their attention and he wanted to talk to us. I think we would have probably ran away if that situation came to a head. Yet we persisted with this game.

One thing we liked to do was dress up in different costumes (one day we'd be Goths, the next ravers, the next androgynous) and walk down South street to our favorite coffee shop on Fourth. There was a guy who worked there that all of my friends and I called "Cool Guy Chris." Becky and I thought he was especially attractive even though he was much older, so we'd stop in for an Italian soda while he was working. We would crack jokes and he would comment on our outfits, and I guess that gave us the satisfaction we were looking for.

These are only just some of the crazy things I've done in my time to get a guy's attention. Girls may do some wacky things, but guys are also kind of oblivious. That's all I really have to say.

Coyote Rose

So I am the self-proclaimed worst flirt in America. If I had to flirt to save humanity, we would all be doomed.

It's not that I don't try, it’s just that I go about it all wrong. My idea of flirting is talking about baseball statistics or motorcycles or socket wrenches. It’s either that or I spend the entire time busting the guys balls. Yep, that’s right – I am the adult female equivalent of a little boy that pulls pigtails. It’s just when I try to flirt like a regular girl, I feel like the world’s biggest retard. I end up cracking up about how awful I sound.

So similarly, when I try to get a guy’s attention I go about it all wrong. I tend to either treat them like crap (because that's the best way to get a guy’s attention, right?) or I slut it up. Slutting it up tends to be my preferred method cause you know I have a nice rack and pair of legs.

So recently, I realized that I have this huge crush on a guy I've known forever. I tend to date douchebags and I've been trying to change that. So I made a mental list of the kind of qualities I wanted in a boyfriend and realized that my friend, let’s call him Ty, was like perfect (also hot, but I always knew he was hot).

As luck would have it my college friends were planning a big get together, and I happen to live about 4 hours away from where they live. So I called up Ty and asked if I could stay at his apartment that weekend, and then I packed the sluttiest clothes I owned. Okay, maybe not the sluttiest…but definitely some of the skimpiest.

I then proceeded to spend the weekend camped out in his apartment in teeny-tiny booty shorts (its NC in August, its allowed) and tank tops sometimes without a bra. I volunteered to make pancakes and other various foods. I laid up on his couch in cute position. I told him how perfect his shower is for shower sex (oh and it is, I have never seen a shower more built for shower sex in my life) and I got...nothing.

I mean Ty and I have been friends for awhile, but not normally when I am wearing almost nothing. I'm pretty sure I could have walked around Ty's apartment naked and he wouldn't have reacted at all. He mostly spent his time playing computer games or watching movies with me or discussing sports. I will note I did bust his balls about his sports team, even though we share the same love of an incredibly bad football team.

I'd like to think that had I done this with any normal hormonal guy, he would have jumped my ass in under an hour. But I got zero reaction from Ty. Ultimately I gave up on trying to get Ty's attention because:

A). He's obviously not interested.

B). I have other guys that are interested

C). It was killing my already fragile ego

Apparently, slutting it up is not the way to go.

Have A Black Angus Burger

2011-03-28T17:45:00.008-04:00

Haven't blogged in around five days. Some people don't blog because they have writer's block; some lie to themselves and to their readers and say that they don't have time; some don't blog because they want to, but know that what they have to write will insult someone - then there are others like me who simply didn't feel like it.

Editor's Note: Seriously though, that "I don't have time" reason is such a load of shit on a donkey dick. That's like when girls say to a guy that they didn't have time to call them back. Whenever I don't blog I often say that I didn't have time, and I knew I was full of it. If you want to make the time, you make the time.

I think my desire to not-write was because of exhaustion from a metaphorical buttfucking stemming from running around Manhattan paying parking tickets and dealing with DMV shit. And yes, I'm aware that the DMV is perfect material to write a blog entry about, but it's also a subject as worn out as a septum on a coke fiend.

However, I will say that I did not take a liking to the woman who renewed my registration and then said to me, "You shouldn't get so many parking tickets next time." Much appreciated you leather-handbag-looking slut. But as much as I wanted to put this woman in her place, she was right: I'm an idiot. I could've used that $800 for much more important things. Like lube...or packs of Skittles...or a car...or those funky masks that have the zippers for the mouths. I've always wanted one of those.

So moving right along with great dexterity and ease, I have officially declared that I cannot eat vodka sauce. Unless of course it's time to repaint the toilet from Ceramic White to Ass-Blast Brown. Furthermore, I really want a handjob. I haven't gotten one in such a long time.

Editor's Note: I'm really looking forward to finishing this blog entry so I can get the post about my grandma away from being adjacent to a poll about handjobs.

I can't even fucking remember the last time I've gotten one. I was talking with cousin Harvey and my little brother about this yesterday, and Harvey told me that at age 25 he still gets them consistently. He loves getting them, he said. I personally don't get it, but it's about that time to remind myself of feelings that have long left me.

Of course my 16-year-old brother gets them like nobody's business. I just completely forgot they still existed. I went to pick him up at his girlfriend's and he was late exiting her house as usual. "Sorry man," he said. "I was finishing up after a handjob." Nice!

Editor's Note: I also found out from my 17-year-old brother that my 16-year-old bro wears magnums, sometimes even the magnum large condoms. That's fucking recockulous. And I thought I was the Danaconda? My bro's friend asked him if he uses the condoms to put over his arm. Good for him.

On another note, I don't know if you remember the other serious entry I wrote last week. I don't feel like linking it - I'll just tell you that it was after watching some home movies converted into DVD. Anyway, I was watching another one last night and it had me throwing a temper tantrum, while yelling at my father and grandfather to shut up. Great stuff.

It also had me in the bathtub, pretending to be Superman while singing "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys. But what didn't make sense is that I'd put a bucket on my head saying, "I'm Santa Claus," and then upon removal of the bucket, I'd throw my fists in the air and exclaim, "Now I'm Superman!" I'll tell you: I was as weird as I was adorable.

Editor's Note: There was also a video of me at 4 years old in nothing but a T-shirt and high heels. I was strutting my stuff and my legs were fabulous. Whatever...most boys have a phase when they wear heels. I think.

Oh yeah: the headline. That probably doesn't make much sense to you...let me clarify.

I was at a diner yesterday with my bros, grandmother and my father. There was a whiteboard with the specials written on it in magic marker. One of the specials read, "Black Angus Burger."

As the staff observed, my father used his finger to erase the 'g' in "Angus."

An Unforgettable Dream

2011-03-24T12:39:00.008-04:00

This didn't really happen...it was just a dream. I keep telling myself that, but it's been extremely difficult to shake. It was insanely realistic and I've never been so strongly affected by a dream before. The italics denote the dream, and regular type face is reality:

My father and I were at my house bickering. When he doesn't feel well he can be irritable and I typically respond with sarcasm, which I did in this instance. We hopped in the car and we were driving somewhere...not sure where. Our conversation got very vulgar in a sexual sense, the only unrealistic portion of the dream. We were talking about random stuff and I said some very over-the-top remarks for the mere purpose of getting a rise out of him. Can't remember the specifics.

Then we arrived at our destination. It was me, him and my grandmother - his mother. It was a parkish looking place - a grassy platform surrounded by bushes and shrubs in the day time, but with no sun out. On one side was a staircase with grassy steps and brick attached to the end of them. We began to guide my grandmother down the stairs...something she always needs at her age (83).

She's my last grandparent...she lost her husband to Alzheimer's in June 2003: His name was Norman.

On her way down the stairs her big feet were barely able to occupy each step she descended upon, something which we find customary and I didn't find peculiar in the least. She then said something along the lines of, "I wonder how my second chance with Norman will be."

Again, this was not odd to me. In real life my grandmother often suffers from senility due to being isolated in a nursing home. She's very with it, but sometimes hallucinates my grandfather being alive. We often remind her that this is not the case, which is heartbreaking to have to remind a woman who was married for 54 years that her husband's been dead for seven years...ten if you count the Alzheimer's.

After she made this comment I replied, "He's dead grandma...you know this." She only seemed to be slightly bothered by what I said - she simply continued to travel down the steps with my assistance and my father lingering behind us. My mother suddenly appeared in the dream and said to my father, "You know she's going to leave you, right?"

When we made it down the steps my grandmother took her cane and began to walk. She lit up a cigarette...something I've never seen her do in my life. My mother disappeared from the dream and my father and I looked at each other. Neither of us cared that she was smoking, figuring that in her old age she can do whatever she wants, and we have no right to stop the matriarch.

So with her cane in her left hand and a cigarette in her right, she began to walk across the concrete-laced pathway. There was nothing around but concrete, with no end in sight. She then started to walk slightly faster, something atypical for a woman in her health. My father again trailed behind.

But I kept up. As her pace quickened I made sure to be at her side. She had a sense of urgency on her face, as if she needed to get somewhere as quickly as she could. I refused to leave her.

Now she was in a full out walking sprint, determined as ever, with her cane assisting each step as she traveled faster and faster. She was not short of breath, but it was clear to me that her legs were moving too fast for her body. The cane then slipped her grasp and she began to fall. I was there for her - I wouldn't let her ahead of me - and I caught her and slowly guided her to the ground.

She was shaking as she lay on her back. I held her tight saying nothing - I just felt like I needed to be there. Her unblinking eyes were wide open, the color as green as the grassy steps she had been walking down. She wasn't looking at me...she wasn't looking at anything.

I woke up trembling. I was hoping dearly that it was 7:30 a.m., but alas it was 4 and I had to go back to sleep. I didn't even want to try. I got up, went to the bathroom, and explained the dream to my mother, who I knew was awake because she's had a cold as of late. It was only pleasant thoughts of my girlfriend and fantasy baseball that allowed me to continue my slumber.

I'm going to visit my grandmother today. I don't see how I can't.

Post entry Editor's Note: The Danaconda you've grown to love will assume tomorrow. As previously stated, sometimes things simply need to be written down. And since I haven't written "fuck" at all in this entry, I thought I'd do it there.

One Time I Hooked Up With A 16-Year-Old

2011-03-22T09:20:00.004-04:00

Yeah, but I was 16 too. What's wrong with that? You guys are sick.

And speaking of 16, it was my brother's birthday yesterday. My how they grow...first they're a bunch of little turds crawling around, and now they're big shits running around. I love that kid.

Editor's Note: The birthday card my mother got him had a baby with an olive on each finger, because he used to eat olives that way. Why do people have to torture me so much? I FUCKING HATE OLIVES. Can't believe I had to sign that card.

So I gave him 40 bucks. That's gotta be enough, right? My mother said he'd probably just spend it on his girlfriend. Ugh what a stupid bastard. I try to tell him but he doesn't listen to me. I mean...um...can someone tell my girlfriend that I love her?

Anyway, the family gathered to celebrate the b-day. As you may know from past family-related entries, this basically means that my father tells a bunch of ridiculous stories and we all laugh our asses off. But first, my mother talked about the day she gave birth to my bro. In a nutshell, she got pregnant, her water broke at a restaurant, then my dad flagged down a cop and got to follow the sirens and run red lights on the way to the hospital. He couldn't have been happier.

He then said that it took my brother not even an hour to be delivered, unlike my "retarded" self who apparently opted to smash my head into my mom's pubic bone for 20 hours. That's why I have a mark on my forehead that Ace says turns purple when I get mad. Thanks dad.

I was the first born though, so I was the fuckin' man. Granted I wasn't nearly as good-looking as my other two brothers, but because I came first I totally rock harder than they do. In fact, my father said he was so happy that he sent my umbilical cord to his buddy Rick to fuck with him. He told me he put it in a jewelry box.

Editor's Note: He also told me that Rick sent it back to us, and my mom put it in a jar. "That's really fucked up," I said.

"You know what's even worse?" my father further joked. "Your mother kisses it every night before she goes to sleep."

Sorry to cut this short - no pun intended in reference to the umbilical cord - but I have work to do. Funny how my editor tells me, "It's great you have a blog...you gotta make sure you're consistent though." How the fuck am I supposed to do that if you keep sending me emails? Also, do you think he reads it? That can't be good.

Editor's Note: It seemed that more of you were interested in my fantasy baseball draft than I thought. Though I will not give you specific details, I will say that I was in a room with 13 dudes for four-and-a-half hours, and it was all I hoped it would be. I just wish everyone didn't choose to sing Rebecca Black's "Friday" song the entire fucking time. Oh, you haven't heard of it?

There Goes Erin's Bra(gh)

2011-03-18T09:22:00.004-04:00

I'm not really sure what that headline means or if it's clever, but I guess it makes sense considering yesterday was St. Patty's Day. Typically I don't celebrate this holiday because I'm not Irish - though I do grow reddish facial hair (not pubic...that's more brown) - but yesterday I housed it.

Editor's Note: Also as predicted, I lost 2 followers on Tuesday after writing in my typical disgusting style. Those morons actually thought my sensitive side would continue for blogs to come. I got two words to describe my unfollowers, and they're in the poll. I truly wish someone would follow my proviso.

I guess it wasn't that bad because I only had five beers. Wait...the five beers were in 20 oz. glasses...so eight beers. And a shot of Jameson. It's been about a year since I've had Jame-o, because this happened. If you don't want to read the link, I basically puked all over my friend's kitchen, then in my car, then when I got home I didn't make it inside because I passed out on the front stoop....after puking in the bushes. The single worst hangover of my life ensued. You know, the kind of one that makes you want to cry because you don't know what else to do.

Last night I told the bartender a solid joke. It is as follows:

Joke Tangent: There's a crowded bar, and one guy is particularly drunk. Like, way more drunk than anyone should ever be. Three good samaritans felt bad for him, so they decided to take him home. On the way to their car, the man must have fallen seven or eight times. Not just a little slip-and-fall...BAD falls on his head.

They finally got him in the car and he somehow was able to tell them where he lived. They pulled up to his house, and as they brought him to the front door he fell four more times. The men rang the doorbell and the wive answered.

"Hey lady, your husband was way too drunk so we decided to bring him home."

"Oh, how sweet of you," the wife said. "But where's his wheelchair?"

So anyway, this Sunday is my draft for my fantasy baseball league. Am I allowed to talk about this? I mean, I know it's my blog and I can do whatever the fuck I want, but there's no way anyone finds this interesting. Just know that it means more to me than you do.

I'm sorry readers, I don't mean that. You know you mean a lot to me, right? You are all the collective sun that illuminates me...the cushy slippers as I continuously walk on egg shells...the glass water that hydrates me as I sit in pain from my hangover called life.

Okay, I don't mean that either. You guys rock, but not THAT much. So get off your fucking high horses, have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it.

Editor's Note: HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUUUSSSSE IT!

Addendum to Editor's Note: Some newbies may not know what HOUSE IT! means. Click on this link to be in the loop if you wish.

Operation Weiner

2011-03-15T08:56:00.004-04:00

I appreciate the thoughtful, insightful, and complimentary comments from yesterday's post. The new ones I saw this morning will be responded to shortly. A bunch of girls actually told me that I made their eyes sting, and I have to say - that's not the first time a girl's told me that.

Editor's Note: Aaaaaand I'm back.

Seriously though, one time I shot one in a chick's eye and she was NOT HAPPY. In fact now that I think about it, I've accidentally unleashed in a female's eye, hair, and belly button. Other places have been intentional, except the times I've come too quickly. Oh, and if you started following me after yesterday - this is what you're getting more often than not.

Editor's Note: One time there was nowhere to put "it," so it went into an empty chips bag. The bag then went on top of the vending machine in the hallway. College was disgusting.

Speaking of the quick-come, I've heard some interesting factotums as of late from my friends about how their weiners work. One guy told me that practically every time, it takes him at least a half-hour to bust. That's amazing. The only time it takes me that long is if I'm drunk, or if I'm having one of those "for some reason I'm unbelievable in bed today" kind of days.

One friend told me that he's able to hold out until his woman orgasms, then he lets out the fury. I've never been able to do that - maybe I lack the mental focus - if I get the jizz-wave, it's happening. The only way I can stop it is if I hold it in, and that takes an extreme amount of concentration - it is, however, usually worth it.

Another guy told me that he busts ridiculously quick every time, but he's always ready to go immediately after...multiple times. However, he's strongly influenced by whether or not a condom is involved, which is a typical quality amongst us dudes. Condom + Boner = Overrated. Anyway, during youth I was under the impression that after ejaculation, the weiner goes soft quicker than a hippie with a guitar by a campfire. For me to be ready to go again that quickly happens about as often as a woman having her period.

Editor's Note: I could've just wrote "once a month," but that's not fun. And looking back at that sentence I suppose I didn't need to write "woman" having her period. That's sort of implied. Then again, I know some really bitchy dudes.

I have another friend who's a speedy weiner, but he attributes that to his significant other being really attractive, mixed with his rushed masturbation habits. He too is still hard EVERY TIME after he finishes. As happy as I am with the weiner that was bestowed upon me, I truly wish I had that characteristic on a regular basis.

On an entirely unrelated note, I found a mix CD in my house this morning that I hadn't heard since high school. Man I love that feeling...when you pop in a CD not knowing what's on it, then get this wave of nostalgia as you rock out harder than a coked up banshee. Don't ask me how that comparison came to mind - I haven't smoked weed in 10 weeks.

Some bands on the CD: Tenacious D, Led Zeppelin, and Andrew W.K. It's also inspired me to include myself in Sara's Karaoke Ring of Death. It would take some planning and execution by a group of individuals, so I can't promise it will happen. If it does, you won't ever forget it. The major deterrent is that we'll all probably lose our jobs.

Editor's Note: Guest posts will be coming up shortly as well. For the women who owe me stuff and haven't mailed it to me...lets go vadges. Buck up.

Let It Out

2011-03-14T09:01:00.006-04:00

Good morning fuckers. This is a break from the perverted banter I so (in)famously write about. It's been about a month since I've gone serious on you people without being conscious of a word count, and right now I feel the need to let some stuff out - not the normal stuff I let out of my ass - so deal with it or don't read.

I had a rather surreal experience last night that's difficult to dislodge from the ol' noggin. Well, I guess my noggin isn't that old...I'm only 26. Whatever it's an expression - stop being such an asshole.

So yesterday was my father's birthday. My mother, sister and I bought him a DVD which was converted from old tapes of family gatherings. Birthdays, parties and just random shit.

Editor's Note: It's funny to see adults behave like adults do. What I mean by that is that my mother was filming my sister when the girl was two. As many two-year-olds do, she would remove her clothes at any given time. My mom, who was operating the camera, said to my sister, "Do you like to take off your clothes?" She responded, "Yes." My mom then said, "Do you like to do it for money?" Again she replied, "Yes." I think the nature/nurture debate is now settled. Wait, did I just call my sister a whore? She's gonna kick my ass.

Addendum to Editor's Note: My father pulled down his pants in two separate videos, had cigarettes stuffed up his nose in two separate videos, and was taking a shit in another video. None of this surprised me. What did surprise me was him taking a shot of liquor because he doesn't drink, but then while no one was "looking" he spit the shot out into his in-law's plant. That's better.

Not only did I see videos of deceased relatives whom I loved more than anything...I saw me: Five-year-old Dan running around doing his thing. As one grows up one hears stories about themself, but it's obviously completely different to see it on screen.

Editor's Note: I was really fucking adorable, not gonna lie. Whether or not I got better looking is entirely debatable.

Man I was such a nice kid. So naturally sweet and compassionate, full of hugs and simply wanting to play and love my family. It makes me wonder what has changed.

As you grow up you're bound to change, but it pains me to see some things I became after seeing the innocent young self I once was. Sure I'm still a nice guy, and sure I threw temper tantrums in the videos that I may or may not throw now, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that growing up kind of sucks - everyone gets older, but it's a shame that time often forces some of the past out from the front of our minds. That's why videos like these are essential to me.

I haven't changed in the sense that I love more than most, but I think now I don't act on it as much as I should. I understand that it's important to be selfish in a sense as we age, but there's so much that my young self would have been disappointed in. But what did he know? More than I gave him credit for, I think.

Now I'm not a very emotional person. The things that get my water working are corny things like a good song or a sad scene in an animated movie - genocide, funerals and stuff like that do not affect me like they do most.

But I don't see how you can't be strongly moved by seeing your dead family personified, only for a few moments. To see your great uncle reach to give his wife a kiss on her 80th birthday, flashing the numbers on his wrist that were engraved from suffering the Holocaust; to see your grandmother who you didn't realize you loved as much as you did until she was gone; to see yourself a mere five years young, raising a glass in a toast - surrounded by people who are no longer here - and saying, "I love you."

Sure I'm biased because it's my family, but I come from a foundation of extremely generous people - people who suffered hardships that many have, but came out of it with a sense of dignity and willingness to better the future of their children. I'm one of those children. I won't let them down.

Have I so far? Nope...not at all. The main reason for that is because they loved me because I'm "Daniel." Actions dictate a person, but no matter what I did as a kid their love for me never wavered. And I believe that if they were alive today, it still wouldn't. I come from a wise family - one with imperfections just like yours - and my family has my back, no matter what. And I have theirs. I am undoubtedly one of the luckiest people to have ever existed. Videos like the ones I'm referring to are imperative because they remind me so.

This is the first blog entry I've ever written that constricted my chest - that I think, "There is no way I can talk about what I'm writing." I'm glad I don't do this too often...it's not my style.

And for you Ace, whose first reaction is to call me a "fag," just know that you were on these videos too. Tell your dad that he looks like a fucking doofus on a trampoline.

Mother Loose Story Time

2011-03-10T11:50:00.003-05:00

New York pisses me off. I could list the reasons why but it wouldn't be very funny - it would be a feel-bad-for-me-even-though-I-don't-deserve it rant and no one reads my blog for that gahbidge (yes, that's a word.)

Therefore, after sitting with some friends at Chili's last night and laughing my ass off, I have decided to add a new installment in this blog: Story Time with Mother Loose! I'm not Mother Loose, but your mom is. Hey-O!

The Frat House

It was spring 2003 if I remember correctly. Me, Ace, EZE, Popeye, and Duke were up in Binghamton and headed over to a frat party. We got drunk.

Actually, Duke didn't. It took him a few years before he learned that getting wasted was fun, then he became a bartender and now on any given night you can see his short ass dancing on a bar doing the monkey.

Editor's Note: That's the best link I can find that compares to what he does.

But I digress. We showed up to the party after a few drinks, and it was your typical frat house scene - crappy furniture, tons of blonde white girls, and guys who you'd think are jakked but really aren't...their shirts are just tight.

Duke and I started playing beer pong and of course we were winning. We're actually really nasty - like, we've won over $500 at bars playing together. Anyway, a tight-shirt started to lean while shooting and I called him out. A fight almost ensued. Luckily Duke wasn't drunk, and he broke up the altercation and forfeited the game, in fear of me getting my ass kicked.

We stayed at the party and got our revenge. Not intentionally.

As the night went on people got more drunk...not exactly rocket science, but it's what happened. The first person to be truly ridiculous - and nauseous - was EZE. He was sitting in the living room when all of a sudden he got the "puke wave." Now you all know that when the puke wave comes, there's no stopping it. Sometimes you can hold back a little, but not when it catches you by surprise like it did to EZE.

So we were on the top floor and there were five or six stupid white girls on line for the bathroom. Now I'm not sure if they were stupid or not, but I was at a time in my life when I absolutely detested women - especially my then-girlfriend - so I refuse to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Like I said, EZE couldn't wait. He ran past the line - pushing girls out the of the way - and crashed into the bathroom while he absolutely housed the toilet with vomit. He didn't just puke in the toilet; he puked on and around it as well. The whole fucking bathroom was soaked.

The girls were freaking out. "Eeeeewwww I can't go to the bathroom in this" and "Someone has to clean this shit up" and "Oh my god I'm such a dirty whore I can't even suck dick in here!" So the nice guy that I am, actually cleaned the puke-doused bathroom with whatever I could find. All was well.

After EZE made it out of the bathroom he went back into the living room to relax. There were two girls sitting next to him making out...it was hot. He didn't notice. His post-puke facial expression was one of absolute vacancy. The ladies didn't notice him either - they couldn't care less what was around them - they actually appeared to have truly liked each other, which made the makeout that much more fun to watch.

Then one of the girls knocked over her purse, with all the accessories falling out. I know you're hoping for me to say that there was a dildo, or an anal bead, or some freaky awesome sexual appliance, but alas there was not. There was, however, a tube of lip gloss that she went to pick up and place back in her bag. But a wasted EZE - who was assumed to be catatonic - inexplicably grabbed her arm as she was in mid-pickup and slurred the following:

"Hey! That's my lip gloss."

The girl was dumbfounded. Whether or not he kept the lip gloss I'm not sure, but the story continues nonetheless.

The night got a little fuzzy from here. Somehow EZE wasn't in the living room anymore and Popeye was in his stead. The girls were still there making out, undeterred by the weirdo who wanted the lip gloss and whatever other pandemonium was happening around them. I don't know if there was some kind of smell in that living room - or maybe we were just really shit-faced - but Popeye was next to get the puke wave.

Now if you remember, EZE got up to go to the bathroom. Well Popeye's drunk self computed that he didn't have enough time to make it there, so he reached for whatever he could to puke in. All that was around was a red Dixie cup that was used for beer pong. Obviously that's not enough to contain a puke session.

So Popeye puked away, effortlessly filling up the Dixie cup. As expected, the cup soon overflowed and the puke went everywhere. On him, on the girls making out, on the furniture...all over the fucking place. It was spectacular. He then ran outside to the deck and puked more off the edge, while Ace casually urinated with his cock a mere 6 inches from Popeye's face.

Needless to say, that frat boys were pissed off so we left the house. Score one for the boys from the 'burbs.

Black And White, Part II

2011-03-08T10:59:00.003-05:00

See the second half of this post for explanation if you care. If not...uh...I guess you're just a rebel.

Editor's Note: Quick recap: This is a post that lists two qualities: There are people who do 'this,' and there are people who do 'that,' kinda thing. I'm not putting anything too obvious because to be mundane is to be a tool. Again, I think these qualities all resemble something of a bigger picture - perhaps you might have to think a little bit - but I'll leave the analysis to you because you guys are smart and stuff. Holy shit I just used three colons in this editor's note - amazing.

1) There are people who leave the first comment, and there are people who write "first!"

2) There are people who shit in the stalls, and there are people who hold it in until they get home.

3) Some quietly sit with friends and watch movies that they've already seen, and some can't help themselves and quote every line.

Editor's Note: I'm guilty of the latter.

4) There are people who want to know what gender their child-to-be is, and there are those who would rather be surprised.

5) There are people who wear glasses because they need them, and there are people who need them but wear contacts.

6) There are smart people who remind you, and there are smart people who surprise you.

7) There are people who leave the room when their significant other calls to say hello, and there are those who remain where they are.

8) There are people who have seen the movie, and there are those who have read the book.

9) Some people are glad to orgasm, and some people orgasm and are glad that it's over.

10) There are those who read this blog, and there are those who would never place vision to screen.

I Drank Green Beer

2011-03-07T14:42:00.003-05:00

In a five-hour span I got whacked in the head three times (by Biff), my head licked one time (by Biff apologizing for whacking me), my dick flicked five times (by Ace - note the italics to avoid confusion), my ass slapped I-can't-remember-how-many times, and a lap dance from a dude one time (Bob).

Yep, it was Hoboken St. Patty's Day. Gotta love my gay-but-not-really-but-maybe-they-are friends.

Editor's Note: Well, Ace wasn't completely gay. He popped his thumb into Goldy's butt while making the mandatory fart noise, and then his drunk ass realized what he did. "That was in-a-ppropriate," he said. Good party Ace - you broke the cardinal rule of "Don't get too drunk when you host a party" yet still managed to get shit done.

Of course I can't forget the countless games of flip cup with the dyed-green beer, accompanied by the obligatory "Olaaaay, olay-olay-olaaaaay" chants. (I didn't lose once in eight games.) But for me the highlight was the fact that a chick pulled my friend into the bathroom and peed in the toilet while saying, "I don't mind if you watch."

Editor's Note: Luckily she didn't take a shit too - see the poll. Either way, is that really how you get a guy to want you? Funny because it worked.

I also can't forget that another one of my buddies got so drunk that he had no fear approaching Anna and telling her, "When I'm with my girlfriend I cum too quickly." Though this doesn't completely relate, it reminds me of a time I was drunk with Bobby and Toby and a wasted Toby said, "I don't know if I have to throw up or cum."

Then of course there was the notorious "Where's Waldo?" knock off when we were on the patio viewing the party next door, where there were about 30 people at any given time. Within 10 minutes we played with much hilarity the following games: "Where's the cougar?" "Where's the fat chick who's using her big tits to get attention?" "Where's the black guy?" and "Where's the gin-tzun who should be on the Jersey Shore right now?"

Editor's Note: Believe it or not, there was only one cougar out there, one black guy, one big-tittied fat chick who fit the bill, and one guy who so obviously belonged on the show. I think gin-tzun is the derogatory word Van used, but I don't know if I pronounced it right. He hates 99% of Italian-Americans...he thinks they're classless. Don't think I share his sentiment - I fucking love them. They make the world significantly more amusing.

Anyway, is it weird that nothing from Saturday sticks out in my mind as unorthodox? I guess when people are day-drinking one has to expect weird shit to happen, and I gotta say - I don't think any of what went down was that odd. If anything the one thing that strikes peculiar is the fact that I behaved, despite my double-digit beers and multiple shots. Thank my sore throat I guess.

I also have to give props to Lady GaGa. Is there any artist on the planet who can get 10-15 people piss drunk to stop what they're doing at a party and sit around the TV to watch her new video and be fully attentive? Incredible.

Lastly, gotta give props to Bob. Not because he tried to give me a lap dance (I didn't get a boner I swear), but because he used the utmost restraint in his drunken state:

See when Bob gets hammered he epitomizes the "I don't give a fuck" mentality. As amusing as we find him, he borderlines illegality on the regular while in this mindset. Typically when I blog it's stupid and unfair for me to reference a story and not fully tell it, but in this case I'm deeming it inappropriate. I'm simply using this portion of the entry as a forum to say: Good job Bob - it's not easy to hold back when every impulse tells you to let loose...I would know. Good job.

And for all of my friends reading this, let's also be thankful that Luke was unable to attend. I don't know what would've happened, but I can safely say that this blog entry would be entirely different. In a party scene, he is one man who encompasses 10. Me and Luke drinking at a party together is literally like bringing 15 people.

Random Observations, Part XIV

2011-03-03T13:10:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I notice things. I know...profound. When I do I either put them in my memory bank - and subsequently forget them - or I put it on the blog. So from my fingers to your eyes, yet again are what I so originally dub, "Random Observations."

1) The New York Times' website ran a story about remedial math on its front page. I don't know - if I was a kid in remedial math and the Times had a picture of me in class I'd be pretty pissed. "Hey everybody, look at me...I'm a fuckin' retard!"

I kid. Well, not about the Times picture - about you remedials being retarded. I was a C-student my whole life so I have no right to tell you that you suck at life because you think an asymptote is a pimple on your genitals.

Editor's Note: I gotta give Lily props for thinking that when herpes are in remission, they're "remedial." Don't ask how the conversation started.

2) Charlie Sheen is in my spam section. This motherfucker is so big right now that I'm getting spam comments that relate to him. And now look - I'm fucking writing about him. No...I refuse. Consider this observation "deleted."

3) Things look cooler in Roman numerals. My headline is a perfect example. Also, what looks better: "He made me orgasm six times last night," or "He made me orgasm VI times last night?" I don't think there's much debate. I do, however, regret typing this because now it looks like a dude made me orgasm VI times. Again, consider this "deleted."

Editor's Note: And in come the jokes from the suburb kids. You guys are as predictable as a pedophile at a science fair.

4) I've jerked off more times while driving than I've gotten road head. It's not like I J.O. in the car all the time...I've only done it twice. Turns out I've only gotten road housed once though. And let me tell you: Either way, it's quite inconvenient upon climax. With road head it's easier because you can just finish in her mouth (high-five!). When you wack it ya gotta find a tissue and make sure it doesn't get everywhere. I feel like jerking off while driving is like cleaning your room: It's not ideal, but you feel better afterwards.

Editor's Note: Do chicks masturbate while they drive? It has to be significantly easier.

5) I ate an ice cream sundae for dinner last night. Now is when all the ladies go, "OH MY GOD THAT'S AMAZING!" Well it wasn't. I housed it way too quickly and I regretted it immediately. When I finally got home I managed to muscle down some pieces of chicken parm. Let me tell you: Not a good mix. It was one of those doodies that was more effortless than getting a lap dance at a strip club.

6) Someone stopped following me again. I don't mind. What I do mind, though, is that the douchewater-drinker didn't read the proviso. I demand reasoning for not being my minion anymore. You don't just break up with someone for no reason, do you? No...you either tell them what was wrong or you make something up. It's called common courtesy and I fucking deserve it. Like if you ask me if those jeans make your hips look big, I'm gonna say "fuck yeah" because it's courteous. You're welcome.

7) No one ever says the word "sans." In fact, I would strongly consider detaching myself from this person altogether upon voicing this word. Some words are ones you simply write. 'Sans' is one of them. Like if I wrote, "I had sex with your mom sans your father's presence," that's okay. If I said it the joke wouldn't be funny...just weird. Another one is 'peccadillo.' If you hear a person say to you, "That's a real peccadillo," warning signs should go up.

8) I almost shat myself yesterday. It's what inspired me to do my latest poll. I was at work and really busy, but I had to pee like a camel. So I went to the urinal when suddenly the doodie-wave hit me. I then realized that if I peed too hard, I'd probably squirt out a little bit in the boxer-briefs. It was a very controlled urination filled with patience, endurance and dedication.

9) Camels must pee more than most animals. And horses. You never hear anyone say, "I had to piss like a cat," or "I just peed like an aardvark." It's always either a camel or a horse. Horses also fall under the category of shitting as well. What I mean by that is people tend to either say, "That's a bunch of bullshit" or "That's a bunch of horse shit." Furthermore, when someone has a big dick they're "hung like a horse." Horses have shit on lock.

10) Tons of blogs have mission statements on the top. You know what I mean. They state stuff like, "Ramblings from a person who's had a crazy ride in the game we call life," or "Ramblings from a chick who fucks dudes and writes about it," and shit like that. I'm not denigrating these people, but I have noticed that so many of them include the word "ramblings." I'm sure I'm not the only one who has seen this.

Editor's Note: I used to have one with "ramblings" too, I'll admit it.

People Are Amusing

2011-03-01T10:24:00.006-05:00

Last night I was at a bar with some friends and we were talking about dudes who shave their arms. The reason why this came up is because one time my buddy Elmer was at my house and my sister noticed that his arms were shaved.

"Ew...why do you shave your arms?" she so eloquently asked.

"Chicks dig it," he replied.

Now I don't know if chicks actually like something that (*cough* gay), but it wouldn't surprise me if they did. I personally think dude-hair on places like arms, legs and chest comes with the territory, but whatever.

This waitress came to our table to bring some drinks so I asked her, "What do you think about guys who shave their arms?"

"I don't really care," she said. "As long as he has a big cock."

Editor's Note: I love this woman.

Moving on, I was in Vermont this weekend - I took a trip with Anna, Ace and Shirley and we got drunk and went snow-shoe hiking. Before the weekend began I was in the living room talking to my parents. My facial hair was getting kind of thick, and when that happens it gets patchy. My dad hates it.

"Dan, why don't you shave before the weekend?"

"Because it's cold in Vermont and I want to have a beard while I'm there."

"Dude, that's not a beard," he said. "That's peach fuzz: That's like what your mother has except a little darker."

My mother was sitting right next to him. Luckily, she has a great sense of humor.

Editor's Note: I love that man.

A while back my sister was at a bar and she ran into my buddy Van. I've mentioned Van many-a-times on this thing: Due to me winning a bet on Super Bowl, he has to wear a shirt that says, "I have Bieber Fever," but that's besides the point.

Editor's Note: Van doesn't know that I'm making him wear the shirt on the night we have his bachelor party in Montreal, though. I wanted him to wear it at the strip club, but Spaceballs said, "You cannot jeopardize the integrity of a strip club at a bachelor party." Fine, he'll wear it at dinner.

The point is that when my sister saw Van at the bar he was absolutely hammered. She was dead sober, but they've known each other forever so they were shooting the shit.

"It's so good to see you!" Van said, slurring his words. "What's going on?

"Not much," she replied. "I'm actually just heading out."

"But it's a Saturday night! Whatchya goin' home for?"

"It's Tuesday you fuckin' idiot...get your shit together."

Editor's Note: I just realized that I didn't write "fuck" this entire entry.

Don't Act Like You Don't Know What I'm Talking About

2011-02-24T11:08:00.003-05:00

As much as I would like to give you something fresh, I'm a bit busy at the moment. But below is a piece I did that I don't want to fall by the wayside. It's a bit long, but I know you like it like that. If I don't blog-see you tomorrow, have a good weekend and don't forget to house it.

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Go Bless Yourself

Pretend you're in a classroom or some other quiet setting. Suddenly you sneeze twice in a row, then over the next five seconds the silence in the room remains. What are you most likely thinking?

My guess: "No one told me, 'God Bless You.'"

Some people get offended when they don't hear "God Bless You" and some don't give a fuck. We live in a society where it's expected for at least someone to say it. If you don't it's discourteous.

Editor's Note: Remember when you were in class and there was that kid who consistently snotted on himself when he would sneeze, then would have to run out of class with his hands over his nose? What a gross motherfucker that kid was. I write 'he' because chicks usually have that shit under control...dudes are sloppy.

I'm sure most of you are aware that this goes back to way before America, when some weirdos thought that your soul was escaping when you sneezed. Therefore, if your soul did not escape from you (WHICH IT NEVER FUCKING DID!), you were blessed by God. High-five!

Over the weekend I was taking some journalism classes and a girl sneezed during class. I said, "Bless you," she said, "Thank you," and life moved on. But for some reason - well, maybe it was because I recently saw that Seinfeld episode - I couldn't stop thinking about the lunacy behind this "act of courtesy."

Here's what I find interesting about it: A sneeze is an involuntary act, just like a yawn or a cough. But when you yawn or cough in public, manners tell you to say, "Excuse me." But when you sneeze? Other people are supposed to tell you, "God Bless You." Sneezing's a lot more disgusting than coughing or yawning, no? I would say that warrants an "excuse me" more so than the yawn or the cough.

The main reason why "God Bless You" ultimately doesn't bother me is because it advocates politeness amongst the masses. Anything that gets people to be less assholes than they are is okay with me. However, I'm done. I'm not trying to be a rebel, I just don't want to say it anymore. I don't think God's blessing you, so go bless yourself buddy.

So the editor's note got me thinking about life in high school, which has now prompted me to do a top ten. Each of these ten qualities should cause you to think of at least one person whom you had classes with growing up. Here you go fuckers:

Ten Signature Classroom Habits

1) The Nosepicker

2) The Girl Starer-atter

3) The Paper Thrower

4) The Facepicker

5) The Sleeper

6) The Buttcrack Starer-atter

7) The Jokemaker

8) The Bathroom-goer

9) The Artist

10) The Talker

Honorable Mention:

1) The M.I.A. Kid

2) The Copy-er

3) The Copy Block

Footnotes:

1) The Nosepicker: This person does not stop picking his fucking nose. He fucking picks it, looks at it, and either he flicks it away or "slyly" places it under the desk. This to me is the second-most disgusting classroom habit one can have. Have I been guilty of it? Yes. In seventh grade I picked my nose in class, of course some popular kid saw it, and for the rest of the year I was called "Booger Boy." And you know what? I deserved it.

Editor's Note: The worst is when you see someone pick his nose and unsuccessfully attempt at flicking it off his finger. Therefore, you watch him for the next 1-2 minutes as he tries to flick this magical sticky booger off his finger without anyone noticing. At that point either he manages to finally flick it off, or just say "fuck it" and eat it. I'd also like to point out that I've never, ever eaten a my boogies.

2) The Girl Starer-atter: This guy stares at every hot girl in class, all the time. He doesn't take notes, he doesn't participate in class...he just stares at chicks. Do the chicks notice? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. My buddy Lance had this problem in physics when he would stare at this girl Becky in 10-minute intervals. One time she told me after class, "Your friend [Lance] stares at me all period...it's weird."

Let me just say this to you Becky: Shut the fuck up. 1) You have to expect that when your tits were as big as yours was, and 2) You know you liked it.

3) The Paper Thrower: This person thinks it's funny to either make paper airplanes or crumble up balls of paper and throw them at people. He'll throw the paper then hide his head - acting like he wasn't the one who did it - and he finds this the funniest thing in the world. Is it? Yeah, it's pretty funny I'm not gonna lie, but after awhile it gets lame and repetitive. Unlike banging your mom...we tend to mix it up so it doesn't get redundant.

4) The Facepicker: This wins as the most disgusting classroom habit of all time. There was this kid named Alex who had bad acne in high school. This is nothing surprising, as of course many kids had bad acne while they were getting pubic hair and having wet dreams. But Alex was the only kid I knew who would pick his face during class...and even sometimes...I know...eat it.

It got to a point where it was so bad that I had to talk to my chemistry teacher about it after class. He was my lab partner and I couldn't take it anymore - I asked her to switch his seat with someone...anyone. Though I was a C student, I participated and teachers liked me, so she made the switch. In the future I would even make noises during class when he was doing it, and she would look at me and smile at his expense.

5) The Sleeper: You know...that kid who would fall asleep in class every day. With our group of friends it was Popeye - he just couldn't stay awake, no matter how boring or fun the class was. The thing is with Popeye that would make it so funny was that his nose would also bleed. It didn't happen too often - if he fell asleep 10/10 classes his nose would bleed about 2/10 of those times. And when it happened? Good God was it funny. Every time. Usually the nosebleed would wake him up and he would routinely say, "Uh oh, random nosebleed," and bolt out of the classroom. One time in physics we let him sleep for awhile as he bled on himself. Arguably the funniest classroom experience of my life.

6) The Buttcrack Starer-atter: In our classrooms in high school, a lot of the chairs had a hole in the back of them. Therefore, because chicks wore low jeans and high-cut shirts, someone's buttcrack was always poking out. If it wasn't a girl's buttcrack, it was some fat dude's crack. Either way cracks were aplenty, and obviously because the seats were in rows, most of the time there was someone sitting directly behind the buttcrack.

Now there are two types of people who sit behind kids with their buttcrack sticking out: There's the kid who looks once and tries not to look again, and there's the kid who's obsessed with it and tries to get everyone in the class to notice. What is it about this buttcrack that's so transfixing? I don't really know, but it's fucking hysterical nonetheless.

Editor's Note: Three different times I typed "buttrack" instead of "buttcrack." I don't know what a buttrack is or could be, but I will attempt to discover a meaning for it.

7) The Jokemaker: Don't misinterpret this as "The Class Clown." The Class Clown is funny - the Jokemaker is not. The Class Clown may not even try to be funny and just naturally is, meanwhile the Jokemaker tries too hard and wishes he was as funny as the Class Clown. But here's the catch: Lots of times, the Jokemaker is a popular kid who gets people to laugh at his jokes due to his status. Because high school's a popularity contest, very often will people think someone is funny when they are not. People laugh with the Jokemaker and at the Class Clown. In other words: the Jokemaker gets ass and the Class Clown will go to college a virgin.

8)The Bathroom-goer: Ever notice that kid who has to go to the bathroom every day during class, sometimes even twice? What's this kid doing? As someone who did this often, I can tell you that it's simply to kill time and roam the hallways. I would walk by classes my friends were in and make funny faces and do handspring flips in the hall...dumb shit like that. But there's something else kids do too: masturbate.

In high school it probably wouldn't occur to most people to masturbate during the day, as it certainly did not for me. But one time when I was in the bathroom during chemistry class, I saw some kid's feet in a bathroom stall, and I heard a consistent noise that sounded like when you'd do a chick from behind. He was the only person in the bathroom...I don't know what else that sound could have been. And once I saw the fat guido leave the bathroom, I knew he had to be spankin it.

9) The Artist: Every class has at least one person who draws on every desk he/she sits at. Usually it's some dumb shit like a penis or a name of some trendy band they don't really listen to. It's seldom that The Artist actually draws something worth looking at, usually because they just do it to get attention. Though I must say, drawing pictures of a penis is pretty funny. I don't see how you can disagree.

10) The Talker: The Talker does not shut the fuck up...ever. This person is not your friend - this person sits next to you in class and jabbers your ear off, talking about whatever inane shit is on their mind. "Hey do you know I'm learning that guitar solo from the new Weezer song?" or "I bet I could rip this piece of paper apart into 20 different pieces, all the same size," or "I can't believe I've been scratching my balls the entire class period."

And worst of all? They have bad breath. You find yourself slowly backing away as they talk, but where are you gonna go? Do you be a dick and tell them to shut up? You probably should, but you know you won't. Instead you smile, nod and pretend to laugh while you hope the teacher notices this person and puts them in their place.

Honorable Mention:

1) The M.I.A. Kid: You know who this kid is...you saw him in class the first day; the first week or two the teacher calls his name during attendance, only to discover that he's absent; then after awhile the teacher gives up on calling a name who will never respond with a, "Here!" Then as the year goes by and there are only a few classes left...the kid shows up. You see him in class and say, "You're in this class? Have you always been in this class?" Happens every year.

2) The Copy-er: Don't perceive "Copy-er" as someone who copies the work...I'm talking about the "smart" person who lets everyone copy his/her work during a test or some other assignment needed to be completed in class. There are three types of copy-ers: 1) The person who lets everyone copy because he/she doesn't give a fuck, 2) The person who lets everyone copy because he/she wants to be popular, and 3) The person who doesn't want people to copy, but lets them anyway because he/she doesn't have the audacity to say "no."

Editor's Note: I would like to personally thank the people who have let me copy throughout the years, and also to those who I copied off of without them noticing. Oh, and if you notice in the above paragraph I have the word "smart" in quotes. The reason for that is because I don't believe you are "smart" because you did the homework and can do well on a test. You may in fact be smart, but that's not why. What about the people who don't do the schoolwork, copy off a kid and get an A on the test. Isn't that "smart?" Granted you don't actually learn anything in regards to the curriculum, which is why cheating's typically pointless to begin with.

3) The Copy Block: This person - usually a douche bag - doesn't let you copy his/her work because this person feels that because he/she actually did the work, you have no right to get a free ride. I mean, it makes sense - looking back I can't really blame this person - but come on...really? Most of the time the people that did this didn't have very many friends, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it's because the diameter of their asscrack is .2 millimeters.

Editor's Note: I was just thinking...it's not a good thing to be a "tight-ass," so what's the opposite? A loose-ass? Don't really wanna be that either. Okay I'm done.

Little Of This, Little Of That

2011-02-22T15:12:00.005-05:00

Before I get started: The Tsaritsa has a zine and she needs contributors. All the kids with big weiners are doing it. In fact, if you don't have a big weiner, it will undoubtedly get bigger if you contribute. If you're a chick...just do it.

So I just ate some Lunchables pizza - usually I'm in a great mood afterwards, similar to how women freak the fuck out whenever they eat my... ...uh... ...chocolate. Wait, I mean "whenever they eat chocolate." Not my chocolate. That has doodie connotations and that's not how I does.

Anyway the point is that this time around, Lunchables and my belly is like an argument between a 16-year-old girl and her father. I feel like there are mini pizza guys with sickles doing whatever it takes to get the hell out of my stomach. Soon pizza guys...soon. Gotta get it at its prime, you know that.

Editor's Note: Coffee: Not only does it wake you up, but it's also an alarm clock for your bowels.

Moving on, I've noticed that every time I'm at work eating, people walk up to me and say either "Ooooh what's that?" or "Mmmmm that looks good," or they simply start to talk to me while I'm mid-consumption. I think there are lots of people reading this and nodding in agreement.

You know how when you stop thinking about a girl/guy, that's the moment when that person seems to call you? It's an odd intuition people seem to possess. I think that same intuition applies to "eating while working." Something in these nuisances' minds seems to click and they subconsciously decide, "Hey, this person's eating: Let me annoy the fuck out of them and hopefully ruin their appetite."

I'm in no way telling my readers to be like me - definitely do not do that. But, I assume that many of you are too nice/passive to say anything to those annoying colleagues. Just do what I do: Tell them to go away.

Editor's Note: Tact is optional.

In an attempt to make a smooth transition to a new subject, my poll is closed. I gave people an option of which superpower would be the best - some of it I found surprising, some exactly as I expected.

I'm surprised that so many of you loved my "to make any inanimate object appear out of thin air" power (34%). At the same time, I am in no way shocked that the majority of you selected "no matter what I eat, drink or smoke, my body will process it as something healthy" (36%). The reason why I'm not shocked is because most of my readers are female.

"To live forever" received the third-most votes. I don't know...I think living forever would suck. What happens if the world ends? Then you're sitting there in a space of nothingness...you'd go insane. You should rethink that in the future if indeed you have the opportunity of possessing a superpower.

Editor's Note: New poll will be up as soon as I can think of something funny or amusing. As of now my stomach is of the utmost priority.

Yeah, so Biff has a girlfriend. For those of you who don't know of "Biff," he's one of my good friends from the 'burbs whom I mention quite often. Usually it's not in the most positive of lights. Not in terms of our friendship...in terms of how reckless he is with boozing.

Long story short, I set him up with my girlfriend's roommate and as of now it's worked out. Is it "love at first sight?" Probably not. Is it "love at first bone?" Doubt it. Can it manifest into something of value? I believe so. That's why I introduced them, and since she met him when he was "I'd-get-a-blowjob-from-a-farm-animal" drunk and she still likes him, perhaps - as Jim Carrey's character Lloyd Christmas stated in Dumb & Dumber - "you're telling me there's a chance."

Editor's Note: Hey Biff, I can't wait till we're both gettin' down with our respective girlfriends simultaneously, and I knock on the wall and say something along the lines of, "So, house it going for you?" Maybe we should have a code word to tell each other when we finish, that way we can have contests of who lasts the longest. I think I'll win, because I'll just imagine you having sex with your girlfriend.

Stereotype Shmereotype

2011-02-21T10:21:00.002-05:00

Usually I have stuff to write about on Monday because I get hammered on the weekends. Alas, I only drank once on Friday and I had 8 drinks.

Editor's Note: 1 SoCo/Redbull (2 shots) + 3 beers + 1 shot of SoCo + 2 Gin and Tonics = 1 Better-behaved Jew than you'd imagine after 8 drinks. Believe it or not, 8 drinks isn't so bad when spaced out over 5 hours. Actually you probably can believe it because if you read this blog, odds are you like getting fucked up.

But one thing did happen on Friday that pissed me off. I was in Manhattan with Anna walking to the train, when we passed by three yuppie city people with their huge handbags, way-too-big jewelry, pussy pea coats and a messy-but-not-really-because-I-spent-way-too-much-time-on-this haircut.

Editor's Note: Fine, I have a pea coat. But it's not mine...Donny gave it to me. I would never buy something like that. But I do look ridiculously attractive. I also got a haircut on Friday so my handsome level is through the roof, which is also on fire. We don't need no water.

So the dude with the hair dropped 50 cents on the sidewalk and I witnessed him stop. He hesitated as he clearly thought to himself, "Do I pick up these 2 quarters? I mean, I obviously want to because I instinctively stopped. But If I do pick these up the ladies I'm with won't think I'm rich and they might not 1) Hang out with me, 2) Have sex with me, or 3) Set me up with their brothers."

I couldn't help but say to the guy, "Yo man...you gonna pick up those quarters or what?"

"Eh," he replied.

"Well if you're not gonna pick them up then I'm gonna pick them up."

"Oh, well why don't you pick them up and give them to me?" said one of the ladies, who obviously needs a cockslap in her fucking temple.

"If I pick them up I'm gonna keep them," I replied. "Why would I give them to you?"

"Fine," she said. "Give them to a homeless guy or something."

"I'm not giving them to anyone," I said. "I'm gonna keep them."

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So I picked up the two quarters and that was that. There was a homeless guy in the train station and the thought didn't even occur to me to give it to him. I give bums change rather frequently, but those two quarters were staying in my pocket.

Look, you can pull the "Ugh that's so Jewish" card all you want. I won't disagree that most stereotypes are true - I believe many have been put in place for a reason. But regardless of whether or not you're Jewish, are you really telling me that you wouldn't pick up two quarters if you dropped them?

Five dimes I understand - I also understand if you're in a crowded area - but what that guy did was pathetic. Yet another person succumbing to the bullshit he chooses to surround himself with. Pick up the quarters fuck-weasel...that's halfway toward a bag of Skittles.

Editor's Note: I suppose if you're extremely wealthy 50 cents isn't a big deal. Though I'd still like to think that if I ever get wealthy, I'd pick those quarters up.

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Speaking of stupid Jews...wait that's not nice. I firmly believe that it's okay to make jokes, but just because you are something doesn't necessarily mean you have the right to denigrate it.

Well, sometimes it does.

At work last Friday I received a phone call from a resident, who is an orthodox Jew. (I work at a newspaper.) She asked me at 9 a.m. if I could send a reporter over to an event that was occurring at noon. She then said that if he was to attend the event he couldn't write anything or take pictures, because it's an orthodox temple.

Let me get this straight: You call me three hours before a most-likely-meaningless event, you tell me that you want a reporter there, then you tell me that he's not allowed to write or take photos?

"It's the Sabbath," she said.

Well you can jerk-off on the Sabbath. Should I have him jerk-off in and around your mouth you devout douche bag? I love Jews but I don't love extremism. It defies all logic to me.

Editor's Note: I haven't jerked off at work in a long, long time by the way. Too bad Ace can't say the same. Dude jerks off on a daily basis. Oh, and I just looked it up and it turns out it's okay to masturbate during the week, but it isn't on the Sabbath. I understand some of you might be religious so I'm trying all that's in my power not to insult you. Just know that I'll respect your opinion and agree to disagree, but don't ever fucking tell me whether or not I can masturbate.

A Tumultuous Thursday

2011-02-17T16:09:00.004-05:00

This morning started with me waking up at 5:45 a.m. because of some weird dream involving cartoon sing-alongs that somehow ended with my girlfriend breaking up with me. I think Pokemon were involved...can't really remember.

Either way the dream was thankfully just a dream, like one I had in Israel 3 years ago that I stabbed my father repeatedly with a Swiss Army Knife. He was pretty upset - inside and outside of the dream. Probably shouldn't have told him.

Editor's Note: Yeah, I don't know...I'm fucked up. Don't act like you're not - you just don't admit it as openly as I. I also love ending sentences with "I." Doesn't happen enough.

I then had some other dream I can't remember and I woke up with a massive boner. You know, the kind of boner you can sprint and then vault off of. Since I had taken a piss at 5:45 after my nightmare, I knew it wasn't a piss-boner - guess it was just your typical morning wood.

Now there are three ways to handle morning wood:

1) Go about your day until it goes away.

2) Have sex.

3) Jerk off.

My girlfriend lives 45 min. away so #2 wasn't an option. It was either 1 or 3, so I chose to exercise option #3. I mean, if you've been reading this blog AT ALL, I'm sure you could've seen that coming.

So I went into the bathroom and made it happen. It was one of your typical J.O.'s...not too fast, not to slow. Didn't last too long but as the climax was upon me, I started to go faster, as is typical amongst masturbation I would imagine. Don't really talk to dudes about that believe it or not.

Then I was about to bust, and I swear to fucking god the second I started to finish my fucking cat pushed open the bathroom door. I jumped thinking it was a member of family and it totally ruined the whole process. I was like, "Oh shit, my mom just caught me! Oh shit, I'm cumming! Oh wait, it's just the cat! Oh shit, I'm still cumming! Wait, is it weird that I thought that it's just the cat?!"

Then Biff called me.

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Let's rehash what happened in literally a five-second time span:

I busted a nut, my cat pushed the door open, I slammed the door in that bitch's face, I successfully finished, then my phone was ringing and it was a dude. Did I answer the phone? Sure I did. I mean, Biff and I are very close friends. He didn't realize why I was so disoriented, but he does now.

Hope you all had a good day.

Back To Normal (Follow 'This,' Bitch)

2011-02-16T16:03:00.002-05:00

My friend Spaceballs emailed Ace the other day, basically telling him that I've gone soft. He said something about me being logical and reflective and that he was scared for my well-being. He's known me since age 7 and is quite accustomed to the not-giving-a-fuck attitude that I have lately worked at no longer encompassing.

Editor's Note: At least in terms of substance abuse.

I've also received comments along the lines of, "What's happening to Dan?" and "You're really making me think today" and "Holy shit did Dan's weiner get smaller?"

Editor's Note: Scratch that last one (no pun intended). No one would be silly enough to say that. My weiner remains awesome in both definitions. Seriously, it's like I was born without a penis and Zeus struck me with a lightning bolt and it formed.

Speaking of me being weird, I had a sex dream the other night involving Sarah Jessica Parker. I know what most of you are thinking - or at least should be: "EWWWW."

I know. Normally she looks like she's been butt-fucked by an ugly chick with a strap-on and an identity crisis, but the thing is the dream actually took place when she was in the movie "Hocus Pocus." And she was fucking hot in that movie...if you've been reading this blog for a while you'd know how I feel about her in that flick.

Editor's Note: That link might not do it justice, but I can't find any others and I'm not trying to look any further. Either way, the dream was intense and I almost busted. I don't know why I still have wet dreams, but I do. I definitely do.

I know recently I made fun of someone who stopped following me, but it happened again and I'm not sure why. I guess it's tough to ever be sure, but I think there should be a mandatory proviso that someone fills out explaining why he/she chooses to unfollow me.

**DISCLAIMER**

I'm fucking serious...if you don't want to follow me anymore, IT'S OKAY. However, if you are following me currently it means that you like me at the moment. Out of respect for me - which you must have since you are my follower - please leave a comment as to why you stop, if you indeed choose to do so. You may leave your name or select to be anonymous. My guess is you'll probably do the latter since you're a pussy.

Editor's Note: I give all bloggers full permission to use this disclaimer, which I will be posting on my front page from now on. If not, I suggest you come up with your own so people know the fuckin' deal.

So the poll is done, and it turns out most of you masturbated for the first time not knowing what the fuck you were doing. The majority of you voted that you "just kinda did it."

Me too. I remember being in the bathroom jerkin it, not having any clue what was going on. Suddenly it started to feel better...then even better...then I started thinking about chicks...then all of a sudden I got a sensation that can only be compared to the first time I ever ejaculated. Exactly - there is no comparison.

Next poll will be up soon whenever I can think of something. At the moment I'm too busy at work but wanted to force out a blog entry for you. That's right...all for you. Don't ever say I'm not generous, and DON'T EVER think I'm soft. I'm harder than shit that's been sitting outside for a week.

Inspired By Our Country

2011-02-14T10:24:00.006-05:00

Long story short, some priest in Rome did a bunch of shit so now there's a day that I have to spend a lot of money on. Ladies and weiners...Valentine's Day!

I actually don't mind spending a decent amount of coin on the nation's day of love, because for the first time in my life I have someone worth spending money on. In fact, I've never even had a valentine before - with the exception of elementary school when parents forced their kids to make cards for everyone - so in actuality none of this bothers me.

However, I still don't like how Uncle Sam tells us what to do and when to do it. He sounds like a crazy uncle who has a penchant for molestation or the fat guy who's gonna get too drunk at a party - not the one whose advice you seek in dire times.

Editor's Note: "We're gonna go to Uncle Sam's house tonight honey, so don't wear anything too revealing. You know how he gets."

But like I said a couple years back, our nation needs direction. Because the average person is fucking stupid, we're in a convoluted state of democracy. If crazy Uncle Sam doesn't tell us when to buy flowers or go on a fancy dinner, lots of us probably wouldn't know to do it. And women and dudes (especially gay ones) need that. I don't give a shit how low maintenance you say you are...everyone wants to be pampered from time to time.

In 2009 I wrote about how little I care for this day. I suppose I only did that because I didn't have a valentine. As stated above, today doesn't bother me - in fact, it's a great day. Did I spend a buttload of money on dinner last night? Yes. But she deserved it, and I like being able to accommodate those deserving of accommodation. Especially with my weiner.

Editor's Note: Besides, money is going to be spent regardless. If I didn't spend it on her, I would've spent it on booze.

I also wrote about how Valentine's Day shouldn't be a cop out. Basically what I mean is that you can be an asshole for two months to your woman and then think you can make up for it by being romantic for one fucking day. Does it work? All too often.

At the same time, what if you're really great to your woman for two months but then you're a no-show on Valentine's Day? She'll probably be pissed at you. She'll probably say she doesn't care but then when she sees all the sickening couples gliding around and all that commercial poppycock surrounding this day, she'll wonder why her man doesn't seem to care.

All this means is that we're fucked no matter what. We are robots masked by the illusion of Amendments - all it takes is a little awareness to see that we're servants to our government. And even though I know this, I still love America more than any other country. Looks like the brainwashing worked on me.

All you can hope for is a person who embraces you for who you are and someone you can have awesome sex with. So Happy Valentine's Day - if you have someone to fuck today, good for you. If you don't, guess you're gonna have to fuck yourself. Don't always depend on me to make you feel better.

Editor's Note: Okay fine, here's a little pep talk:

Don't let Valentine's Day get you down. I believe I've said this before as well, while I was still single with no end in sight to my consistent right-hand action - it shouldn't bother you in particular that you're single on this day. If anything, it should upset you every day.

But perhaps one day it'll all turn around. If it can for a lazy, reckless, pothead commitment-phobe with eczema who parties way too hard and still lives with his parents, it certainly can for you.

Post-Entry Editor's Note: This link should sum up the holiday for many. Props to Tall Brunette, who appropriately pointed out to me that I didn't properly credit her. My bad. You rule.

The Art Of Maturation

2011-02-10T15:00:00.003-05:00

Not everyone wants to fit in...at least they think they don't. Some go through that awkward phase when they want to be popular, then they realize that it's all bullshit and those 'popular' people only like you as long as you suit their purposes. Then there are those who prefer to be outcasts, but what happens if you become 'trendy?' How will the outcasts view you?

Both sides of the spectrum are quite similar. It's important to feel wanted...to feel like you can be grouped with someone. There is a humongous difference between wanting to be alone and feeling alone.

As you know, the concept of fitting in is very complex. You're constantly being judged by those around you, and this causes you to judge right back. I know, I know, "You don't judge anyone." And I believe you - well, sometimes I do. The problem is, most nonjudgmental folk are not this way inherently: It's because they've endured some fucked up shit that tells them they're no better than the ones they used to judge.

You want to be yourself, yet you also want people to approve of the way you act. I don't believe that the vast majority of people who say "fuck the world" or "I don't care what you think" or "You don't understand me" are satisfied with their lives. Then there are the people who may never want to be a part of something - they'd rather be apart from it - yet being enigmatic is being grouped into a category of enigmas, isn't it? You say, "I can only be me, and nobody else," yet you try so hard being you that it makes you just like so many others.

There's an evolutionary process known as growing up that we all need to do at some point - but this process is different for everyone. Some start a family but don't know how to start a conversation; some have a clean room but a messy liver; some have friends filled with fun but lungs filled with smoke; some pay their bills but perhaps should see what else is worth paying attention to.

People say, "never change," and I agree to an extent. I used to say, "We don't need to change, just slightly alter ourselves." I'm starting to realize it's more than that...it's something in the middle - a word I haven't figured out yet. I suppose it's "mature." I hate that fucking word. It reminds me of words like "love" and "normal" - everyone has a different definition of them, yet most yearn to relate to it in one way or another.

You go through life only being what you're capable of - what many view as your predisposition. But if enough people in your life make you realize your flaws, is it possible that it's in your predisposition to fix them? Having a vice is having a weakness, yet being flawed is inescapable. Some flaws however, will eat you alive.

That's where your environment comes in. You don't have to love yourself to love others, but that doesn't mean they're going to love you back. They might at first, but it's tough to make that last unless you realize that it's time to...gulp...mature. But that's not easy. You know this. And when it comes down to it, those whose love you should seek are the ones who love you because you're you, and those who are the best of friends are able to help each other through their actions, not lectures.

Be you, and only you, but don't reject when you should embrace, and don't accept when you should cast aside. Know that there are many like you, whether you like it or not. I'll tell you what though: If you think you're anything like me, you're fucking kidding yourself.

Editor's Note: I'm sure most of my perv readers thought the headline was "masturbation" - as you should - sorry to disappoint. Now we'll get into my sexy poll.

Okay, back to the goofy insanity that is what normally encompasses this blog. My first poll asked the wonderful question, "Is it weird to masturbate on the first floor of a house while people are up on the second floor with no door to divide you? As in, people could probably just walk downstairs at any given time and totally bust you as you bust?"

Out of 42 votes - thank you for your votes by the way - 4 of you answered a) "Yeah man...what the fuck is wrong with you?" 4 answered b) "Not at all. If you gotta do it, you gotta do it." To my surprise, only 5 answered d) "I would never do something like that because I make too much noise while I masturbate."

Editor's Note: That's hot by the way, but as previously stated I just hope none of those were dudes.

This leaves c) "Depends on what time: If it's 7 p.m.? Gross. If it's 1 a.m. Totally fine." As expected, 29 of you - 69 percent - answered this. You guys are nasty. But so am I.

Next poll is up and again masturbation-related...have fun. And have a good weekend in case I don't give you anything tomorrow. While you have this good weekend, I also suggest you don't forget to house it.

Your Loss

2011-02-09T09:20:00.004-05:00

That's referring to the person who stopped following me yesterday. Look fucker, I was in the Emergency Room Monday night and I wasn't exactly in the mood to blog. I hope your boyfriend gets naked and slips and falls in a pile of shit right before you give him a blowjob.

Editor's Note: Mack called me the other day and said that I write about doodie too much. He's approximately person No. 43 to tell me that.

Yeah so I got hammered on Saturday night and slipped on the ice while attempting to get a cab. Believe it or not it wasn't out of drunken stupidity...I just fell. I hit my head and then stupidly got drunk the next day - hey, it was Super Bowl - and since my headache never went away I made a precautionary visit to the ER. They ran some tests and it turns out I don't have a concussion, AND I'm not gay.

Editor's Note: Can someone please tell me why the fuck the hospital was showing the TV show "House" in the waiting room? That's like playing the life story of Buddy Holly on an airplane.

Super Bowl Sunday kicked major ass, though I still have much of a keg left to finish. I didn't win the $225 from the scoreboard boxes, Van did. If you forgot who Van is, he's the middle school teacher who girls stay after school to watch while he coaches lacrosse. Yeah, 13-year-olds totally masturbate to him. They probably fantasize about him giving them afterschool detention while he spanks them with a textbook. Yes, we've discussed this.

However, even though Van came away with the $225, I bet him $5 on the Green Bay Packers winning - which by the way I predicted on-paper on Jan. 17 at the end of my blog entry - but the $5 was nothing. The real prize is that Van has to wear a T-shirt that says, "I have Bieber Fever."

Editor's Note: He's a size large so I figure I'll buy a size medium and throw some glitter on that shit. Now THAT'S a Valentine's Day gift.

So because my head was still kinda fucked up yesterday, I stayed home from work and slept all day. I of course watched "Kung Fu Panda," which is my go-to movie when I don't feel well. Everyone has one of those.

Then there was last night - Anna and I watched this movie called "Splice" with Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley. If you care about the ending, don't read the rest of this:

Basically, this couple who are scientists genetically engineered a human/animal specie. It was born a female and they named it "Dren." As Dren got older Adrien Brody fucked it. Then Dren turned into a dude, killed Adrien Brody and raped Sarah Polley with his stinger which subsequently impregnated her. She chose to have the freak child, and I can't believe I was still horny after the movie.

Editor's Note: Perhaps being a movie reviewer is in my future?

Thanks for your votes on the poll - next one will come tomorrow along with my analysis in regards to this one. Apparently lots of you like to make noise while you masturbate. Hopefully only chicks made that vote because I don't wanna think about dude-grunts during a J.O.

Let Your Fingers Grace My Poll

2011-02-04T14:10:00.004-05:00

Considering I got a nice amount of responses, you can weigh in on the first of many poll questions to come from my insane brain.

Editor's Note: Am I the only one who thought of Cypress Hill after that sentence?

It's weird because yesterday's entry generated around the average amount of comments I typically get, yet the pageviews were wayyyy down. I'll never understand that whole followers:pageviews:comments ratio.

But enough of that. Yesterday we went over to my grandma's nursing home to have a mini b-day celebration for my aunt. My aunt is an interesting person, as I've previously referenced, but she was quite well-behaved this time around.

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Father Tangent: Before I talk about this experience, I have to tell you that my father yet again berated me because I like to use wet-ones to wipe my ass, along with the dry-off toilet paper wipe to finish everything up. "I don't get it...why would you stick your fingers up your ass to wipe?" I have no idea why he thinks that: It's the same thing as toilet paper. He thinks it's gay because I tell him it's more comfortable and makes the process easier.

"I guess I shouldn't talk," he said. "When I was younger my sister taught me how to wipe, and I'd practically roll the toilet paper up to my forearm."

Let's hope he was joking - I'm not sure. He then brought up the wet-wipe thing to his friend when we were sitting in the living room, but I totally got him when I quipped to his friend that he wipes back-to-front. At the danger of using a stupid blogger word: Win.

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So yeah, yesterday I, my sister, her boyfriend Smitty, my mom, dad and aunt visited grandma while we celebrated a birthday. It was a typical family gathering and surprisingly quiet.

Editor's Note: "Quiet" is an extremely relative word.

We went into the dining area of the home, and we were able to use the sliding accordion-looking door to section off the place where we ate cake. Because we were sectioned off, obviously there were residents occupying the other part of the room. Most of them are confined to wheelchairs and need to be closely monitored.

Because of this, whenever they move the wheelchairs often make a repetitive beeping noise. My dad hates beeping.

"SOMEBODY SHUT OFF THE GOD DAMN BEEPING NOISE!"

Uh, they're like 90 dude. He couldn't care less.

So we're sitting at the table eating cake, when suddenly my father brought up another piece of information he likes to talk about from time to time. Because Smitty - although a long-time friend of mine - is still getting acquainted with the family, my dad likes to give him little updates. For the sake of anonymity on this blog, let's call my sister Susan.

"Hey Smitty, did you know that Susan has a cousin who got a full bush when she was six?"

Firstly Dad, she's not just Susan's cousin - she's mine, along with yours. Secondly, she was nine years old. We then got into a conversation about women hitting puberty early, and the word "bush" must've been used at least two dozen times with my grandmother present. Endless laughter ensued.

My grandmother, though very sharp for 83 despite no short-term memory, was very confused. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said in her stereotypical 'Jewish Grandma' voice. The laughter heightened.

After some more chatter about whatever-the-fuck it is we talk about, it was about time to leave because my father was getting antsy. We were all putting on our coats, when I noticed that Smitty had one of those beaver-looking winter hats. I thought I'd try it on.

"Hey Grandma, how do I look?"

She whispered: "You look like an idiot."

Needless to say, Smitty won't be wearing that hat around my grandmother anymore.

Editor's Note: Super Bowl weekend baby! Toby's b-day party Saturday night, my Super Bowl party Sunday night. Have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it. HOUSE IT HOUSE IT HOUSE IT HOUSE IT HOUUUSSSSSE IT!

Random Observations, Part XIII

2011-02-03T10:50:00.006-05:00

1) I was leaving Manhattan Monday morning. I was on the West Side Highway and as usual, at the streetlight there was a guy selling the newspaper. It was raining pimps and hoes outside so the guy was rather bundled up. I then noticed that he was waving to drivers stopped at the light, but it was only those of the female persuasion.

Listen bro, No. 1: These chicks can't see anything but your mouth...the rest of your body was covered. No. 2: Do you expect these girls to let the newspaper man in their car for a cheap fuckarooski? I'm befuddled.

2) There was corn in my crap. That isn't anything new...we've all been through this. I just find it fascinating that it seems to be the only food that shows up in it that I can see. I mean, Skittles are the same size as corn - I want some fucking Skittles in my shit.

Editor's Note: This also implies that I look at my doodie after I go. Yes, yes I do. It's a habit and I don't know why I do it. There are other odd habits I have, but let's not get into those at the moment.

3) I was driving to work this morning and was stuck in traffic. I looked over and there was a woman holding a tampon while in the traffic jam. You know how smokers will drive with a cigarette between their fingers as the remaining fingers are handling the wheel? Well this chick was doing it with the tampon. Poor woman...she really must've needed to pull over and take care of that. There was probably a puddle in her seat.

4) My short-term memory is significantly better. Now that it's been over a month of being weedless, I can actually remember shit. For example, I knew I was going to write the above three observations this morning. Typically when I'm in my car thinking about shit there's no way I'd remember it by the time I was to write it. Now I was able to think, "Newspaper guy, shit, tampon...newspaper guy, shit, tampon..." over and over until it was time to blog. Fuck yeah!

Editor's Note: I still feel like I'd fail a drug test, even if I take it a year from now.

5) Luke is in Florida. He sent me a text message when he got there. He's standing in front of the "Welcome to Florida" sign with a smile riddled with douchebaggery, meanwhile I'm stuck here in New York in the worst snowstorm since 1996. Hey Luke: Eat a dick. I'm also working more than I probably have in my entire life, meanwhile I get phone calls from him saying, "Dude, which chicken nuggets should I buy?" I love that kid.

6) I miss the 90's. I've always been one to embrace life, but musically shit really blows. Don't get me wrong, for some reason I have an affinity for Ke$ha and Katie Perry, but hip-hop, rock music and most importantly punk rock will most likely never be the same.

Seriously though, I love those women. Not for their looks - for their music. I feel like every white chick on the planet - and Ace - absolutely loves them. All they talk is about is getting wasted and not being able to dance, which as you know encompasses most of the white women I have met in my life.

7) It's almost impossible to look manly while drinking out of a straw. EZE pointed this out to me in high school. It's like, you're sitting with a chick and you say, "Hey, how you doin?" and you sip through your straw with your lips all puckered - she's gonna think you're a tool. The only way to pull it off and still look masculine is to sip it from the side of your mouth. This has been researched.

8) I'd like to implement a poll. I tried to do it a year ago but no one read my blog then. I feel like enough people read it now that I can actually get people to weigh in on shit. Proof of that is though I've been slacking on the blog-front, many of you have remained loyal which I appreciate. You guys are like dogs or something. Only problem is I'd probably ask ridiculous questions, but I suppose that's why you read this to begin with. So what say you? Would you get down with my pole...uh...poll?

A Stripper Asked Me If She Was Fat

2011-01-31T13:34:00.003-05:00

That was actually a long time ago...if you consider one year to be a long time. After she asked me that and our lap dance was over I was ridiculously turned off, so I started talking to a different stripper. The first one got jealous and went up to my friend and said, "Oh, so your friend's got jungle fever now?" Listen bitch, 1) Don't get jealous...you're a fucking stripper. Either way I assume your "jealousy" was just because I wasn't giving you anymore money. 2) I've always had jungle fever...105 degrees baby.

Anyway this blog entry isn't about strippers, at least I don't think it'll be. I actually have no clue as to what this entry will be about, so let's ride the wave and try not to crash too hard.

Editor's Note: When she asked me that question I didn't tell her "no." I told her, "I like bigger women." Look, big women know they're big, and I don't like lying to them about it. It's better to make them be proud of what they have. Me telling her, "You could lose some pounds off that gut" or "I wouldn't have gotten a lap dance from you if I thought you were pregnant" would not have been appropriate, unless of course I wanted a guido to kick my ass. Tact is something I constantly stress. Oh, and you'd think I'd notice things like the anatomical specificities of a stripper, but I always go to a strip club shitfaced. Don't you?

Hey, so I haven't smoked weed in one month and one day. Pretty fucking crazy, right? I haven't been vocal about my ganja hiatus on this blog because truthfully, I need to practice keeping my mouth shut, or in this case my fingers clamped. One of my many flaws that are a work in progress.

Gotta say I feel pretty damn good, but now I can drink with the best of 'em. I'm trying not to substitute weed with beer but it's really fucking hard.

Editor's Note: Insert joke here.

That's another thing - I'm so much hornier it's insane. Is this how all guys normally are? I fucking rub against my desk the wrong way and I wanna fuck it for fuck's sake. I was never one of those super libidoed dudes who needed to get laid all of the time - and I'm still not - but being off of weed has increased my urges tremendously.

Along with my sexual appetite, my food appetite is back in full force. Because I blazed all the time I'd wake up with a hollow feeling in my stomach, similar to the feeling you'd get if you were really embarrassed - like in those dreams when someone pulls your pants down in class.

And that's another thing...my dreams are wild. Perhaps my dreams were always this way, but now since I don't go to sleep comatose I can actually remember them. For instance the other night I had a dream...

Editor's Note: Sex dreams have been at a minimum as of late, which is very unlike me.

I was in a car with my parents and we were driving on a baseball field. This is extremely rare for me, but I realized I was indeed in a dream. I convinced my mother I was dreaming, but my father still didn't believe me. We saw a kid on the field riding a bicycle and I told my mom to swerve the car and hit him. She listened and it was fucking hysterical.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" my dad said to my mom.

"It's okay...Dan's dreaming."

Thanks for getting my back Mom. I then had her pull over where I saw a group of kids hanging out. I approached the group and commenced to beat the fuck out of them. I don't mean a slap in the face - I straight-up ROCKED like five kids. It was insanely liberating. I hope I can have lucid dreams more often.

Editor's Note: In an attempt to analyze that dream, I believe it's because I've been frustrated with work lately, and since I can't take it out in the office I do it in my dreams. Hopefully it stays that way. Oh, and I can't type the word "analyze" without thinking of "anal." Just can't happen.

Okay, have a good day people and don't forget to house it in the snow. Tomorrow's Feb. 1 and I'm making an already-new-year's resolution: Blog more in February. If I don't then it's because I have trouble blogging with a boner.

The Doctor Is About To Operate

2011-01-26T08:58:00.001-05:00

Orgasms...we all have them.

Actually that's not true. We all should have them, but lots of chicks are unable to get to the big finish and other people are too religious to see the light, oddly enough.

But this isn't a religion blog - this is a dude blog, with continuous references about booze, shit, bitches and weiners. And from time to time, I'd like to think that this blog can be somewhat insightful. I mean, why else would people write in to Dr. Phallus?

The following is sent from Aggy from Mommy Excuse of the Day!

Editor's Note: Yo Aggy, don't know if you read my response to your comment, but if you'd like you can use this on your blog as well. I told you I would give you a guest entry and I totally fucking forgot. My sincere apologies...if you don't want to use this and want something else, let me know.

Aggy: "Would you rather a girl fake an orgasm, or tell you that she isn't getting off and not to bother (in a nicer way, of course)?"

I always stress communication amongst couples...that's nothing new. If people talk to each other instead of the woman groaning aimlessly while she thinks about which Real Housewife is gonna cheat on their husband first - or if a guy actually thinks about making his woman happy instead of banging her so he can get his - perhaps this question wouldn't be asked. But I digress.

I've had experiences when which girls have faked orgasms; I've had ones when which girls have had real orgasms; I've had experiences when which girls have been tactful, and told me that "it wasn't gonna happen"; lastly, I've undoubtedly had experiences when which girls have faked orgasms, but just didn't tell me. The answer to your question is not a simple one - it truly depends on the female and the rapport I have with her.

Situation 1: Girl I'm banging the first night I meet her.

She can fake it...I don't give a shit. Why would I care if a girl I'm barely attracted to fakes an orgasm? Wait I shouldn't phrase it that way...let me take that back. What I mean is, I'm drunk and this is clearly a one night stand. We both know that we will not be trading phone numbers, so if the girl wants the sex to stop, what the fuck do I care if she pretends to O while giving me an ego boost?

At the same time, if the girl wants to be frank with me...

Editor's Note: Not "frank" like "a dude" - that would be awful.

...I don't really care. If she wants me to tell me I suck and she doesn't want to do it anymore, it's no sweat off my weiner because I don't have feelings for the person. Lots of guys say this, but I'm not sure how honest most of them are. The problem with this happening is that a guy feels deflated when a girl demeans his sexual prowess, which can set him back in terms of getting another girl. A guy wants to immediately get a new girl to make up for poor previous coitus, and oftentimes women smell that desperation.

Now what I don't want is a girl saying, "Get the hell off me...this isn't happening," before I'm able to finish. There's nothing worse than drunk-banging for a half-hour with an unfamiliar person, and having her saying "stop" before you can achieve your objective. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy pleasing women, but getting a drunken slut to blast one out of her loose vadge is not high on my list of priorities. And fuck your double standard - she's a slut, I'm a slut...we're all sluts!

My advice to women: One night stand and you think he's a good guy, but you're not feeling the wave of fury anytime soon - fake it. If it's a one night stand and you think the guy might be an asshole - don't fake it. If he's an asshole he's gonna brag to all his friends about it and make you look like a ho while he gets high-fives from the masses. Then all those dudes that he high-fives are gonna try to fuck you.

Editor's Note: Stopping a guy well into sex is also dangerous for a woman. I'm not saying the man is justified to keep going - because he's not, and that's really fucked up - but these are things females need to consider before getting in bed with someone.

Situation 2: When on a few dates, we hooked up a little - maybe I got a beej - and now it's time to gets down. No, the 's' was not a typo.

Editor's Note: Do you people really think of "The Jersey Shore" when you see the word "situation?" I do too...God dammit.

This one's tricky, because I'm invested in this girl on a somewhat emotional level. I put my work in because I see something that's worth it - whether it's a potential girlfriend or fuckbuddy I'm not yet sure - so when it's time to do it I want her to be happy that she chose to. My desire to make her orgasm is important for two reasons: 1) So she can enjoy it, and 2) So she'll want to do it again.

But it won't happen. She could enjoy it, but she won't orgasm...at least that's what the odds tell me. So in this instance, I would rather the girl tell me in a nice way that it's not going to happen, that way I can tell her to communicate better with me the next time...if there is a next time. The reason for this is because if she fakes it, it's now setting an impossible standard for me. I hate that shit.

Situation 3: She's my exclusive significant other.

Never, under any circumstances, should she ever fake an orgasm with me or I'll be fucking pissed. Okay wait: If we're both really hammered and we're fucking for a long time, then she should fake it. Knowing myself, if I was really drunk and she said to me, "Babe I'm not gonna cum let's stop," I'd feel really badly and want to prove to her that I could make it happen. If she was really adamant I'd stop, but I'd be pissed about it.

When it comes to a girlfriend, I basically want her to scream my name and erupt like Mount Vesuvius every time we have sex. Will that happen? Of course not, but with practice and repetition it can certainly be accomplished some of the time. I also realize that girls can enjoy sex without orgasming if they care about the dude and are comfortable in their environment.

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So yeah Aggy, there you go...hope it helps. As the parenthesis indicate in your inquiry, no matter what the situation is - tact is important. But it really depends on the chick. Damn I'm really horny now.

Talk Dirty To Me

2011-01-24T14:21:00.002-05:00

Last week, dedicated reader LaraLev basically demanded me to write about phone sex. As much as I don't consider myself to be whipped by women, I do tend to be whipped by my readers.

Editor's Note: I had an awesome weekend getting drunk, and most importantly got down with some Indian food. Wait...that makes it out like I had sex with food...whatever you know what I mean. At the same time I hadn't had that shit in a while and it WAS amazing, so I guess I did kinda mouth-fuck it. I feel like when you have really good Indian food, it's REALLY GOOD. Conversely, if it's really bad...it's REALLY BAD.

Her inquiry was to have me weigh in on phone sex, paid or unpaid. I've never paid for phone sex, but one time in college I had it with this chick who I had a long distance thing with. I suppose the cellphone chat was rather long, so I did pay for it in a way.

First off, I don't hate on people who call those hotlines and pay for phone sex. Do I think the sexy voice on the other side of the line is some nasty, hairy fat chick who has a hot-girl voice? Of course. Does it really matter? No. I look at phone sex the same way as getting a blowjob - if a girl wants to house your weiner, there's nothing wrong with letting it happen, regardless of looks. If anything, an ugly girl would dish a better beaner.

Editor's Note: Though I have gotten head from girls I'm not attracted to, it's few and far between. I just can't get with a chick who I don't think is hot, but many guys would beg to differ. All the power to you bro.

I've only had phone sex one time, and it was pretty interesting. I had a long distance fling going with this girl in Chicago, so obviously we didn't see each other very often. She had previously visited me in college and we had sex a few times, so this made her much more comfortable with being able to let loose over the phone.

During the real sex we had, she didn't achieve orgasm. (I did...high-five!) In fact, she told me she had never had an orgasm in her life, whether from a man or by herself. Was she saying this to make me feel better? Perhaps, but I did believe her. Call me naive...I'll just call you an asshole. I believe at the point we were at, there was absolutely no reason for her to lie.

So a month or so after she visited me, we were on the phone one night. I believe I blogged about this before, but I don't feel like looking back for the link. Anyway, the convo started to get provocative. You know, basic stuff conveying what I wanted to do to her, and her returning the favor. It was getting sauna-steamy.

Editor's Note: Yes, phone sex does mean we were both masturbating - sorry suburb friends - but I had no intentions of climaxing, nor did I. Personally I didn't dig it very much. I am, however, pretty fucking good at it, which I'm sure you can infer based on my verbose ways.

As it started to get more and more spicy - to the point that we knew it was about to end - she screamed loudly and hung up the phone. I didn't hear from her for a month, which was very unlike her. She then told me what I thought happened...she came. Because it was her first orgasm ever, she had no idea how to handle it.

I mean yeah...I'm the man. I gave a chick her first orgasm with some sick wordplay. At the same time, I think it was bad for my case because I set an impossibly high standard for when it came time for us to meet again. Alas, one day we did rendezvous, and the sex I gave her was nowhere near as good as the verbal sex. Oh well.

Moral of the story: If you're gonna phone-fuck a chick, make sure you can be comparable when you real-fuck her. If you can't, it's most likely over.

Get That Away From My Ass

2011-01-19T07:40:00.002-05:00

Sorry, the headline is totally misleading. Don't get me wrong, I don't want anything near my ass, but that doesn't have anything to do with this entry.

I'm here at work at 7:30 a.m. and I imagine I won't be out until at least 9 p.m. - it happens. Since I'll be busier than a prostitute in debt I won't have time to give you any new material, so I thought I'd give you something I did back in the day.

This is something I wrote on Dec. 1, 2008 - my blog began mid-October of that year. I'd like to think my writing has somewhat matured since then, but this still remains as one of my favorite pieces. Later fuckers.

Editor's Note: I have nothing to say here, but I usually have an editor's note...so yeah.

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"Thankful To Be Alone"

This year, I would like to be thankful for having friends. When you have friends, you always have a decision to make: You can either hang out with your friends, or you can do nothing. Most of the time people hang out with their friends because 1) They enjoy their company or 2) It's more fun than being by yourself. Well not for me. I really enjoy being by myself. But if I didn't have a lot of friends, I wouldn't be able to appreciate it as much. Does that make sense?

There's a big difference between being alone and being lonely. I'm thankful that I've never been lonely for too long, because I've always had friends to alleviate that loneliness. I'm also thankful for the time I set aside to be alone, because that to me is just as important as the time I spend with my friends. There are many people who don't have the luxury of friendships, so take this holiday time to be appreciative for your friends - the people who tolerate you out of choice and not obligation.

On a completely unrelated note, I stepped on a used, jizz-filled condom this morning in the parking lot. I felt the need to include "jizz-filled" because there are plenty of used condoms that don't have enough man juice in them to impregnate a colony.

Editor's Note: You know when you accidentally step on a bug, then upon stepping on it you realize you're surrounded by bugs? That's what just happened to me, except replace "bugs" with "used condoms." Either way, both have a weird goo that shoots out when you step on it.

Usually when you're walking in a parking lot you need to be aware of things like other cars, or stepping in dog shit. This condom incident was very unexpected. I for one am curious as to why there were so many used condoms on the ground. I'm guessing this dude was banging a chick in his car over a long period of time, or he could have just jerked off in a bunch of condoms.

Editor's Note: I jerked off in a condom once. It was really depressing. I think when the teacher told me to "practice safe sex" I took it too literally.

I must say stepping on a used condom is a bit different than stepping in dog shit: One smells and one doesn't. However, I'm not sure which is worse. Both need immediate cleaning, but the mental side of stepping in somebody's semen is much worse than stepping in dog shit. Now I feel like there's some random guy who has the upperhand on me.

Ultimate-Upperhand Tangent: So my friends and I have this thing called the "upperhand." Most groups of friends have something like this. For example, if you put your balls on someone's head, you have the upperhand on them. Now of course, there are different levels of upperhand. I feel it's necessary to talk about my friend T-Special, who has the ultimate upperhand on this guy Brandon. Brandon had a girlfriend whom he loved dearly. The girlfriend then cheated on Brandon with T-Special, causing to the couple to break up. A few weeks later, T-Special fucked Brandon's sister. And to top it all off, he took her virginity. Brandon...T-Special owns you. You might as well let him fuck your mom, and maybe if I give your grandma a day off, Mark can have her too. Hey-O!

When I began writing this entry I thought I could keep it somewhat serious, with a theme you can actually reflect on. But you know what? That's just not my style. But if I may go back to what I was originally talking about, sometimes I go through phases where I don't want to hang out with anyone. It has nothing to do with my friends, it's simply a desire to be alone.

There are a lot of people who don't like being alone because they don't like to be in their own mind. Being around other people is a constant distraction, something that procrastinates one from facing their internal issues. Being alone is important because you take the time to reflect on the different aspects of your day-to-day life. People are often caught up in what others are doing when they should really just be taking it easy, thinking about what mistakes they made or what they need to accomplish.

In life it is important to always be moving forward. However if you don't look back once in a while you'll find that you're not really going anywhere - you're just living a life of repetition. Damn, maybe I should be a shrink. But aren't shrinks nuts? I mean, I know I'm a little crazy, but from what I hear shrinks need their own shrinks because they're just hearing fucked up problems all day. I don't think that would be much fun. I'll stick to sounding somewhat philosophical as I rant amount jizz and grandma sex.

Goin' In

2011-01-17T08:02:00.005-05:00

This weekend was fuller than a porn star after a DVDA segment so let's do this:

Went into Hoboken with Biff to meet up with Ace and some other of us friends from the 'burbs. On our way in we stopped off at a pizza place where they served the most brollock slices I've ever seen. Biff and I ordered 3 slices to go, but for some reason they gave us 4. "It's on the house," the pizza guy said.

Editor's Note: Looks like the Big Dick Discount came into play yet again.

We got the pizza to-go and headed into a parking a garage. Problem was, the attendant was steering everyone away, telling them that there was no room left for any cars. Well I'm Jewish and I refused to accept that. "Yo man, my friend lives here and doesn't have his car parked in his regular spot," I fibbed to the guy. "Any chance we can take his spot?"

"I don't know which spot is his so I can't do it," he replied.

"Want a slice of pizza?" I said in a last-ditch effort.

The guy's eyes lit up like he just saw his first pair of tits.

"Okay, come on in."

Editor's Note: Glad our free slice was put to good use. The next day I was at Biff's apartment and Alvin was saying, "It just goes to show you what can happen if you grease someone's palm." I then appropriately responded, "Really? If that's all he wanted I should've whipped it out."

So Biff and I were riding high heading into Ace's Hoboken abode. We showed up, kicked ass in beer pong and all of us had a great pregame - which involved Luke pissing in Ace's bathtub because he's redoing his bathroom - before heading to the bars. When we got there the true beauty of Hoboken, New Jersey revealed itself. During certain songs the bartender would announce that specific shots - Soco and Lime or Kamikazes - were $1 for the duration of one song. "Uh...can I get 15 shots?" Ace said.

Yeah, we got wasted.

I was sitting at the bar and it was in one of those high chairs with really long legs, meaning if I was to fall it would hurt...a lot. My buddy EZE was standing behind me and I said to him, "Yo EZ, you got my back, right?" He responded, "Yeah man." Well I took what he said to heart, and I flung myself backwards from the chair. He somehow reacted with cat-like speed and reflexes and caught me before I concussed myself. Good man. "You're retarded," Ace said.

Noted.

When 2 a.m. rolled around our friends left the bar with the exception of me and Biff. "I'm not leaving until I hook up with an ugly chick," he said. So we made a pact and I stayed out to be his wingman.

My sister, 23, and Smitty came along as well. One thing you should know about my sister - she is insanely protective over the people she loves. She's not a borderline bitch...she is a bitch. No way getting around it. Before her and Smitty departed she saw me talking to a girl, who was the friend of a chick Biff was trying to bone. Like I said...wingman.

Now my sister absolutely adores my girlfriend Anna, which is the first time this has ever happened. So when she saw me talking to a chick, she threw her the illest shoulder I've ever seen - the girl flew 5 feet across the room, nearly falling. Needless to say, Biff had to find a different group of girls to talk to, and the three Long Islands he bought for them didn't work to his advantage.

Luckily for Biff he has a dedicated - and insane - friend in myself. We were sitting at the bar just drinking some Long Islands when for some reason I opted to slightly tilt my chair back. Because the floor was wet from a Long Island I had previously dropped after dancing by myself, I slipped right off the chair and fell straight on my back. I suppose it could've been embarrassing, but we were surrounded by a bunch of ugly white chicks at 3 a.m...so yeah.

The manager helped me up and didn't kick me out because I was a happy drunk the entire night, oddly enough. Anyway, a(n) (ugly) girl approached Biff and said something along the lines of, "Man, it must suck to be with that drunken mess." So Biff kept talking to her, figuring his mission would be accomplished, meanwhile I immediately began talking to her even-uglier friend. "Yeah, I fell," I said. "But my girlfriend is hotter than everyone in this bar combined, so it's really not a big deal." She was less-than-thrilled to hear that.

We then all left the bar and went to get pizza. Biff made out with her for a good five minutes, then we regretfully bought pineapple slices and departed. "So, how ugly was she?" Biff inquired. I believe I pleaded the Fifth.

Editor's Note: That was only Friday night.

Saturday involved day-drinking, with 4-5 beers and 3 shots of Patron by 2 p.m. We watched college basketball and I got hooked up with mad food and drinks because there was a Syracuse Alumni gathering - Biff went to school there - and I pretended I attended the school. Night-time rolled around and I spent it with the lady watching "Summer Heights High." GREAT SHOW...everyone needs to watch it.

On Sunday, we hit the bars at 1 p.m. and watched football until 8. I have no idea how many drinks I had, and if I had had one less glass of water or one more alcoholic beverage, I wouldn't be here typing this entry. That about sums up the weekend.

Editor's Note: I also had a dream that I was with Anna and we were trying to have sex, but for some reason people would walk in and fuck it up. We tried in like four different places and I was getting really pissed off. She then left and I tried to masturbate, but for some reason different people kept walking in again and fucking it up. Finally, Anna came back and we started to have sex, but upon climaxing I realized I was still in a dream, and almost had a massive wet dream in her real bed. Wheeew.

Football-related Editor's Note: Awesome games this weekend - I don't like the Jets but I'm happy they beat New England. But Green Bay's winning it all...don't say I didn't tell you.

Watch Out For My Air-Jizz

2011-01-13T11:06:00.002-05:00

Why can't people get the fucking snow off the roofs of their car? It caused me to yell at one person, flip one person off, and when the latter person flashed their brights at me, I gesticulated the "jerking off then throwing the jizz" move with my left hand. The person backed off. The air-jizz must've hit his/her windshield.

Editor's Note: Simple driving etiquette. You may view this post if you wish. Oh, and Annah posted our entry yesterday on her site. I just hit you up with the ill links.

So Obama made a speech yesterday about the shooting in Arizona...you might have heard about that. Basically, a dude bugged out and shot/killed a bunch of people. Not cool. This is very, very rarely a political blog so I'm done with this. As Homer Simpson once said, "And that's the end of that chapter."

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Like many, I'm looking forward to this weekend when I'll be drinking with my friends and acting with borderline debauchery - it really depends on what mood I'm in or what alcohol I decide to consume. Isn't it funny how different liquor makes you act in different ways? For example:

Editor's Note: Once I'm more than 10 drinks in, throw all of this out the window. I'm a fucking train wreck waiting to happen. When I'm at that level, my behavior is comparable to a bully in the ballpit at the Discovery Zone. I miss that place.

Vodka - I don't like it straight, so I usually do it up with cranberry or orange juice. I'm typically a peaceful drunk, relatively speaking. I think it also makes me hornier than the average beverage. You can say that last line in a "Yogi Bear" voice if you'd like.

Rum - Don't really like it, so if it's the liquor I'm drinking for the evening, expect an early night from me. That's disappointing, because I have no problem admitting that the party's better when I'm gettin' down. I think this blog has enabled you to somewhat agree with that statement.

Whiskey - Hit or miss. I'm either a fucking mess or I rock out with the best of 'em. It's my favorite liquor of them all, but me drinking Jack is definitely a "life is like a box of chocolates" notion. I've found myself taking care of people and laughing, having a great night, or throwing empty glass bottles across a living room floor.

Tequila - Stay the fuck away from me. I know I'm not the only one who's like this. Can someone do some research and tell me why tequila makes people act this way?

Editor's Note: Drunken stories or input concerning which liquor makes you behave in certain ways are encouraged and recommended. Anyway, I'm making a conscious effort to improve my drunken behavior, even though it undoubtedly amuses my readers.

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I think I'm at a crossroads in my life. I don't know...I just don't wanna get fucked up as much as I used to. Am I...uh...maturing? I haven't smoked weed in 10 days and I haven't even been boozing to compensate for my lack of being high, so perhaps I'm overcoming what many dub a "quarter life crisis."

It feels good. I feel good. Having a supportive lady who doesn't nag me helps tremendously. She takes it as it comes...in more ways than one. Hey-O!

That also has to do with the fact that she met my blog before she met me. There's no chance I'd ever be able to get a girlfriend if it was the other way around. I remember when I was a year into blogging and Ace said, "There's no way you can ever be with a girl who doesn't read your blog." Couldn't agree more.

I guess it also depends on which entry you read. My "Dr. Phallus" ones are more chivalrous, which obviously shows that I have a sense of awareness and regard for other people's well-being. Then you can read something like this which shows you my penchant for being reckless. Like I said before, hopefully I've somewhat turned that corner. I don't ever want to be never-reckless though...my ability to keep people on their toes is one of my favorite qualities about myself.

Let's Fuck This Week Up

2011-01-11T08:03:00.006-05:00

Busy weekend of drinking and working on the children's book with Donny. I stayed over his place in Brooklyn on Friday night, and naturally on Saturday morning - believe it or not - I wanted to take a shower before starting the day. I'd like to thank Donny for saying, "Yo before you shower let me take a piss first," but in actuality taking a massive shit.

Editor's Note: Showering in doodie fumes just makes me feel like I need to stay in the shower extra long.

He then gave me a towel that was probably used on his balls without being washed afterwards, and since he's not the tallest guy in the world, washing myself in that shower was like trying to walk on the 7 1/2 floor from "Being John Malkovich."

Friday night was a slammin' time at the bar. My lady's roommate is a bartender there and I thought I'd bring Donny along because he loves those ladies with the donkey butts. Yes, a "donkey butt" is a good thing...a beautiful thing. After a couple hours of drinking and me telling some kick-ass jokes - The Bear Joke killed once again - we hit the diner and then headed home.

Now I haven't smoked weed in over a week - it's the longest I've gone without duffin' since August 2009. Yeah...I'm a pothead. But I'm doing well even though it's making me much more irritable. Evidence of this is when I flipped out on the way home at 3 a.m. when this dude flashed his brights, honked at me and gave me the finger.

Editor's Note: I can't remember if I truly cut him off or not, but it's Manhattan. That's like getting mad at a vegetarian for sending back a hamburger when she ordered a veggie patty. Yes, I am assuming that all vegetarians are chicks. I am also aware that I'm completely wrong, but I'm allowed to be an asshole on Monday.

Addendum to Editor's Note: It's now Tuesday...I was too busy yesterday to finish this. I apologize to anyone who anticipated my bodily-function-laced banter on a Monday morning.

So the dude came around to pass me on the right and we both opened our windows. He yelled, "Fuck you!" and I replied with "You got a pretty mouth you fuckin' homo!" Good thing I turned left and he continued straight, because he would've killed me. He was huge and must've been wearing at least 8 rings on one hand. NOTHING gets a guy more upset than telling him he has a pretty mouth.

Moving on with great dexterity and ease, yesterday morning I heard a statistic on the radio that the average human being farts 14 times a day. What the fuck does that make me? I fart 14 times before noon - you can say it's my diet, but it's been happening my whole life. I come from a gaseous family, with my sister arguably being the worst. Don't tell her I said that.

I may have written about this before, but my frequent-ferocious-farting ways make first-time hookups very difficult. Actually, it makes second- and third-time hookups just as difficult...it's not like you're best friends with a person after one session. I really can't recall a hookup when which I haven't had to practically cork my ass when we're gettin' down. The guy on the radio said, "It's not healthy to hold a fart in." Well what the shit do you expect me to do? Good thing I have a lady who embraces me for who I am, yet I still control my sputtering ass for the sake of diplomacy.

Editor's Note: I believe the last time I farted around her she muttered in a whispering tone, "I hate you."

To transition from farting back to blogging, though I haven't been making entries as consistent as of late - I've averaged one entry every 2 days for the last 2 years - I wrote up a guest entry for Annah as usual and I also gave Alex the Tsaritsa a little something for her web zine. They should be posted sooner than later. And as always, hit me up if you need to talk to Dr. Phallus...he's here for a reason.

Also, Amber LaShell hooked me up with a "Stylish Blogger" award....much obliged. I still haven't figured out how to post awards on my blog because I'm technologically crippled, but either way it's not really my thing to decorate my page with that sort of stuff. The gesture, however, does not go unnoticed and is very much appreciated.

The award, as many do, state that I have to tell you five things about myself and then I gotta link five other blogs you should visit, though none will be as disgusting as mine, I assure you.

1) I had kick-ass sex last night. It happens.

2) I had botched sex 2 weeks ago. It happens.

3) Though I'm Jewish and damn proud of it, Hassidic Jews piss me the fuck off.

4) I recently laid down in the bathtub while taking a shower. I don't know...I was really tired. I guess that's pretty weird.

5) If I had to choose between getting a blowjob or eating a pack of Skittles...I'd obviously get a blowjob. What the fuck did you think I was gonna write? I still love Skittles though, but you know that already.

And five blogs for you to check out if you haven't already:

1) Simple Dude in a Complex World (I very rarely read male bloggers because most of them suck...here is an exception.)

2) Dancing on the Bar of Life (A woman who takes life as it comes, with a great sense of humor.)

3) The Ranter's Box (Might be as disgusting as me...I fucking love it. Also one of my favorite commenters.)

4) Lije's Mindstate (A male blogger who's in the process of coming into his own. His optimistic mindset is one I appreciate and wish more people shared. Too many people have blogs where they use it as a forum to complain...he doesn't.)

5) Blogging Blobs (Group blog...a bunch of funny motherfuckers who live big and don't hesitate to tell you about it.)

In-phallic Wisdom

2011-01-04T11:09:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I mentioned that I wasn't going to respond to an advice email due to the age of the emailer, but her tactful comment in response to my refusal swayed me. Basically, it's not fair for me to deny someone seeking guidance from a notable weiner-swinger such as myself. If I answered a gay dude about getting butt-fucked, even if it was a prank my friends pulled - as predicted - I should answer this person and I thank her for her inquiry.

Editor's Note: I've often said that young'ns need more education on sex, so I should put my money where my weiner is.

Speaking of young people gettin' down, my little brother - who is 17 - is having a wonderful time with his squeeze. The only problem is that he lives at home and my mom is extremely paranoid about his in-house fuckfests so he tries to keep it under wraps as much as possible.

Just a funny note: My brother, like many men, has some back acne. Not a big deal. Before he goes to sleep my mother applies this cream to his back, because obviously he can't do it himself. Only snafu as of late is that his girl is scratching up his back like nobody's business, making it extremely awkward for him when my mother is applying. He said he's running out of excuses.

Know what I said? "That's the best problem you can possibly have."

Editor's Note: Due to repeated references to my mother, I'm assuming my less mature friends (the ones from the suburbs) will be commenting some sort of insult. Considering their comments are very hit-or-miss in regards to hilarity, let's hope for something funny this time.

Anyway, that's the intro. Now comes the question sent in to Dr. Phallus last month:

"I'm a high school senior (female, 17 years old), but I've been taking all my classes at a big state college since I was 15. My parents are pretty religious, and I wasn't allowed to date till I was 16.

Since I'm so young for being at college, guys would find out my age and either stop talking to me because they didn't want to deal with statutory rape or they'd be JUST FRIENDS for the semester but never talk to me after that. So now I'll be heading into my freshman year of college in about 6 months and my only sexual experience is a couple kisses (and those didn't even have tongue).

Basically, I would love any suggestions you might have as to how I can get more experience without resorting to blowing strangers or putting ads on craigslist, and also some general college hookup rules.

Thanks for your time, sorry it was so long. (that's what he said...) HOUSE IT."

First off, thank you for writing "HOUSE IT."

Now, the fact that you have little experience heading into college is not a bad thing. Let me list my experiences of high school hookups.

Freshman Year: Made out with a chick at a party because it was a dare. That was my first kiss. I later got a girlfriend but realized she was ugly and broke up with her the next day.

Editor's Note: My friend ended up dating her for about two years. He said she liked it in the butt.

Sophomore Year: Nothing.

Junior Year: Nothing.

Senior Year: Made out with a chick who had a boyfriend, then took her best friend to prom. We only kissed as well (no tongue either). In the beginning of the year I had a girlfriend who was a freshman in college. I visited her early in the first semester and got a handjob and busted in 30 seconds. I was nervous, but the inexperienced bitch shouldn't have treated my dick like an AK-47.

So there you go. I then went to college, got a girlfriend and had more sex - in terms of amount of times - than anyone I knew. When you're young people tend to look down on "prudes," and certainly that's going to cause people to feel self-conscious, but it's bullshit. You do things when you're ready, and with that builds confidence.

However, you seem to be ready, and now in college you'll be in the same boat with everyone else age-wise. It is extremely difficult for a college girl not to get laid if she's looking for it. Everyone's boozing, everyone's in a new environment, and everyone wants to meet people. Also, when a guy's 18 he fucks like a jack-rabbit. I suppose jack-rabbits fuck a lot.

But dudes are dirtbags - you have to be on the lookout. I told my little cousins that 95% of the time they should be on the defensive, and the other 5% of the time the guy's probably just pretending to be nice in order to get laid. When I was 17 a guy in his mid-20's told me that high school was about handjobs and blowjobs, and college was all about fucking. Everyone knows that when you hook up in college sex is almost expected.

It seems that you're not into the "go wild and fuck mad dudes" mindset, and there's nothing wrong with that. My advice to you is to be involved in college activities. Whether it's joining a club, starting a club or just chillin' at parties, it's important to put yourself out there. You won't meet anyone cooped up in your room, and considering you have experience in the college world that shouldn't be a problem for you.

If you decide to attend parties when people are boozing, don't get too drunk. Hold your own. Thousands of girls go to college clueless and take 5 shots of vodka thinking it's fine. It's not. You will be taken advantage of at some point if you have that sort of behavior. If you're gonna get shitfaced, do it with your female friends and gay dudes.

When you're out and about in the college bubble, men will approach you. If you decide that you wanna say "fuck it" and go to town on a dude, then by all means do so. But if you do that, the man is bound to look at you as more of an object than a person. I had a girl who would come over to my apartment and give me head whenever we had parties. Obviously I didn't respect her very much.

You have to make the man earn it. Make it out like you don't want him as much as you do, that way he has to work a little. The girls I found the most intriguing were the ones who tended to reject me at first, or the ones who said, "We're hooking up, but we're NOT having sex." It's a challenge that some men look for. As for the ones who don't look for it and just wanna get their fuck on...it's a scent of desperation women can smell from a mile away and is not attractive at all.

I don't know what you look like, but you have a good sense of humor judging from your email. That's enough in itself to get a guy to show interest. Lead them on, but find an appropriate balance between being prude and being a slut. Does that make sense?

Oh, and don't be shy about approaching men either. You may come off as promiscuous to the dude, but sometimes it's better to act than sit back and let an opportunity slip from your grasp.

Editor's Note: As always, to my readers, please pardon my brief moment of chivalry. I'll be sure to get back into dirtbag mode shortly, hehe.

Back With A Jew-Fro Intact

2011-01-03T15:26:00.007-05:00

I went to take a piss last night and there was price tag on my weiner. Literally. Like, I peeled it off that spot where it begins to form the mushroom. It was one of those "$2.25" stickers you'd see on the top of a Gatorade cap. Is that all my dick is worth...plus tax? I guess it depends on which country you're in.

Editor's Note: HOW THE FUCK did a price tag get on my dick? I had boxers on...it makes no sense. Possible theories are welcomed and encouraged.

I'm sure you missed me and my phallic banter over the last fortnight, but I'm back with a head full of hair and dirty thoughts. The hair will be cut shortly, but the dirty thoughts are sure to expand as 2011 progresses...sort of like a rash that isn't appropriately addressed.

As far as New Year's resolutions? I don't have any...I'm not like that. I don't use Jan. 1 to set objectives for myself - I have nothing against people wanting to have goals like smile more and shave their back, but just like Valentine's Day shouldn't be an excuse for romance, New Year's shouldn't be one for self-improvement. However, our society needs it, so you got Two Weiners Up from me.

There have been times in the past when I've taken a hiatus and have sarcastically apologized for my absence. In this situation though, my apology is genuine. I only posted seven times in December and that's not acceptable. I'm not giving you excuses because they're as futile as a soft dick at a porn shoot, but I will be sure to juggle my priorities in order to maintain consistency on this blog. It's simply too fun not to.

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Random Joke: What's the difference between jam and jelly?

Answer: I can't jelly my dick in your mom's ass.

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So last month this chick emailed me asking some sex questions, but she's only 17. If you're reading this, random 17-year-old girl, I can't answer your inquiries. I'm sorry but I can't answer sex questions from people who I can't buttfuck legally. Then again, in New Jersey you can't buttfuck unless you're married I'm pretty sure, so scratch that. You get the point.

During my vacation from work I didn't do much. I needed a break from life and it was a much-needed one...full of weed smoke and profound questions like, "Should I masturbate now or later?" I did take mushrooms and that was pretty fucking fun. The only quote I wrote down during the whole trip was, "I want to say what I'm thinking out loud, but everything is just fine in my head." Take that how you will.

I'm on a bit of a ganja break as well so even though I'll probably be more irritable over the next day or two, it needs to be done. My brain feels like it's underwater and I need to save money to spend it on booze.

It's 2011 now...I'd wish you all a Happy New Year but it wouldn't be genuine. There's no possible way I like all 230 people who follow this blog, but I'm sure I like the heavy majority of you.

Editor's Note: That doesn't mean fat chicks by the way.

For the ones who I probably like, may your 2011 be filled with lots of candy, oral sex and manageable hangovers.

Post-Entry Editor's Note: A couple paragraphs above I mention my 230 followers...within 10 minutes it became 229. I understand there are some blogs where people follow and then it's not what they expect it to be, but what the fuck did you expect that's different from why you followed me to begin with?

Random Observations, Part XII

2010-12-21T11:57:00.003-05:00

I know I did one of these a couple weeks ago - and a couple weeks before that - but it's my blog so suck it. This one is going to be longer than usual (that's what he said), so if you can't get through it all in one sitting I understand. Just think of reading my entries as me blog-banging you - sometimes a break is necessary.

1) I recently rolled a blunt...naked. I've never done that before. The reason why it was done is because I got sexiled from my room by my 17-year-old brother - he needed a place to go because he shares a room with my other bro. So, being the reasonable older brother that I am, I went in the bathroom and rolled up before I took a shower while he chitty-chitty banged-banged. The process was a little weird because I got some weed in my leg hair, but besides that it was a rather normal experience.

Editor's Note: My brother did anal with a chick before I have. Unreal. It's insane to me that I've never tried this.

2) Pleading the Fifth is ironic. I feel like most of the time if you choose not to answer a question, you have something to hide. No? I understand that the Fifth Amendment is in place to protect citizens because words can be twisted, and I appreciate that. But, like many laws, it's abused. No answer often tells people just as much as the real answer.

3) College was tougher 20 years ago. I don't mean because of academics...I mean because of having no cell phones. Recently I was at a bar with Van and he told me about a friend of his who's a bit older than we are. She's not "nasty, fat, old chick" status yet, but she's getting there. I think she's in her late 30's. Haha....kidding ladies. Take it easy.

Anyway, she talked about how booty calls in college were practically non-existent. What were you supposed to do at 1 a.m. if you wanted to bang, call the person's room? Kinda weird. I guess you simply had to have the audacity to go to their place and make it happen, or just have things prearranged. I sort of like that better than cell phones though...sometimes those things really chafe my weiner. Or grind my gears. Whatever.

Editor's Note: No caller ID also makes things interesting. This is unrelated to #3, but I don't care - this kid Frances back in 7th grade prank called his math teacher, only he didn't know that the guy had caller ID. We were still at the time when not everyone had it. So Frances called, the teacher answered and Frances screamed, "I'M GONNA SHIT IN YO FUCKIN' MOUTH!" Teacher called him back and was not pleased.

4) Once in a while, my right nut hurts. I couldn't figure it out. The pain occurrence is seldom, but it still happens enough to make me curious. I then realized that it only happens occasionally after I jerk off. Why would my right nut hurt post-masturbation and not my left?

I recently figured out why: I'm right-handed. Because of this, I obviously primarily masturbate with my right hand. Due to the angle of masturbation, sometimes if I'm going too fast I seem to be repeatedly punching my right nut. The continuous abuse of the testicle will undoubtedly render a painful result, which explains why my nut would hurt for at least 30 minutes. Typically when you get hit in the nut it hurts right away, but because I'm masturbating I'm not paying attention. It's like getting punched in the face in a moshpit - you don't feel it until after the fact.

5) There's a difference between an 'asshole' and a 'dickhead.' An asshole is a good person but extremely cynical. They're loyal to the people they love, yet they refuse to give anyone else the benefit of the doubt. A dickhead is a dickhead: They do fucked up shit and selfishly justify it, or simply don't care enough to even bother to address it. And if you're an asshole who tends to be a dickhead way too often, you're a douchebag.

6) "I know I'm talking about him right now behind his back, but you know I'd say it to his face." Yeah, but you don't. I'm not saying that you wouldn't, I'm saying that you haven't. Seems to me like you're being a douchebag.

7) Driplets annoy me. It's when you're done peeing but a little bit comes out like 30 seconds later if you don't shake it all out. Obviously chicks aren't shaking their weiners post-urination, but I'd like to know if they get vadge-driplets. I honestly don't know if it happens to all dudes, but occasionally it happens to me and it's extremely inconvenient. Here are some examples:

a) One time I went to masturbate after I took a piss. Shit got all over my hand. Actually, it was piss, but you get what I'm saying.

b) Went to the bathroom at the gym then ran on the treadmill. I practically pissed myself. Each stride seemingly let out another drip, which reminded me of a time when my friend's overweight father walked down the stairs and ripped ass with each step he took. This is how my mind operates - typically revolving around bodily functions.

8) Do you believe in Heaven and Hell? I'm just kidding...I really don't care. If I may quote Dark Helmet from "Spaceballs" played by the renowned Rick Moranis: "Fool you!"

9) "To be perfectly honest with you," I hate that fucking phrase. Why do you need to remind me that you're being honest? Am I supposed to pay more attention to you because you preface a sentence with this statement? I know that many people use it to make sure that they're being heard, but all it does is tell me that you're accustomed to lying. Sociopaths use sentences like these to get one over on people. It's an entirely unnecessary saying. If I've used that sentence in the past, I apologize. I'm never using it again.

10) Luke and I have our special "HOUSE IT!" version of "Deck the Halls." I think it should be called "House my Balls" but I need approval from Luke first.

"'Tis the season to be housing: a-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Houuuse your mother in the bathroom: a-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Wouuuld you like to houuuse my weiner? a-la-la, LA-LA-LA! la, la, la

On your knees and dish that beaner: A-LA-LA-LA-LA! A-LA-LA-LA-LA! A-LA-LA-LA-LA, la-la-la-laaaa."

You're more than welcome to belt it out whenever you'd like. A soundbite of us singing it is a possibility by the way. But if I don't give you any goodness tomorrow, have a good holiday and don't forget to house it.

All For You

2010-12-20T14:27:00.004-05:00

While I - like many - am busy with work as I cram in everything before my break starts, I'm still making time for you. So if you could thank me in the form of masturbation that would be appreciated. Also, yell "HOUSE IT!" as you cum.

Editor's Note: If you're a dude I'd rather not know about your masturbation habits, thankyouverymuch. One time my friend Donny told me he jerked off to a chick I had gotten with - wish you didn't tell me that bro. Oh and I've actually never yelled "HOUSE IT!" upon ejaculation, but I have yelled "I'm A Bear!" Long story if you don't know The Bear Joke.

On Friday night we did some good ol' fashion housing in Hoboken. During the pregame this one dude was bragging to me about how he works with Stephen Baldwin - he had me listen to a voicemail to prove to me that he indeed knows him. So I listened to the message, but little does this dude know that I plugged Baldwin's number in my phone with plans of prank calling him. I intend on using his patented line from one of my favorite movies - "The Usual Suspects" - when he screams, "GIMME THE FUCKIN' KEYS YA COCKSUCKA MOTHAFUCKA AHHHHH!"

Moving on, Luke and I fucking dominated in beer pong (I'm so fucking good it's scary) and then a bunch of us were off to the bar. Hoboken is a great time with manageable booze prices, so in terms of the night life I don't have many complaints. Except one:

Man, was that place white.

I don't like "white bars" as you know: I like a bit of ethnic mixup. I'm not saying all of Hoboken is like this, but that bar was overwhelmingly white. For example, when everyone in the bar is singing the "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" theme song in unison, you know you're at a white bar. When people are dancing in circles instead of keeping themselves grounded and in rhythm, you know you're at a white bar. It was like watching 100 people dancing like Elaine in "Seinfeld."

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Saturday came along and we went out to celebrate Rifa's birthday. Obviously we came out for Rifa, but the night was an accomplishment in many ways - I wanted my college friends to get a chance to hang out with my girlfriend. They loved her as expected, or at least they told me they did.

Editor's Note: Na, I know she was a big hit. However, if someone asked me if I liked their girlfriend and I didn't, I'd keep my mouth shut.

I also took the opportunity to get some mushrooms. You know, for chicken marsala and stuff. In addition I hadn't hung out with my old roommates in a while, so that was fucking great as usual. I know everyone says this, but in college we partied harder than anyone I know. Hands fucking down.

A main reason for this is Toby. Toby's been written about in this blog a few times, mainly because he was the most reckless motherfucker I ever met. He also has a vocabulary unlike any other. Not in terms of abusing profanity, but just the way he words things. Have you ever met a guy who told a girl that her "aesthetics are awe-inspiring?" Don't think so. He then complimented my girlfriend's skin, saying it looks like "you must take a lot of Vitamin D and E."

But the next quote is the best. One thing about Toby is that when he laughs really hard, it's contagious...everyone has a friend like this. As we were walking to a bar I was telling him about how awesome I think his laugh is. He responded by saying this:

"I laugh like a pedophile who got what he wanted."

Start The Day Off Right

2010-12-16T09:54:00.006-05:00

Woke up, took a shower. Then after the shower, took a shit. Don't you hate when that happens? Normally it's okay because you can hop back in the shower and wash off post-doodiness, but I was in a rush.

Editor's Note: I've been starting many of my entries with "shit" as of late, but I believe it's expected at this point. Shit + Jizz + Women + Skittles = Dan's Blog.

Speaking of being in a rush, I got rear-ended on the highway about 45 minutes ago. That didn't help me being late for work. Stupid ho was freaking out the second she hit me. Not at me...it was more 'post-accident hysteria' - something more typical amongst women. Plus she slammed me from behind....it was obviously her fault.

Editor's Note: It's never good when a girl slams you from behind.

She was about my age and not bad looking, but she was crying too much for me to truly gauge hotness. Also, because she was sitting down and it was cold out, I couldn't get a good look at her body. I feel like she had a big ass.

Oh yeah, I should be pissed. FUCK THAT BITCH. Actually I don't really care. I let her go without trading insurance (or getting a blowjob) because my car is banged up in so many places already - my car's basically like a whore who's been workin' the corner for 10 years. I tried to finagle some cash out of her but she showed me her empty wallet so I briefly lectured her and then went to Dunkin Donuts.

The thing is, back in the day I rear-ended an ambulance with its sirens on. That's a big deal. The driver was cool since I didn't kill anyone in the back of the truck, so we went our separate ways without trading papers. That really would have anally accosted me, so I thought about that and figured I'd do a good deed.

Then I arrived at Dunkin Donuts. I got a bagel and coffee and as I threw my money onto the counter, I then noticed that I had also thrown a 20 bag of weed along with my $5 bill. The Spanish workers got a good laugh out of it, as I'm sure they made fun of me in a language I only understand bits and pieces of. Good thing there wasn't a cop in line like there is half the time.

Editor's Note: There's one worker there who I've mentioned before. It's not like she's attractive, cuz she's not - she has a messy ass and weird tits. But her face is attractive and she has this Spanish accent, so I love it every time she says, "Hi may I heeeelp you?" Yes...yes you can. I got some bavarian cream waiting for you.

So Dr. Phallus - one of my many alter egos - received a question from a reader. I can't promise that I'll get to it this week, but I'll see what I can do. Thankfully it's not from a fake gay dude trying to get me to meet up with him as a hoax. That was unbelievable.

Pardon my lack of frequent blogging that you're all accustomed to. It has nothing to do with the holidays like most of you bloggers who have been slacking...just been busy at work and haven't had the desire to force anything out. Yes, I'm sure you can come up with a joke from that. If I don't do it up tomorrow I suggest you have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it.

Some Shit's On My Mind

2010-12-13T16:06:00.003-05:00

No really...I took two shits before noon. Usually doesn't happen that way for me - I'm more of a "one and done" kinda guy - It was a rather messy morning.

Editor's Note: Don't eat and read this blog simultaneously...ever.

I will admit that besides actual shit, there's other shit on my mind as well.

Fighting

It's really fucking stupid. Unless you're a professional fighter, you should never get in a fight unless it's to defend 1) Your family, 2) Your friends, or 3) Your significant other. Alvin got in a fight recently and though I can't remember if it was necessary, his face now looks like he should be in Avatar. However, considering how many people were (unjustifiably) obsessed with that movie, he should be able to score major ass from all those freaks. I know I'd fuck that blue bitch any day of the week. I'd get a semi every time she'd make that 'hiss' noise.

Editor's Note: I know someone who saw that movie in the theater 20 fucking times. That's $240 not counting what it costs to see it in 3-D. I also think it's funny when people tell me, "Dude...3-D's fucking crazy." Uh...we as people see in 3-D...all the time. Pay attention ass-face.

(I know I'm just being cynical.)

Perfection

It's not a myth...I don't see why some things can't be perfect. Professor Papsmear may have told you that perfection is an unattainable goal, and your parents probably told you the notion of how "nothing is perfect." I don't appreciate it and I'm not telling kids that. Perfection is not impossible - it just takes timing and the ability to widen one's gaze.

It's also opinion. Just because I think some things are perfect doesn't mean you will, but because we disagree doesn't make either of us wrong. Sometimes it's not about wrong/right, it's about point of view. And most of the time, your point of view should be the only one that matters.

For example: breasts. Your stupid ass may think that your girlfriend's B-cup breasts are perfect...are they? Of course not. A pair of "how do they stay up there with no bra?" 36D breasts are perfect. But you don't think that, because your love for your girlfriend outweighs sensible perception - good for you.

Black and White

I'm starting to think that blacks are just as racist as whites. Now I'm not around blacks nearly as much as whites - and I've certainly seen my share of in-the-heart white racists - but I tend to think that blacks hate whites just as much. For different reasons, of course. Blacks hate whites because they think whites feel superior; whites hate blacks because they think they're uncivilized.

Now I'm not saying lots of black people aren't uncivilized, cuz they are. But guess what? People are uncivilized. It's not just an urban thing. There are plenty of whites who live life like a bunch of filth bags with no motivation to clean their shit up. Blacks have an excuse, what's yours whiteboy?

Don't get it twisted though. As much as I agree with the fact that blacks have the "we were slaves" excuse, it's about that time to put a lid on it. Stop pulling the race card - as much as America fucked up with blacks, she's tried to make up for it in plenty of ways. At the same time, try to imagine that black slaves in America weren't allowed to be educated, then suddenly one day they were free. So basically, millions of uneducated people were thrown into the mold of society with expectations to properly acclimate? Biggest mistake our country ever made. Not freeing the slaves, but the transition from binding shackles to breaking them.

Random Observations, Part XI

2010-12-09T10:51:00.003-05:00

1) What a stupid fucking headline. But now it's been 11 of them and no one's told me. I was about to write something fart-related but then as I typed the headline, it all hit me. Using a cliche is like having sex with an ugly chick - it's something you do because it takes no effort. Only once in awhile does it work out...all the other times you wish you put more thought into your behavior.

2) I fart more than the average person. Told you I was writing something fart-related...it just got delayed by a chemical epiphany. Farting kicks ass and all, but when I'm with a girl it makes shit signifcantly more difficult. By "shit" I mean laying in bed at night and trying to go to sleep without ripping serious ass. I'll have to go to the other side in the room at 6 a.m. and let it out like air out of a basketball: Pffffffffff.

Editor's Note: It's not that girls mind when a guy farts. In fact I'd guess that most of them are cool with it. Actually, girls probably laugh at farts more than guys. When I fart around females - whether they're grossed out or not - they laugh their vaginas off.

The problem is that there's a difference between farting on occasion and doing it all the time. I have to fart fairly often, and even though it probably won't smell, it's not a good look. It just isn't.

3) People think you're stupid. Do you assume someone is stupid before you get to know them? I typed the word "compoundly" into dictionary.com to see if it existed...but alas my effort was futile. What did come up was a bunch of "related searches" - it then listed about 10 links all along the lines of "How to become a better writer." I thought that was funny. Not funny in a "that dude just threw one of those crazy hard bouncy balls into a brick wall from five feet away and it shot back and hit him in the forehead" kind of way. I mean funny like "some girls told me this chick liked me so I asked her out and she said no" kind of way.

Editor's Note: Bouncy ball reference was an incredible moment in my lifetime. There needs to be a word that describes moments like that. You know when you do something simple...something like throwing an object across the room not caring where it landed. But for some reason it landed in the most perfect way, like a massive key chain resting on a doorknob after a lefthanded throw from 15 feet away. (True story...Elmer did that.) You know for some reason that something crazy is about to happen, yet you don't know why. "I'll never be able to do that again," you often think. Everyone has stories like that, but no one has a word for it. Words are invented so people don't have to talk as much.

4) I don't think you're stupid. You might be, but lots of times people are stubborn and it makes them look stupid. Plus there are tons of big fuckin morons - absolutely ass-fucked in the brain by a dick the size of a Redwood - yet they can still complete certain tasks way more efficiently than I can. The brain's a muscle, just like a weiner. Actually I have no idea why a brain would be like a weiner in any way. Can you jerk your brain off? I feel like I can.

5) I write about my weiner a lot. I get the feeling that I may write about it too much. Whatever...when you come to this blog you expect weiner banter, so that's what you're gonna get. I don't mean weiners in general...just mine. Stuff like, "Sometimes before I go into the shower I spin my weiner around like a propeller." As usual, true story. I'm getting really good at it, like a girl who's mastered the hula-hoop.

6) I thought of an amazing sex position. Okay, so you got the girl on her stomach and she's naked.

Editor's Note: High-five!

Her legs are together and you straddle her ass as if you'd be giving her a back massage. You put your weiner in her vadge and as you're having sex with her, you massage her back. So money. Then you can always pull out and turn her back into a kiddie pool of semen.

Wait...you know what I mean, right? I don't think "kiddie" and "semen" should be in the same sentence. I hope that doesn't come up in my blog stats as "search keywords."

7) I view sex much differently than I used to. I took it more seriously when I was younger - I was very self-conscious that my performance wouldn't meet expectations. After some comfortable, sober experiences with confident women I realize that it's something you just have to relax about. Laugh a little, you know? I'm not saying you have to tell "knock knock" jokes while you're ramming a chick with her legs behind her head, but you gotta have fun with it. Unfortunately that's difficult to attain with first-time encounters, and because the first time sucks so often people don't want to try it again. "Good things come out of those who wait" - isn't that how it goes?

Whiskey Dickhead

2010-12-07T11:11:00.004-05:00

I just took a shit and it disappeared before I flushed. I've never understood how that happens. How is it that some poop slides down the bowl and out of sight? Is it a weight displacement thing? Does it depend on what I eat, or the force of the doodie hitting the water? So many questions left unanswered.

Editor's Note: Didn't post yesterday because I was doing jury duty. I love the utopian propagandist tone behind the introductory videos that act like we're doing a service to America. I guess we kinda are, but we don't have a choice. It's like me putting a gun to a girl's head and making her give me a blowjob, then thanking her afterwards for the stupendous fellatio. I don't do that by the way...except when your mom asks me to. Danger's your mom's middle name. Actually, she has a hyphenated middle name - the other word is 'whore.'

Because I wasn't around yesterday I couldn't take the opportunity to thank Annah for giving me more blog-love. Basically, she was bored in the airport over the weekend so she read my blog to pass the time. She came across a post, she liked it, so she posted it on her site for the masses. I think she wants people to think that I'm a nice, sensitive guy.

I suppose I am, but not when I'm really drunk. I will say that I've been much better over the past few months than normal, but my heavily-intoxicated behavior is a work in progress, and the leaf hasn't exactly been turned over yet. Obviously the control of what I imbibe is primarily my responsibility, but my friends are enablers...some worse than others.

One of them is Smitty. I've known him since I was a kid, and though we only saw each other a couple times a year since sophomore year of college, we always had a great time. He, along with a select few, have an uncanny ability to get me housed every fucking time we drink. I don't know how he does it.

And now? He's dating my sister.

Editor's Note: At the risk of getting berated by my friends, I'm actually really happy about it. Great couple.

So Saturday night I ended up meeting up with them at a bar and I was already 3 drinks deep by the time I showed up. Then the shots started coming...I don't recall them stopping.

By night's end Smitty and my sister had convinced me to pee in the bar because the bathroom line was so fucking long. Since I've done this before I was much better at executing the second time around. I sat at a table, pulled out my weiner from under it, then filled up a pint glass. Smitty continued to pass me scotch glasses while I stopped-and-started to fill up five more. Smitty was overwhelmed with awe. My sister then tried to dispose of the big glass but got urine on her hand, which was ridiculously funny.

As for the rest of the people at the bar? They weren't too happy. My drunk ass was bragging about it, the waiter had to clean it up, and a random girl who wanted to sit at that table called me "fucking disgusting." I believe I responded with, "Shut up. Get over it."

Editor's Note: Smitty and my sister are practically as reckless as I am, so they loved every second of it.

That's the thing. It's not like what I did wasn't funny - my friends are usually incredibly amused by my antics - but for how long can I continue this behavior?

My readers have consistently sent me comments about how fun it would be to hang out with me. I appreciate it, but perhaps you wouldn't be so amused if you were slapped in the middle of it. The girl I was with on Saturday certainly wasn't, and rightfully so. I'm not unreasonable enough to say to a girl, "This is me: Take it or leave it," when I know it's a part of me that needs fixing.

I recently wrote about becoming a man and how I have work to do to achieve this. My buddy Mack commented that handling your liquor is one necessary quality as we ascend towards manhood, and I agree.

All of what's been written about "what makes a man" though is all relative. I don't know what makes someone a man, but I do know what makes someone a better person.

Editor's Note: In terms of drinking with my buddies, however, what makes a man is how much you drink. Call it immature, and even though I have nothing to prove I let them get the better of me because it's just too much fucking fun. A big part of getting drunk is knowing your audience...sort of like writing a blog.

Living, Learning And Re-Learning

2010-12-02T12:48:00.005-05:00

As you grow up, you fuck up. Then you learn from what you did, and odds are you fuck up again. That's the way the pussy crumbles. The following top 10 list isn't that life-shattering; just some things I've observed, learned and re-observed/learned as of late.

1) Chicks can't fuck for six weeks after they give birth. Someone in my fantasy football league recently had a kid, and he said that he hasn't gotten laid in a while because of this apparent rule. I asked a 50-year-old woman at work yesterday and she told me it's true. "We're really sore," she said. Ew.

You'd think that was awkward but it really wasn't. I'm have no problem asking women these questions, otherwise I'd never know the truth. The real awkwardness came after I mentioned this newfound information to my mother upon coming home from work.

"Hey Mom, I heard that women can't have sex for six weeks after they give birth...that's weird."

"Not if they have a Cesarean," she said. "Then there's no vadge involvment."

Thanks Mom. Didn't expect you to respond that way. Weird day.

Editor's Note: Ace just called me and I told him about this post-pregnancy news. "Yeah man, I'm not surprised," he said. "That screws 'em up pretty good."

2) If I could go back in time I'd visit the guidance counselor's office more. Well, I wouldn't. That's what Van said...to meet chicks, of course. If you're at the guidance counselor's office you're bound to see the female traffic. If there are girls who go there all the time, it means they're either really nerdy or they're weird chicks with issues. The latter definitely puts out.

I love having these phone chats with Van. I also love how if he could go back in time that's the first thing that occurs to him. On a side note, he's also the only guy I talk to consistently when I take a shit. Don't know why.

3) Sex with condoms re-sucks. Right now - because I'm fortunate enough to have a birth-control-so-no-condoms-necessary thing going - I've re-remembered how much condoms suck. When I wasn't getting laid I didn't look at condoms as a hindrance. It's been so long since I've had no-condom sex consistently that I truly forgot about how awful it is to have to wear one. The other night I had to put one on and it felt like a rubber noose was wrapped around my weiner.

As previously stated, they're only good for cleanup purposes. But besides avoiding the white-water release from the vadge-dam when I remove my log, they're awful. Unless there's lube, condoms don't give me many options.

Editor's Note: I feel like the mentioning of the word "lube" makes everything sound so much dirtier.

4) I now know why politics sucks. I was always told about the humanitarian shortcomings and selfish tendencies of politicians, but growing up I never really paid attention. America was a powerhouse, our economy was flourishing, and I was too young to need to care.

Now, I've been working at a newspaper for 5 years and I'm 26. I have been entrenched in local politics and for the most part, they all care about furthering their careers. Every good deed has an ulterior motive. On the local level you'll get a few good people, but as most climb the federal ladder it's quite disconcerting. Constituents vote on their party line...that's it. All electees do is rob you to benefit themselves and those behind the scenes who got them elected.

Editor's Note: Obama got elected because 1) No one liked Republicans at the time, and 2) The youth came out to vote. Now, Republicans are bouncing back and the youth couldn't care less - they're too busy partying. They don't give a fuck anymore because they're not seeing Obama ads in their video games. I'm not blaming Obama by the way - I don't think he ever had a chance to succeed. But a big problem is that Obama wasn't a bad choice...he was the only choice. A typical theme in elections. I still love America though: We rule.

5) Women deserve to be hit. Well, some do at times. Doesn't mean I'd ever do it, but that also doesn't mean they don't deserve it. You're telling me that when I rightfully accused my ex-girlfriend of cheating on me, and she got drunk and started swinging fists at me, I didn't have a right to rock the bitch? Fuck that. Glad I didn't simply because my conscience couldn't handle it.

Elmer and I once discussed what scenario would necessitate hitting a woman. His ex-girlfriend lied about being pregnant...that deserves a smack. Then we came up with the hypothetical situation of a really fat chick trying to rob us on the street. Endless humor ensued.

I'm a chivalrous dude and all, but lots of people go through life without getting what they deserve. On the opposite end, too many people get what they don't deserve. People tell me I can't play God because I don't have the right, meanwhile the people who "do" are often Satanic instead of Godly.

Editor's Note: I believe my chivalry is well-documented enough for women to not unfollow me after reading that. Uh...right?

6) I have never known myself better than right now. When I was younger I used to think that I was being judged by up above. I now realize that realistically, I'm being judged by those around me. What I do in this life is not paving the way for my afterlife. God to me is as man-made as the bullshit politicians feed us on a daily basis. Everyone needs a crutch, and the Lord is the biggest one.

I'm not saying people who believe in God are stupid...I just think they need him in their lives. It's just a shame that extremists look down on everyone else; all it does is stigmatize the religion and mask the people who practice it the right way. But what is the "right way?" All opinions that we'll never agree on.

7) I recently gave a facial for the first time. I'm not talking about a day spa either. I'll tell you: There's something really attractive about a girl when her face is doused with my jizz. I suppose it's the domination aspect that appeals me - I love taking a female over. This also relates to #6 - I'm lately understanding and respecting how much bitches just wanna get it, but not every guy is capable of such. I'd like to think I am.

8) I can't be in a bathroom with Luke. Whenever I'm in public with Luke and we go into a bathroom, I immediately get flashbacks of Las Vegas. As I've written many times, we arrived in our hotel room at 6 a.m. and went into the bathroom because everyone was sleeping and we were still wired. Our delirium catalyzed such laughter that I had to sit on the toilet bowl and shit while my nose bled profusely.

I also remember the airport on the way back from our cruise. I had to take a shit so I was in a stall; Luke then sat in the stall next to me and literally let out a five-second fart. EZE then sat in the stall next to Luke and we all shat and laughed for about 15 minutes. The laughter was so intense that I began to cry because I couldn't stop. Seriously...I was crying. Like, funeral crying.

I recently saw a movie with Luke and went into the bathroom. The second he walked in I was laughing to the point that it was creating a scene, and he didn't even do anything. He doesn't have to.

9) The missionary position is underrated. I don't see what all the hoopla is about how this position sucks. What's so bad about it? You can really ram shit home when you're on top a female, no? I feel like there are a lot of options in this position if you can think outside the box while you're weiner's inside the box. Here are other reasons why it's fun:

a) You can move her legs around any which way.

b) You can pull out and give her a facial.

c) You can pull out and give her a chesty.

d) You can pull out and put it in her mouth.

e) You can choke her. There's a specific way to do it that makes it "hot" and not "rapisty."

f) You can do the clitoral multi-task with your thumb if you're up to it.

g) It keeps you in good shape.

Editor's Note: That's just about one-third of the alphabet, and there's much more. Elaborating on the "good shape" thing: I like when if I'm going at it after a while my arms get tired, which then distracts me from having sex, which then allows me to last longer. Distractions are key sometimes, especially if the girl's hot.

10) I've been streaking once before. I got wasted years back and streaked with 2 dudes. One I don't speak with because we were never really friends, and one I've kept in touch with. I have also mentioned this in my blog before, except now things are different.

As for the guy I'm friends with? He's now dating my sister. So yeah, I saw him naked before she did.

Who's The Man?

2010-11-30T08:21:00.004-05:00

I'm 26.

I'm Jewish.

Actually, I'm more like a Jew...not really that Jewish. I don't practice the religion much but I'm proud of it. I don't feel like getting into specifics so like a guy seen dead with a noose around his neck and his hand on his weiner, that about sums it up.

Being someone who repsects Judaism I understand that technically, I spent the first 13 years of my life becoming a man, culminated by my Bar Mitvah. Now as a 13-year-old, once the induction into manhood is complete I then devote my life to doing whatever being a man entails. And more importantly, a Jewish man.

Today is 13 years since that day. What have I done in the same time being a man as it took beoming one? Have I lived up to what is asked of me as a Jew? Is developing a big weiner during that time enough evidence? I suppose I have tons of winging-it bullshit I can give you about what I've learned about life and being a man, but ultimately it all comes down to one thing:

I need another 13 years.

Editor's Note: Ask me again when I'm 39. Actually, you never asked me once...I kinda just started writing about it. So ask me once when I'm 39. There.

Maybe then will I have any idea if I'm a man or not. I'm definitely an achieving man in some ways, but I feel like I'm mad boyish in others. I think it's because I'm around kids a lot. Most people who are my age aren't living in a house with their younger brothers. It keeps a certain vocabulary going that you tend to lose once you graduate college. My friends help as well.

Suburb Kids Tangent: That reminds me...not sure how many of you readers are aware of the bisexual commenter "Tom" - he wrote in a question a long time ago about his gayness and I answered it. I fucking gave some random dude who I thought was a reader advice about how to take it in the ass. This is when the insecure "But I've never taken it in the ass" comment comes in. But seriously...I haven't. I have however, received a blowjob from a female fairly recently, and that was fantastic. Anyway, this dude Tom would then hit on me in the comments section. I didn't think he was real but my friends - whom I constantly suspected - continued to tell me for 4 months that it wasn't them.

Turns out Tom was Ace. As I've said many times, never underestimate how badly suburb kids wanna call you gay. All my friends knew about this hoax except for me. Gotta say...very well done - I'm impressed. I feel like this "Who Is Tom?" saga will go down in my-blog history. But isn't it funny that Ace got gayer than any straight guy I know in order to call me gay? He was way too good at it if you ask me.

The thing is, there aren't many undisputed defining characteristics that make up a man. It's all relative...it's like the word 'normal.' I personally think that a real man knows how to tie a tie - something I haven't learned yet. Every fucking time I try to do it it's under a rushed situation, so I can never take the time to make it happen. Though it would up me a rung on the man ladder, "tie a tie" isn't the first sentence I'd write if I started a To-Do List. In fact, I have no idea what would even be on that list.

But ineptitude doesn't mean I'm less of a man...it means I'm a dumb lazy fuck. Lots of men are dumb lazy fucks. I guess the word "man" implies that I'm a mature male with my life under control and priorities in order. Whatever, talk to those people and see if they're any less fucked up than I am.

In terms of the Jewish thing? I have my views, but I don't think I want my blog to go there. All I'll say today is that Jews are cool and though I have an awesome johnson, the circumcision - though very well done - most likely reduced sensation from the tip. Not cool. I didn't sign up to get my dick sliced. Other than that I got no beef with you, Judaism.

Editor's Note: It's okay to complain about my own religion, but I feel like if I write about why I like it, it comes off as boasting and "shoving it down your throat." We'll leave the latter to my weiner.

Holiday Cycle

2010-11-29T13:26:00.005-05:00

On Mondays in this blog, sometimes I say I had a good weekend; other times I say that my weekend was so great that it was undoubtedly better than yours. Very rarely do I write about having a shitty weekend, typically because I like to avoid my humor being complaint-oriented, which is often difficult to achieve.

Editor's Note: People like hearing other people bitch because they're reminded that they're not the only one with problems. Those people are called assholes.

This implies that my weekend was shitty...it was not. It was pretty relaxing actually. I saw a lot of family, played football, smoked weed and went out with my friends - I basically spent Friday night thru Sunday sitting around...and as far as I can remember I only masturbated once. Not bad.

Editor's Note: I am still so good at football. Great confidence boost even though I'm as sore as a virgin after a gangbang - except with me there was less blood and my orifices are okay, but you know what I mean.

Oh yeah, over the weekend there was also that whole "Thanksgiving" thing. Every year I'm obviously thankful for family and friends, and every year I also mention how thankful I am that I'm not ugly. Seriously: Being ugly sucks. Of course there's that "ugly is relative" notion, but some people are just ugly.

During Thanksgiving dinner we always go around the table saying what we're thankful for. I know...very original. My grandmother is always thankful for the fact that she has "beautiful grandchildren." I agree.

Then came my aunt. In a nutshell, my aunt is a nutshell...with a nut inside of it. You know when you're a chick, and when people are visibly annoyed with you you'll put on a cute voice so people feel sorry for you? That's what my aunt does, except she's not a hot 20-year-old with an awesome rack. In fact let's not get into my aunt's rack at all you sick fucks.

Anyway, this was the tail end of her "what I'm thankful for" rant, after she said she was a born-again virgin. Yeah...I don't fuckin' know either:

"I'm thankful that I don't smoke 2.5 packs a day anymore...

I'm thankful that I don't smoke pot anymore...

I'm thankful that I don't do cocaine anymore...

And I'm thankful that I don't do speed anymore because it would make me stub my toe and I'd get very upset."

Amazing. My mother was balls-out laughing. Actually I guess she was vadge-out laughing because she's a woman, but now we've gone from my aunt's anatomy to my mother's. What's wrong with you people...why are you making me write this way?

Now that this holiday is over, the other holidays begin. Whether you're Jewish, Christian or Islam there's something to celebrate...and a reason to have to spend a shitload of fucking money. So you spend money on people, they say thank you, then you go into 2011 with an empty wallet. But of course you do it "to see the look on their faces"...not because you have no choice.

Editor's Note: I actually do like to get gifts to see the look on their faces. I pride myself in being a great gift-giver. I'm a much better giver than receiver, in many facets of life.

Then New Year's comes along and for some reason, people think that because it's a new year they have to make a "resolution." People can't just make resolutions out of the blue, it has to be on Jan. 1 because it's a "fresh start." All holidays do is dictate people's behavior. A part of me hates it, but a part of me understands that people - who are mostly selfish - need the structure of holidays to tell them what to do.

The rest of us like holidays because it enables us to make up for all the ways we've fucked up. Nothing like a card, a present and an "I Love You" to compensate for months of neglect. Fucking bullshit. How about you try not being an asshole all year instead?

Sorry for my sour mood: I have post-holiday blues. The four-day weekend was awesome and I would like another one soon.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot: I'm thankful I have a big weiner. That makes me feel better.

All Sorts Of Bodily Functions

2010-11-24T10:51:00.008-05:00

So here's the guest post with Annah which is called "Dannah." Apparently I came up with the name but the cloud in my brain is telling me that it I don't remember.

Editor's Note: Dannah sounds like some sex yogurt or something, doesn't it?

Annah rocked out with some artwork so in case you didn't see it on her website, you can look here and view how repulsive I am. Wait...you knew that already. Annah's reader's didn't, which explains why I've gained followers and she's lost them since the post was put up. Good thing you still have 1,900 more Annah.

Editor's Note: I'm in blue, she's in red. You'd have figured that out I assume.

The "You've-Never-Had-It-Done-Right" Complex

I wonder why it is that when I disclose I'm not really into cunnilingus, all guys respond with the That's because you've never had it done rightline? Why can't they just accept that I don't like it? That I'd much rather be getting a manicure or drinking a mimosa with girlfriends. Instead of spending so much time proving themselves doing something I don't enjoy, how about perfecting the art of doing the things I do, subsequently reeling me in with their mastery of learning new skills?

I'm aware that everyone is different. I have a friend who gets off from seeing her boyfriend masturbate in the shower while another likes hers to dress as a football player and make love to her wearing cleats. I personally prefer a good S&M session with a few bite and claw marks. After all, isn't that one of the pros of being an adult? Knowing what gets you off and what doesn't? Why is it then, that if I request a certain style of lovemaking the man is intent on laying his focus on going down on me when I've said over and over I don't enjoy it. Please, shed light. Oh and before I forget, it's the same guy who tells me I've never had it done right who's quick to agree I just don't like it once he tries and tries and I'm still not into it. Just sayin'.

My instinct says that you’ve never had it done right...and you know what?I’ve always been taught to go with my instincts. I personally don’t give a shit how many times you hated it in the past. If done right you will like it. It’s science. Woman has clitaurus, guy has tongue, what’s the fucking problem? Oh yeah, I think "clitaurus" is appropriate because that body part is a beast of its own. Anyway I’ll tell you what the problem is: comfortability. Not easy to have a mouth on your vadge unless you trust the guy - at least for some girls. Some ladies need everything to be right, while some can do it right in the back of a Jeep Cherokee.

By denying this attempt at pleasure, you're basically saying the dude is going to suck. But you can’t judge after one go-round...we need a few reps before we can get it down.We need to become friends with the vagina. A new vagina is like a new car: You know the basics, but each car has stuff in weird places. So you, a female, is gonna be like, “Oh I’d rather talk about Christian Louboutin than get my pussy eaten” instead of train a dude to hit sixth gear on your vadge? Have fun kissing I guess.

Don't get me wrong, kissing’s fun and it seems that ladies get into it more if a guy is a good kisser. Actually a girl told me she once orgasmed from kissing, but then again she also told me that she got pregnant while on birth control after having sex with a dude who was wearing a condom…so I don’t fuckin’ know. And yes, I had to look up Christian Louboutin.

The Lost Art of Teasing

As an adult I've often wondered whatever happened to the days when people would actually wait to have sex. And by this of course I don't mean not having sex before marriage, but instead the art of foreplay (real foreplay). When did it become acceptable to jump on each other every single time two people sleep together or, worse off, performing a methodical chain of steps before doing the nasty (kiss for five minutes, fellatio and cunnilingus for another ten, then sex). No one teases anymore and I want to know... Why the fuck not?

Whether it's rubbing or massaging or licking or whatever it is that turns your partner on before actually getting it on. The pulling away, the I-know-you-want-it-but-I'm-not-gonna-give-it-to-you-yet, the handcuffing or blindfolding, the breathing onto certain body parts without really touching, ehrm... Let me stop before I run off with myself and leave this post half-finished.

But seriously... A few months ago when I was still celibate I was seeing someone and he performed this game of breathing/kissing on my back where he'd brush his lips then pull away and breath. He knew I wasn't going to do anything that would lead to sex so instead he just teased with his mouth/lips until I almost exploded on my headboard all the while wondering, Why do people not do this more often?! Hotness.

If dudes tease women they’ll do a better job returning the favor. And dudes - there's nothing better than a woman who can return the favor. Seriously...thank you ladies. It's important to be grateful for the little things in life, but then again I don't consider blowjobs to be a "little thing"...they're pretty fucking clutch.

And because we love sexual activity so much, it's difficult for us to tease a female. We just want to go in and not come out until it's time to come in. Wow that sounds gross. Uh...we just want to make sweet love to our beautiful woman because we can't take not being pressed up against her any longer. Yeah.

Massages are key and if you can get a girl to actually enjoy it...achem...you should go downtown for a little while. A lot of times when people have sex, it seems that foreplay is no longer as prevalent. People just get drunk and bang because they’re horny and that’s that. When a guy teases a girl, he has her wanting it… ...waiting... …hoping... …because he’s the fucking man. He’s making her want him more than anything at the moment, yet the art of teasing is to make her think she has it, and right when you think she's about to explode... ....wait just a little longer.

Then boom: Weiner time.

The "Red Means Go" Sex

I've never actually been put off by doing the deed while menstruating but it seems a lot of my friends are vehemently opposed to such "practices." Most of them ewwwww and yuccckkkkk when I bring it up and I'm thinking either a) they're putting on a show for each other even though they really like it or b) I'm a sick fuck. Either way I really don't care because when you're menstruating there's just something animal about the whole thing which magnifies every emotion times 1000. Am I wrong? I've never had anyone flat out be opposed to it. Which once again says either the people I've danced the horizontal mambo with are totally open minded, or freaks of nature. Okay, I'll stop now.

Technology's won another battle in my life. They have this thing called the "Instead" - I'm sure you ladies are aware of it. For those that don't know it's this device that cups the blood so it stays in this little compartment while you bone. So as long as I'm not getting down on days 1 or sometimes-2, things are rather clean for my weiner. It's like a burglar went through a house without leaving a fingerprint, except in this case the burglar has permission.

I used to be different with that stuff. You see the thing is, I've had different experiences than most men when it comes to periods. I've witnessed things that no man should ever witness. I've played a game of "Go Fish" that you did not play with your grandmother growing up...let's leave it at that.

Therefore, I didn't ever want to be near it. If a girl I was making sticky with was facing that time of the month, I thought to myself that I'd rather swim in the Dead Sea than the Red Sea. No sex for me. And yes Annah, we expect blowjobs. It's just how it is. Like how we're supposed to be nice to you when you're pregnant, you're supposed to give us blow jays while you're Raggedy Ann(ah). Are you gonna get mad at me if I call you that? It just occurred to me that I really don't know you that well. Are you on your period right now? Shit.

I wasn't aware of this new "technology." Hmmmm. Towels or showers work just as well.

Does This Even Need A Title?

I was on the phone with my friend the other day and I seriously have no idea how the subject came up but it did: Urinating on people as foreplay. He was completely disgusted by the fact that some are turned on by it (or possibly acting that way to see what my reply was). I, on the other hand, don't really see why anyone would be turned on by it (cough, cough, R. Kelly) but can't really be judgmental about something so innocuous. Frankly as far as sex is concerned I feel nothing is odd as long as you're not physically hurting anyone else (unless they asked for it) or doing things with a minor (that's just fucking wrong). So with that said, I wouldn't allow anyone to urinate (or defecate for that matter) on me, but wasn't opposed to doing so on someone when they so kindly asked me a few years back.

I got mentally prepared and drank like a gallon of water and finally climbed on him and tried... and tried... and closed my eyes... and thought of waterfalls... and tried some more, but it just didn't happen. Our relationship dissolved soon after that and as non-judgmental as I considered myself I wondered if it had anything to do with that odd incident.

In a nutshell, this is how I feel about all of this.

Somehow the topic of pissing on a chick has come up. Annah, do you wanna get pissed on? Because I'll totally piss on a chick if she wants me to. I know the word 'totally' implies that I want to do it, but I'm honestly indifferent. If she's into it I'll do it, if she's not, I'll live. That also implies that I've done it before. I have not. As for shit? That's a different story. Not down with the doodie.

After going to college I heard some nasty stories about people. My sister's roommate let a dude pee on her on the regular, and she even tasted doodie once. My cousin knew a guy who was a victim of a girl who spiked his drink...with a laxative. Yeah, she wasn't trying to get him drunk - she wanted him to shit himself because it was an aphrodisiac for her. Could you imagine shitting yourself in a bed while your partner sexily rubs it on herself? Wait...can you "sexily" rub shit on yourself? Probably not. Sorry I asked.

Fakers

Annah told me I had to come up with a fifth one. For those of you who haven't been fortunate enough to hear her sexy Cuban accent, it's one that makes you want to listen. As I type this I'm unaware of what our next subject will be - maybe it should be something not as sexual, but unfortunately my mind isn't working that way at the moment. Right now I'm thinking about faking orgasms. Fuckin' bitches man.

I faked it once...I wanted to see if I could do it. It wasn't worth it. I don't think chicks get blue balls, but that's another story. Blue vagina? Not like the way we get it, that's for sure. You know how when you ran you've gotten one of those side cramps? That happens to our balls. Our sensitive, baby-producing testes.

But obviously, dudes rarely fake orgasms. Why would we? I just wanted to prove a point to her that it's not difficult to pretend like something's better than it is. I learned a lot from that experience, and it's something I've learned time and time again: Always be grateful for good sex. If you're in a position where you feel the need to consistently fake it, you're not tricking anyone but yourself.

I think most girls who say they've never faked an orgasm are liars or super heroes. I can say with conviction and no shame whatsoever that I've faked quite a few in my lifetime. Now before you go judging me you have to understand sometimes us women fake it for the sake of the guy. There are two sides to every story just as there are two sides to every faker. Some fake it because they're bored and want to "get it over with", while others fake it because they can't orgasm and don't feel comfortable in sharing this with their partner. I mainly fake because the guy isn't turning me on (or because I'm really sleepy and want him to finish already!). It's much easier to throw in a few screams and back scratches with heavy breathing and call it a day, then it is to say, "Papi, I'm tired... Can you finish already?" and have to endure the weird looks from your lover.

With that said, if the guy you're with is considerate and sexy and good with his hands and adept at pleasing and following directions, there's no reason to fake anything.

If you don't believe me, then ask my Clitaurus.

Editor's Note: I fucking love this picture. I don't see how I can't post it on my home page at some point. Have a happy holiday everyone. Eat lots of food then puke it up, masturbate and eat some more. Oh, and don't forget to house it.

HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUUUSSSSSE IT!

Thankful For Blowjobs

2010-11-23T09:00:00.004-05:00

I've been pretty busy this week so I haven't had time to blog, but I threw a guest piece together for Annah so you should read it. You know when you write something you're really proud of? That happened to me...but it didn't save. To cope I got stoned and waited a day, hoping some of the muse returned to me. We'll see I guess.

Editor's Note: It may not be posted yet so either you click on the link repeatedly until it is, or wait awhile and hope for your sake that it's there.

So lots of times on the holidays, bloggers tend to write something related to that day. For example, since Thanksgiving is approaching everyone's writing about what they're thankful/not thankful for. I've done it before so I'm gonna leave it alone.

But yeah...I'm extremely thankful for blowjobs. I hope I can get one soon. They fucking rock.

Post entry Editor's Note: So I just spoke with Annah and she told me that it's being posted around 10 p.m. tonight. I'm not giving you anything else in the meantime because I'm too busy being lazy. I guess that's oxymoronical - sort of like "Small-dick Dan."

Ed. Note Continued: Annah also sent me the following text messages after reading my writing:

"Loved it...laughed like a crazy person."

"You're out of your mind."

Big fuckin' surprise there. The latter, I mean.

Slippery Slopes

2010-11-19T07:48:00.006-05:00

I think you would agree when I say that many movies don't properly depict sex. I'm not referring to the way-too-natural chemistry in the bedroom during first-time encounters...we all know that for the most part it's complete horse shit. I'm talking about the actual sexual process.

Is it me, or does the guy's dick never seem to slip out of the girl's hoo-ha in sex scenes? I know it's not something people want to see - including me - but that happens. If you don't know the girl too well and you haven't been having sex lately, your weiner is bound to slip out a few times. Movies should tell people that. I'm not sure how though.

Editor's Note: One time in college I was in my residence with a lovely lady - you know, the "lovely lady" who would fuck in a dirty college apt. bathroom at 2 a.m. - and we were doin' stuff and it fell out a couple times. I remember the clicking of her tongue in disappointment every time it slipped out: It wasn't like she was upset that MY penis slipped out - she was upset that THE penis slipped out.

The other day I mentioned no-condom sex and how it rocks. There are many obvious reasons as to why anyone who isn't lobotomized would agree with that statement. But do people ever talk about the disadvantages of having "I'm on the pill and we trust each other so you can blow it inside me" sex?

I'm not sure there are any, except for one: The cleanup.

The second I unplug my weiner it's like removing the cork from an upside down wine bottle. I had no idea that it would be like that. Wanna know why? BECAUSE NOBODY FUCKING TOLD ME.

Editor's Note: There are certain aspects about sex one can't possibly know until it's experienced. I say that it would be better if someone told me about that, but in reality I don't know how you would go about saying that to a kid. Then again, I think I'm capable of doing it.

I'm gonna kick ass at educating youth about sexual nuances. Leaky vadge from pulled-out penis post-insemination? Damn right I'm dropping that kind of knowledge. You have to anticipate that happening in order to avoid massive jizz spillage on fabric. How many years will it take us as a collective to realize the value behind education?

Movies never delve into the cleanup process. You're telling me that when Johnny Tough Balls makes love to Regina Rumpy in a bed and busts in her, she's just going to lay there on her back afterwards and cuddle? Get the fuck outta here. Maybe sometimes if the sex is THAT good, but usually the climax sauce is something you wanna take care of. If not it's just going to pour out and form a puddle in the bed.

Editor's Note: Oh, too gross for you? Sorry. I guess it's different when you see things written as opposed to doing them. Regardless, next time you're cleaning up think of me.

So as much as we hate on condoms they're definitely more efficient in that regard. All you have to do is pull it out, take it off, throw it in the garbage, then wipe the nasty condom smell off your weiner. I like to put a tissue over mine and pretend it's a ghost, but my recent specificities in my sexual post on Monday upset some of my friends from home so I'll be good.

Actually Ace is the only one it upset, and I don't even think I was that bad in terms of the details. He told me he stopped reading halfway through it. Even though I would naturally tell him about my sexual endeavors, as previously stated it's different when you read about it. You'd think that I would say 'whatever' and continue to get into more gross sexual play-by-plays, but I'll spare him at the moment - besides, if it wasn't for him I doubt I'd still be blogging. Of course I can never get too sentimental with Ace, because if I do he calls me gay. Meanwhile when our group of friends hang out, he can try to plug his thumb in my butt and that's not gay at all.

Editor's Note: I don't really find this sex stuff to be as gross as I did when I first started writing about it. Sometimes I would gross myself out and kinda power through it when I'd write, but none of it seems to faze me as much anymore.

Back to before, they should invent some sort of vadge plug that can take care of the spillage. I'm not sure if some of you ladies reading this are thinking, "What's wrong with him? This stuff doesn't happen to me when I have condomless sex." I doubt you are though because I don't see how my situation could be any different than yours. I guess I do have a tendency to shoot a p-star load, but I'm sure most dudes are like that. You pump the Super Soaker enough times it's gonna shoot out some power.

Okay that's it for me. Have a good weekend, and don't forget to house it.

Editor's Note: HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUSE IT! HOUUUSSSSSE IT!

Props To Bitches

2010-11-18T10:26:00.005-05:00

I got some guest posts coming up which should be fun. I think I'll write about sex. Is that okay with you guys?

One is for Aggy and one is for Annah. In all honesty I think both are getting pretty frustrated with me because I've been slacking. I don't have any excuses except for the fact that I'm a pothead. Maybe another one is that I always have a boner, and because the blood is always "down there," it's difficult for me to connect brainwaves long enough to produce text.

Editor's Note: I don't think this has to do with anything, but I haven't masturbated in a few days. I was thinking about doing an installment involving "self-celibacy," but the key to not masturbating is to never think about it. If it's on my mind I'm bound to have a wet dream and those things are fucking messy. One time last year I went a week and yeah...my bed caught the brunt of it. It wasn't pretty. Or maybe it was if you like getting jizzed on.

So a lot of people have been showing me blog-love over the last few months by linking my shit to theirs, so I want to take this time to say that I'm grateful. I'm not "eternally" grateful, because I don't really know if you people are real or not. For all I know you could be a bunch of old men with droopy balls trying to seduce my cute ass to come over and house it...please pardon my ever-developing skepticism.

I've also received a plethora of awards - A.K.A. "Dan I want to see your penis and this is my way of showing it" - but I never post them on my page. Is that wrong? Am I a jerk for that? Forget the fact that I'm a technological vegetable, I don't like having too much on my page - I feel like it gets distracting.

However, FALEN the Thundercat - commenter extraordinaire - left me a fucking kick-ass award called "IDGAF," which stands for "I Dig Girls who Ass Fuck." Wait that's not it. "I Don't Give A Fuck." Yeah, that's it. I'm gonna figure out how to do this and post that shit up.

Here's what she wrote about me - I feel like I can put this on the back of a book or something if I ever did anything with this blog:

Saying that this blog is raw, real, and unapologetic is a fucking understatement! He doesn't hold shit back! He gives you a verbal "money shot" to your senses every time he posts! His drunken fraternity-ish type adventures will either leave you:
masturbating in a dark corner
heading to the nearest church to repent
taking a bath in scalding hot water
...either way he shit is so worth reading!

I think I wrote this last week, but I find it interesting how fratty my blog is. I guess I'm kind of fratty too - never thought I would be. I mean the other week I got naked around my male friends with my dick in between my legs, asking them where my panties are. I also drink a lot, I'm one of the best beer pong players I know, I talk about women all the time, I love sports, and I love getting reckless. The only difference between me and a frat guy is that I'm not an asshole to women and I don't try to be something I'm not to make friends. Tons of guys join frats to meet people because they're too socially awkward to be themselves.

Editor's Note: I also don't dress like a commercial. In fact I have no fashion sense whatsoever. Can someone explain how I continue to get involved with women who have great senses of fashion? Makes no sense, except for the fact that lots of women seem to like the "I don't give a fuck" look. I guess FALEN's award was appropriate after all.

I'm rambling because the thought of your freshly shaven meat stick has rendered me RETARDED ;)~ *DROOL*

I used to do a little "ghetto erotic dancing" back in the day...and trust me...I'll do things with my ass that will have you drooling in shock ;)

Note Continued: Those are only two of the many boner-inducing comments she has left on this blog. Basically, she knows I'm a sucker for black chicks with big butts so she does this to tease me. Not cool.

Moving on, after work the other day I had a chat with my good friend Phoebe. As previously stated, I'm a pothead so I forgot it was her birthday. I did the belated thing and we got to talking about life, girls...lots of stuff. You know, stuff like using my whip on women and whether or not it's possible to fit a fist in a girl's ass. Fine, we only discussed the former. Either way I really love that girl - there aren't too many women I feel more comfortable talking to.

Anyway, Phoebe gets a kick out of my blog but she's amused for different reasons than the average reader is. See with you people there's the "mystery factor"; there's the fact that you're not accustomed to my behavior...and my weiner. But she's known me forever so the way I act isn't the least bit surprising to her, or any of my friends for that matter.

"The Shock Factor" was never a tool in my blog until I started getting readers about 18 months into writing. Now I'm at my almost-400th post and you bitches are still feelin' it, so thanks again. I hope I continue to surprise you, and if I don't I hope you maintain semi-high expectations.

Editor's Note: By "Bitches" I mean dudes too, because I'm also appreciative of my male readership of course. The only difference is I'm not a fan of BJ's with stubble. Wait, does that make it seem like I've gotten one before? Fuck. I totes haven't. Wait, did I just write 'totes'? Now you definitely think I've gotten one. I better stop.

Addendum to Editor's Note: After almost every entry I write, when I'm finished I want a blowjob. I feel like I deserve it or something. Is that weird?