Every once in a while an idea comes along that is so ambitious it is certain to fail. This was one of those ideas.
The Adventures of Felix Fox from Jason Prosserman on Vimeo.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I Don't Like Things In My Butt
Look, I don’t wanna brag or anything, but my doctor stuck things in my butt. Yup, that’s right. A man was inside of me. Not just any man either; nope, I bagged me a doctor. He laid me down half naked on the table and whispered sweet little nothings in my ear like, “You’re not going to like this,” and “I’m sorry, again,” and before I could say ‘could I see some credentials?’ he was inside of me. The room spun, colors blended into each other (namely red and brown), and my head was filled with one pulsating question:
How do people enjoy anal sex?
The thought of sticking anything up your butt, let alone a penis, is revolting. Especially if it’s uncircumcised. I mean, let’s face it, anal penetration is painful. Certain things simply aren’t meant to go certain places, namely objects in rectums and women in workplaces. Now, admittedly my experience was more unpleasant than it needed to be. The doctor left me post insertion to answer a phone call. I remember the conversation quite vividly, ‘I know you called the wrong number,’ he clarified, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can’t still talk.” Also, I remember wishing he’d stop asking me if I, ‘liked that, bitch?’
Still though, the thought of sticking things in there for pleasure seems a little excessive. We’ve all gone to some extreme lengths to get off; I’m as guilty as the next guy. I’ve seen everyone doing everything everywhere. I’ve seen men, women, and animals doing unthinkable things to each other. I’ve seen men’s faces cringe with pleasure and women’s faces turned into Jackson Pollack paintings. I’ve seen bondage and rape videos, children and space aliens making love to mythical beings, I’ve seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, I watched sea-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate, I even once watched a transvestite give birth to herself. Hell, I need a car battery, a Hatian midget, and 2 pounds of dental floss just to attain an erection. The internet has shown me so much of everything I’ve gone numb. My weiner’s seen some horrible things and nothing fazes him anymore. He’s like a lil’ Vietnam veteran, just sitting there all day, numb to the world, cursing ‘that bastard Johnson.’
I think part of the attraction to anal sex is the taboo associated with it. Half the pleasure comes from the rush of knowing how unpleasant it is to most people. It’s the same reason Mexicans get laid. It’s that sense of forbidden rush that I think we’re all curious about that has led anal penetration to be associated with something like extra-terrestrials. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it hard to believe that aliens fly all the way across the universe just to stick things in our butts. I suspect an alien abduction would be slightly more complicated than a Southern camping trip:
Alien #1: We’ve acquired the specimen, shall we begin testing?
Alien #2: You got a real pretty mouth, aint’cha boy?
They engage in a heated 6 minute banjo duel.
Or maybe aliens are just assholes. Maybe they just like getting drunk and fucking with us. I can’t say I’d be too surprised if there wasn’t at least one species of alien that just liked sticking things in our butts and calling us faggots.
Which brings me back to the doctors’ office.
I found myself lying vulnerable on the cold sterile table trying to identify objects as they were removed from my rectum: anus stretcher, viewing scope, wrist watch. This harrowing experience was coming to a close, the bloody scabs on my butthole were beginning to clot, and I was overwhelmed with one simple question: What would Jesus do? I thought it over again and again and ultimately decided to resist the urge to shit on my doctor’s hands.
Everybody deserves to get their rocks off regardless of preference, belief, or race. Hell, right now there’s black folk fucking in the white house for the first time since Thomas Jefferson was president. If you’re not hurting anyone then everybody should be able to do anything they like sexually, that should be obvious. All I'm trying to say is that my anus is exclusively an ‘out’ hole. I've learned a lot from this experience, but above all else, I've learned what in hindsight should've been obvious from the very beginning. I don't like things in my butt.
Also, my doctor raped me.
How do people enjoy anal sex?
The thought of sticking anything up your butt, let alone a penis, is revolting. Especially if it’s uncircumcised. I mean, let’s face it, anal penetration is painful. Certain things simply aren’t meant to go certain places, namely objects in rectums and women in workplaces. Now, admittedly my experience was more unpleasant than it needed to be. The doctor left me post insertion to answer a phone call. I remember the conversation quite vividly, ‘I know you called the wrong number,’ he clarified, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can’t still talk.” Also, I remember wishing he’d stop asking me if I, ‘liked that, bitch?’
Still though, the thought of sticking things in there for pleasure seems a little excessive. We’ve all gone to some extreme lengths to get off; I’m as guilty as the next guy. I’ve seen everyone doing everything everywhere. I’ve seen men, women, and animals doing unthinkable things to each other. I’ve seen men’s faces cringe with pleasure and women’s faces turned into Jackson Pollack paintings. I’ve seen bondage and rape videos, children and space aliens making love to mythical beings, I’ve seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, I watched sea-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate, I even once watched a transvestite give birth to herself. Hell, I need a car battery, a Hatian midget, and 2 pounds of dental floss just to attain an erection. The internet has shown me so much of everything I’ve gone numb. My weiner’s seen some horrible things and nothing fazes him anymore. He’s like a lil’ Vietnam veteran, just sitting there all day, numb to the world, cursing ‘that bastard Johnson.’
I think part of the attraction to anal sex is the taboo associated with it. Half the pleasure comes from the rush of knowing how unpleasant it is to most people. It’s the same reason Mexicans get laid. It’s that sense of forbidden rush that I think we’re all curious about that has led anal penetration to be associated with something like extra-terrestrials. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it hard to believe that aliens fly all the way across the universe just to stick things in our butts. I suspect an alien abduction would be slightly more complicated than a Southern camping trip:
Alien #1: We’ve acquired the specimen, shall we begin testing?
Alien #2: You got a real pretty mouth, aint’cha boy?
They engage in a heated 6 minute banjo duel.
Or maybe aliens are just assholes. Maybe they just like getting drunk and fucking with us. I can’t say I’d be too surprised if there wasn’t at least one species of alien that just liked sticking things in our butts and calling us faggots.
Which brings me back to the doctors’ office.
I found myself lying vulnerable on the cold sterile table trying to identify objects as they were removed from my rectum: anus stretcher, viewing scope, wrist watch. This harrowing experience was coming to a close, the bloody scabs on my butthole were beginning to clot, and I was overwhelmed with one simple question: What would Jesus do? I thought it over again and again and ultimately decided to resist the urge to shit on my doctor’s hands.
Everybody deserves to get their rocks off regardless of preference, belief, or race. Hell, right now there’s black folk fucking in the white house for the first time since Thomas Jefferson was president. If you’re not hurting anyone then everybody should be able to do anything they like sexually, that should be obvious. All I'm trying to say is that my anus is exclusively an ‘out’ hole. I've learned a lot from this experience, but above all else, I've learned what in hindsight should've been obvious from the very beginning. I don't like things in my butt.
Also, my doctor raped me.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Me Make Movie?
I found a great site that allows you to make short films by just typing dialogue, choosing camera angles, etc. Took 10 minutes out of my wallowing self-pity to try it out. Enjoy.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Black Tuesday
There’s a lot of ridiculous shit going on in the world right now. If 10 years ago I told people that Arnold Schwarzenegger would be elected Governor of California they’d laugh in my face, call me crazy, and make fun of me for my parents being divorced. I’d guess the odds of Michael Jackson becoming a white pedophile were about as likely as Schwarzenegger’s re-election slogan not being “I’ll Be Back.” In all this madness, though; in all this retarded shit-headed craziness, the United States found the progressive rational sense to elect Barack Obama, an African American man, President.
If somebody were to travel to just 4 years ago and tell me that in 2008 a black man would be President, I’d be in disbelief. I can’t even imagine what I would say. Probably something along the lines of, “Holy shit! You can time travel!?!! Aren’t you scared you’ll change the future? Do I become an astronaut?”
Canada also recently had an election, but it’s difficult to compare the two. For example one of the largest issues in the American election was foreign policy. In Canada however we’re pretty mellow, so there’s not much concern there. Besides, we have the best army in the world: The United States Army. Also, we Canadians don’t have the same kind of deep rooted hatred of black people. We’re just curious what they look like in person.
There was a lot of focus on the debates this year but quite frankly, I found them underwhelming. Maybe it’s not fair for me to compare them to the debates of 2004. I’ll never forget the Vice-Presidential debates, where Dick Cheney growled menacingly into the microphone for an hour and forty seven minutes before chasing a stray cat out the emergency exit. And the way George Bush finished all of his argument by raising both arms in triumph, letting go of the microphone, and slowly backing away from his podium still gives me the chills.
Still, nobody can deny the profound statement of the election of a black president. I’ve been dead on the inside for a long time, and when they announced Barack Obama the winner, even I, a grizzled cynical fat cunt, felt a strange emotion come over me that can only be described as ‘not hate.’ What happened was incredible, nobody can deny that, but I’m getting tired of people claiming that we would’ve made our founding fathers proud. If you were to tell one of the founding fathers that one day we’d have a black president, he’d probably say something like “can this wait?” because he’d be busy raping a slave.
But hey, black people…. We’re cool now, right? Awesome, high five! No, I mean that funky way you do it!
In all honesty the election of a black man isn’t something I could imagine happening within my lifetime. I’m a pretty cynical guy. I look around at the world and I see idiotic vengeful people acting in hateful intolerant ways to each other, and I’ve always been ashamed to be a part of it. On November 4th, however, I held back tears as Barack Obama was announced President not in spite of the color of his skin, but indifferent of it. I watched in awe as the best man for the job won and for the first time I can remember entertaining the notion that maybe all this time, I was wrong.
Amid all the celebrating and praise, what seemed to go unnoticed was the passing of Proposition 8, which stripped homosexuals of their right to wed, in California. The gay community held several large protests against the bill, but were largely unsuccessful as they were simply mistaken for parades.
‘How can such a progressive state vote in such an openly hateful and discriminatory fashion?,’ many theoretical pundits ask rhetorically in my head. The loss is being attributed to two factors. Firstly, much of the gay community couldn’t make it out to vote as they were busy at home burning bibles and teaching their adopted children the joys of sodomy. Also, there was a very large and expensive marketing campaign in favor of the ban. The campaign was, of course, largely backed by the Catholic Church, who apparently finds the thought of a Priest having sex with an adult male horrifying. It also got a strong vote of support from the Mormon Community who believe that the sanctity of marriage is a holy bond between a man and 4 to 20 women.
This election was fuelled by a fierce desire of the people to stand up against the hatred and prejudices that have underlined this nation and proudly proclaim ‘no more!’ Barack Obama won the Presidency on a campaign of change. He and Vice-President elect Joe Biden are both opposed to gay marriage. The people of California have voted to strip homosexuals of their basic civil rights, because they don’t like where they’re putting their cocks. Blacks, Whites, Muslims, and Christians are all coming together, hand in hand, to tell homosexuals they they’re not entitled to the same rights as the rest of us because they’re different, and that scares us. We’ve reached out to Barack Obama to lead us and in our own grand self delusion we’ve labeled ourselves agents of change while practicing more of the same.
Barack’s victory is a great one. It’s monumental, and historical, and all that shit. I am proud to be alive in a time where this kind of thing is possible. I even got caught up in the myth of it all for a moment. We’re entertaining the notion of letting African Americans into our little bubble of supremacy and it’s a good start. A black president is wonderful, but I’m not ready to celebrate yet. Call me when a Persian or an Atheist can be president. Call me when a homosexual can hold the office. Until then you can find me here, among my angry ranting, holding onto hope. Do what you want to the constitution, you can’t take that away from me.
If somebody were to travel to just 4 years ago and tell me that in 2008 a black man would be President, I’d be in disbelief. I can’t even imagine what I would say. Probably something along the lines of, “Holy shit! You can time travel!?!! Aren’t you scared you’ll change the future? Do I become an astronaut?”
Canada also recently had an election, but it’s difficult to compare the two. For example one of the largest issues in the American election was foreign policy. In Canada however we’re pretty mellow, so there’s not much concern there. Besides, we have the best army in the world: The United States Army. Also, we Canadians don’t have the same kind of deep rooted hatred of black people. We’re just curious what they look like in person.
There was a lot of focus on the debates this year but quite frankly, I found them underwhelming. Maybe it’s not fair for me to compare them to the debates of 2004. I’ll never forget the Vice-Presidential debates, where Dick Cheney growled menacingly into the microphone for an hour and forty seven minutes before chasing a stray cat out the emergency exit. And the way George Bush finished all of his argument by raising both arms in triumph, letting go of the microphone, and slowly backing away from his podium still gives me the chills.
Still, nobody can deny the profound statement of the election of a black president. I’ve been dead on the inside for a long time, and when they announced Barack Obama the winner, even I, a grizzled cynical fat cunt, felt a strange emotion come over me that can only be described as ‘not hate.’ What happened was incredible, nobody can deny that, but I’m getting tired of people claiming that we would’ve made our founding fathers proud. If you were to tell one of the founding fathers that one day we’d have a black president, he’d probably say something like “can this wait?” because he’d be busy raping a slave.
But hey, black people…. We’re cool now, right? Awesome, high five! No, I mean that funky way you do it!
In all honesty the election of a black man isn’t something I could imagine happening within my lifetime. I’m a pretty cynical guy. I look around at the world and I see idiotic vengeful people acting in hateful intolerant ways to each other, and I’ve always been ashamed to be a part of it. On November 4th, however, I held back tears as Barack Obama was announced President not in spite of the color of his skin, but indifferent of it. I watched in awe as the best man for the job won and for the first time I can remember entertaining the notion that maybe all this time, I was wrong.
Amid all the celebrating and praise, what seemed to go unnoticed was the passing of Proposition 8, which stripped homosexuals of their right to wed, in California. The gay community held several large protests against the bill, but were largely unsuccessful as they were simply mistaken for parades.
‘How can such a progressive state vote in such an openly hateful and discriminatory fashion?,’ many theoretical pundits ask rhetorically in my head. The loss is being attributed to two factors. Firstly, much of the gay community couldn’t make it out to vote as they were busy at home burning bibles and teaching their adopted children the joys of sodomy. Also, there was a very large and expensive marketing campaign in favor of the ban. The campaign was, of course, largely backed by the Catholic Church, who apparently finds the thought of a Priest having sex with an adult male horrifying. It also got a strong vote of support from the Mormon Community who believe that the sanctity of marriage is a holy bond between a man and 4 to 20 women.
This election was fuelled by a fierce desire of the people to stand up against the hatred and prejudices that have underlined this nation and proudly proclaim ‘no more!’ Barack Obama won the Presidency on a campaign of change. He and Vice-President elect Joe Biden are both opposed to gay marriage. The people of California have voted to strip homosexuals of their basic civil rights, because they don’t like where they’re putting their cocks. Blacks, Whites, Muslims, and Christians are all coming together, hand in hand, to tell homosexuals they they’re not entitled to the same rights as the rest of us because they’re different, and that scares us. We’ve reached out to Barack Obama to lead us and in our own grand self delusion we’ve labeled ourselves agents of change while practicing more of the same.
Barack’s victory is a great one. It’s monumental, and historical, and all that shit. I am proud to be alive in a time where this kind of thing is possible. I even got caught up in the myth of it all for a moment. We’re entertaining the notion of letting African Americans into our little bubble of supremacy and it’s a good start. A black president is wonderful, but I’m not ready to celebrate yet. Call me when a Persian or an Atheist can be president. Call me when a homosexual can hold the office. Until then you can find me here, among my angry ranting, holding onto hope. Do what you want to the constitution, you can’t take that away from me.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Jokes From a Guy Who Doesn't Understand How Jokes Work
Q: What has four legs, a tail, and barks?
A: A dog.
Q: How do you know George W. Bush evolved from a monkey?
A: Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.
Q: Why did Martin Sheen ask his son, Emilio Estevez, to change his last name?
A: He doesn’t love him.
Q: What do you call a black person in space?
A: An astronaut.
Q: What’s the difference between Santa Clause and a Barracuda?
A: Santa Claus is a fictional fat man who delivers presents to deserving children once a year, and a Barracuda is a fish.
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: How the fuck should I know?
A: A dog.
Q: How do you know George W. Bush evolved from a monkey?
A: Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.
Q: Why did Martin Sheen ask his son, Emilio Estevez, to change his last name?
A: He doesn’t love him.
Q: What do you call a black person in space?
A: An astronaut.
Q: What’s the difference between Santa Clause and a Barracuda?
A: Santa Claus is a fictional fat man who delivers presents to deserving children once a year, and a Barracuda is a fish.
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: How the fuck should I know?
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
A Funny Joke
Thomas Jenning enjoyed the simple things in life. He ate cheeseburgers, watched pornography, and liked spending time with his friends. When he turned 19 he married Charlene, his high school sweetheart and they moved into a small studio apartment-- the nicest one they could afford. Though his parents objected they were ultimately accepting and after a couple of years even began referring to Charlene as their ‘daughter.’ Still though, Thomas felt that their marriage had pushed he and his family apart.
Charlene and Thomas enjoyed having their friends over for drinks and dinner, but as their relationship matured they found they had less and less in common with those ‘friends.’ They would invite people over less and less; they would become more isolated, more alone. By the time Thomas had turned 32 he had a good job at a respectable marketing firm and a 10 year old son called Jake.
The day was hot and it was long. At 4:40 pm he had to submit his portfolio ideas for the new account, and he was anxious to get home. When the time came he made his way to his boss’s office, knocked twice, and walked in. ‘Look happy’ he kept reminding himself. His boss looked over his ideas, occasionally acknowledging with a grunt. Thomas had noticed him biting his lower lip as he often does when he disapproves of an idea. He wasn’t getting this account, both men knew it and they were now simply going through the motions. When his boss finished reading he threw the papers back in their folder with no regard for their proper order, faked a smile, and shook his hand. ‘Good work.’ Thomas would not get that account.
Heading home in his car his anxiousness faded with every passing moment. His daydreams of what the rest of the day would entail were replaced with memories of reality. His wife, now desolate and cold, their dog, yelping all goddamn day and night, and their son. He forced himself to think of the beer he would enjoy while watching the game. The buzz of the alcohol, the numbness. At least there was that. The song on the radio seemed to end a little too abruptly and a commercial for a new brand of shampoo began. Thomas reached for the dial to change the station but was interrupted by the shrieking ring of his cell phone. He answered it. Charlene calling to make sure he hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to take their son, Jake, to the zoo that evening. He had forgotten. He went through the motions; a yes dear here and a silent agreement there, to get through the call. Before hanging up she handed the phone to Jake who greeted his father with incorruptible enthusiasm. At one point Thomas’s voice faltered. “Are you okay?” his son asked. Thomas assured him he was fine but Jake asked one more time. He promised to be home soon and hung up the phone. With the shampoo commercial just now coming to an end, Thomas pulled his car over to the side of the road. He lowered his head and with cars screeching by, he quietly began to cry.
Charlene and Thomas enjoyed having their friends over for drinks and dinner, but as their relationship matured they found they had less and less in common with those ‘friends.’ They would invite people over less and less; they would become more isolated, more alone. By the time Thomas had turned 32 he had a good job at a respectable marketing firm and a 10 year old son called Jake.
The day was hot and it was long. At 4:40 pm he had to submit his portfolio ideas for the new account, and he was anxious to get home. When the time came he made his way to his boss’s office, knocked twice, and walked in. ‘Look happy’ he kept reminding himself. His boss looked over his ideas, occasionally acknowledging with a grunt. Thomas had noticed him biting his lower lip as he often does when he disapproves of an idea. He wasn’t getting this account, both men knew it and they were now simply going through the motions. When his boss finished reading he threw the papers back in their folder with no regard for their proper order, faked a smile, and shook his hand. ‘Good work.’ Thomas would not get that account.
Heading home in his car his anxiousness faded with every passing moment. His daydreams of what the rest of the day would entail were replaced with memories of reality. His wife, now desolate and cold, their dog, yelping all goddamn day and night, and their son. He forced himself to think of the beer he would enjoy while watching the game. The buzz of the alcohol, the numbness. At least there was that. The song on the radio seemed to end a little too abruptly and a commercial for a new brand of shampoo began. Thomas reached for the dial to change the station but was interrupted by the shrieking ring of his cell phone. He answered it. Charlene calling to make sure he hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to take their son, Jake, to the zoo that evening. He had forgotten. He went through the motions; a yes dear here and a silent agreement there, to get through the call. Before hanging up she handed the phone to Jake who greeted his father with incorruptible enthusiasm. At one point Thomas’s voice faltered. “Are you okay?” his son asked. Thomas assured him he was fine but Jake asked one more time. He promised to be home soon and hung up the phone. With the shampoo commercial just now coming to an end, Thomas pulled his car over to the side of the road. He lowered his head and with cars screeching by, he quietly began to cry.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Why I Suck.
Vaginas are wonderful. They’re soft, moist, and inviting, and I’ve been assured that they exist. The problem is that most vaginas are attached to women and most women are allergic to my penis. I don't mean to sound jaded, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from talking to women, it’s that ‘Get away from me creep!” It’s not that I’m overly aggressive or anything, it’s just that I'm, as my grandmother tells me, physically repulsive. No, I’m just kidding. My grandma’s dead.
Now admittedly, I’m no expert in the ways of the woman. The only time I ever get chicks is when they mistake me for a lesbian, but they say to write what you know, so here goes. An equilateral triangle has three equal sides, Taipei is the Capital of Taiwan, and Superman’s alter-ego is Clark Kent.
Approaching women is intimidating. Woody Allen once said that “80% of success is showing up” and that’s a saying I’ve really adopted. True to his spirit I plan on marrying and having sex with it. A lot of men have trouble approaching women, but not me. I’m fine with starting up a conversation with a lady, I just never know what to say after she maces me. My ‘game’ kinda flies out the window and I just run around screaming.
I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell for the past couple decades so I’ve adopted some new moves to help spice things up. Most notably I’ve stopped talking to women and I gotta tell you, they really seem to like that. It’s weird though because when I was younger I was a bit of a schoolyard player. In fact, I think I can pinpoint where it all went wrong. A while back I thought I was in love. It turned out to be gas, but that didn’t ease the pain when we broke up. Her name was Jennifer and I’ve never even mentioned her to my family or friends because she’s fictional and I just made her up.
Jenny was deaf and it was hard ending it with her. Don’t me wrong, her hearing impairment wasn’t an issue, I just couldn’t stand what a total airhead she was. She was always telling me to talk to the hand. Well she didn’t so much say it as semi-coherently mumble it. It’s for the best though, she was a terrible listener. Besides, she was tall and I like ‘em petite because small girls make me feel more masculine and I know that if we ever got into a fight, I could kill her.
What really bothers me is that on the top of every women’s list of what they want in a man is ‘sense of humor.’ I couldn’t figure this one out, because it’s so obviously not true, and then one day it hit me. What they mean is that it’s important that a man has a sense of humor because when they say that, they’re clearly joking. The problem with this theory is that women find anything an attractive man says fucking hilarious. That’s the main difference between men and women because I don’t do that with attractive women. In fact, I try to stay as quiet as possible around beautiful women because if they hear me laughing they'll know where I'm hiding and call the police.
So what options am I left with? I mean there’s always rape, but I don’t think I could handle the awkward silence immediately afterwards. Besides I went to grade school with a kid who would sexually molest girls and I don’t wanna be like him. He would pass around little notes that said things like “Dear Mary, Can I rape you? Please check a box!” and there would just be one small checkbox with the word “Yes” beside it. Also, I can’t grow a mustache.
All hope isn't lost though. They say women love confidence so I'm being pro-active by trying to better myself. I'm currently reading a self help book called, 'A Complete Idiots Guide to Self Esteem.' Worst case scenario I'll learn something about poorly titled books.
Now admittedly, I’m no expert in the ways of the woman. The only time I ever get chicks is when they mistake me for a lesbian, but they say to write what you know, so here goes. An equilateral triangle has three equal sides, Taipei is the Capital of Taiwan, and Superman’s alter-ego is Clark Kent.
Approaching women is intimidating. Woody Allen once said that “80% of success is showing up” and that’s a saying I’ve really adopted. True to his spirit I plan on marrying and having sex with it. A lot of men have trouble approaching women, but not me. I’m fine with starting up a conversation with a lady, I just never know what to say after she maces me. My ‘game’ kinda flies out the window and I just run around screaming.
I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell for the past couple decades so I’ve adopted some new moves to help spice things up. Most notably I’ve stopped talking to women and I gotta tell you, they really seem to like that. It’s weird though because when I was younger I was a bit of a schoolyard player. In fact, I think I can pinpoint where it all went wrong. A while back I thought I was in love. It turned out to be gas, but that didn’t ease the pain when we broke up. Her name was Jennifer and I’ve never even mentioned her to my family or friends because she’s fictional and I just made her up.
Jenny was deaf and it was hard ending it with her. Don’t me wrong, her hearing impairment wasn’t an issue, I just couldn’t stand what a total airhead she was. She was always telling me to talk to the hand. Well she didn’t so much say it as semi-coherently mumble it. It’s for the best though, she was a terrible listener. Besides, she was tall and I like ‘em petite because small girls make me feel more masculine and I know that if we ever got into a fight, I could kill her.
What really bothers me is that on the top of every women’s list of what they want in a man is ‘sense of humor.’ I couldn’t figure this one out, because it’s so obviously not true, and then one day it hit me. What they mean is that it’s important that a man has a sense of humor because when they say that, they’re clearly joking. The problem with this theory is that women find anything an attractive man says fucking hilarious. That’s the main difference between men and women because I don’t do that with attractive women. In fact, I try to stay as quiet as possible around beautiful women because if they hear me laughing they'll know where I'm hiding and call the police.
So what options am I left with? I mean there’s always rape, but I don’t think I could handle the awkward silence immediately afterwards. Besides I went to grade school with a kid who would sexually molest girls and I don’t wanna be like him. He would pass around little notes that said things like “Dear Mary, Can I rape you? Please check a box!” and there would just be one small checkbox with the word “Yes” beside it. Also, I can’t grow a mustache.
All hope isn't lost though. They say women love confidence so I'm being pro-active by trying to better myself. I'm currently reading a self help book called, 'A Complete Idiots Guide to Self Esteem.' Worst case scenario I'll learn something about poorly titled books.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Marijuanalogue: Poetry for Potheads
.
The unknown vast and limitless nothingness looms menacingly;Forced to cope with a world of regret, abandoned and alone;
Solace is granted in the form of an herb;
Perception warped, ignited, enhanced;
The world viewed anew, fresh and forgiving-- I am at peace with all;
The whirling, cleansing consciousness, aspires to the divine and I...
HOLY SHIT, I HAVE DORITOS?!?!?!?!!!?!?
.
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