Nothing is easy to do when there’s internet pornography at one’s disposal. Well, I guess technically, that’s only the case for men, but as a man, I’m limited to a somewhat phallocentric perspective, you know, due to having a dick, and so, I’m kind of stuck with the only perspective I’ve got which is, as I mentioned before, easily distracted by internet pornography. If you, like me, spend a lot of time trying to get stuff done on your computer, and this computer is hooked up to the internet, (and you have a penis), it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that there’s gonna be a little bit of blowjob/piss fetish/butt gangbang/foot massage/behind the scenes at the firehouse footage or whatever you’re into viewed here and there on the sly. And god help you if you work in a locking office or at home by yourself. Productivity is down! Underpants, bloodied and stretched out are hastily discarded in the office kitchen wastebasket! Penises everywhere are dry, bloody stumps all because a new generation of troublemakers have decided that all the good shit should be free. Free porn! Free music! Let the whacking and rocking commence!
Never have so many worked so hard to insure that no matter how hard some other people work, they will not get paid, and instead they will unwittingly contribute to an international pandemic of lazy-yet-compulsive whacking off, with whispered grunts accompanied by illegally downloaded tracks from the newest Metallica album. Man, Lars works hard, and he gets shit from you ungrateful hackers and pirates! However, and let’s be up front here, that guy is a total dildo, and he’s already quite rich. Plus, banging away at drums, using all of one’s mediocrity, as Lars Ulrich does, and has done for years, is nowhere near as hard of work as some woman getting pile driven by what looks like the bench of the Oakland Raiders. However, since people are more likely to watch said gangbang over and over than listen to Metallica’s crappy record more than once, a bit of cosmic balance is struck, and we’re back to where we started, namely, beating off frantically while the phone rings and the microwave beeps and the UPS guy comes to the door and the conference begins. “I can get a quick one in,” you think. They always wonder why you’re sweating, dude. Heh.
Oh, and just to be clear, I in no way give a shit about file sharing or whatever. Just making conversation.
So yeah, I was in California for my cousin’s wedding. It was great. It was on a horse ranch in Truckee and there were something like three hundred people there. The ranch is surrounded by huge empty fields, presumably where the horses graze and run around, I suppose, and once it got dark, I was pretty into the idea of sneaking off for some in-the- dark-in-the-field-um, booty. I mean, it’s a wedding! What better place to renew the consummation of your own vows, right? Well, thankfully cooler heads prevailed and my wife, sweetly, I might add, told me that maybe I should go get another beer rather than pursue this entreaty any more, as, no fucking way she was gonna go bone in some shit filled horse field while her husband’s entire family mingled just a few yards away.
Looking back, it was the right decision. That’s why I’m married to her, after all. This isn’t the first time she’s saved me from having to face my mom and great aunts, pants down, rapidly retreating dick in hand, covered in animal feces, with grass stains on my new pants, you know, figuratively. And besides, we were there with a baby. She really could have just slapped me across the face, and it wouldn’t have been out of line. What a woman, I tell you. Anyway…
It’s kind of funny, because it made me think about how technically, I shouldn’t be having sex at all. Below is a list of the reasons that I should still be a virgin. These are all true, but I have a baby, and he looks a lot like me, right down to the hairline, so I’m not a virgin, okay! Just throwing that out there. All right, without any further ado:
I have a young baby: Okay, I know that it’s technically impossible to be a virgin and have a baby, but you get the idea. I’ve got a tired wife who had had some pretty serious trauma recently applied to her nether regions, and a little guy who looks a lot like me staring at us constantly, and crying when we’re not in his field of vision. Ever try to have an intimate encounter while you can hear someone in your family’s voice in the next room? Not easy, no matter if it’s your aunt Gladys or your kid. So, anyway, yeah, this should be from another list, one that should be entitled ‘why I shouldn’t be having sex right now,’ I guess, but like I said, I’m just throwing it out there first, so whatever dicks. Throw your stones. The real list starts now!
I’m a nerd- Yeah, I read lots of books. I lit a candle for my induction into the Latin national honors society (that’s dorky just to write down). I’ve had only the most tenuous relationship with sports. You get the idea. If I was in a movie about college, on paper, I’m in Lambda Lambda Lambda. I know, there’s no inherent pussy repellent involved in being a bookworm, but it doesn’t end there. My nerdy proclivities are so all encompassing that the rest of this list is more or less a sub-category of this first larger point. Let’s continue.
I write a blog- Hello internet! Have you noticed my way with snappy prose? Well, that’s pretty much a dead giveaway that I spend most of my time sitting behind a computer, alternately (as we discussed before) whacking off and writing things to faux-friends on the internet. Anonymous opinion sharing? That’s the territory of virgins my friends. Bitter, bitter virgins. I mean for fucks sake, who is stupid enough, or egomaniacal enough to think that anyone wants to sit around and pore over the minutiae of someone’s life who’s got enough spare time to write about it? Well, dorks who know what it’s like to have lots of free time and very little to fill it with, that’s who. It’s odd, because the word ‘blog’ is so sexy. It sounds like, oh, I don’t know, someone gently tracing the lines on a ballsack with long, American flag press on nails. Wait, what? That’s not sexy? Okay, see. It’s hopeless.
Two words and an ampersand: Dungeons & Dragons That’s right kids. In my youth I spent a lot of time as a chaotic evil half orc assassin named Amspig tooling around the enchanted woods of my cousin’s imagination. Oh, it’s dorky. It’s so dorky that I think I’m embarrassed to even be writing this down, and this is in a blog! That’s like when someone really, really ugly has something happen to them that’s so disfiguring that they’re like “oh my god! I’m even more hideous!” It’s sad, really. You know, the girl that’s already got bad skin, crooked teeth, a bald spot, slack, droopy, yet tiny breasts, hammer ass, nose hair, third nipple, brown gums and pigeon toes. When she gets in an accident and the nose is ripped clean off her face, making her previously hideous visage even more unbearable, that’s sort of what it’s like to be embarrassed about some nerdy pastime within the comfortable parents’-basement-like confines of a blog. It’s incredible, and sad.
I play the bass (and I’m not good at it)- Not everyone can be Flea, kids. And for the rest of us bass players out there, it’s a sad truth. We’re useless. We’re mixed out of every good recording, and loudly ruining every bad one. We’re on stage playing a hopelessly uncool looking instrument while there’s a guitarist and a drummer right next to us looking effortlessly awesome. If you don’t have a saxophonist or a keyboard player in your band, (and you shouldn’t), well, suck it up, bass player. You’re the dorkiest guy on the stage. Every time.
I’ve never had a decent job- This is one of those classic tropes so universal that it was the basis for the 40 Year Old Virgin. I’ve said it before, I’m a barely employed bartender, meaning I have very little money, and nothing but time. Sounds pretty sweet, right? Oh, yeah. Well, let’s go through some other jobs I’ve had, kay? McDonalds, Ben and Jerrys, uh…some second hand clothing store, hmm…, comic book store, wow, that leads me to the next one.
I like comic books (way more than I should)- I’ve got the X men number twelve. If you know what this means, well, pretty cool, huh? I’ve also got the original first ten issues of the Tick, when it was printed in a non-standard size, including the die cut cover edition of #2, and that’s in near mint condition, and the entire first run of Akira. If you don’t know what that means, you’re probably spending your life outdoors, or with friends. Good for you.
I’ve got Chihuahuas- Oh! Look at the metrosexual with the tiny little designer dogs walking down the street! How cute…wait a minute, that’s guy’s unshaven, with a beer gut and wrinkled, unstylish clothes on. Did some bum steal someone’s Chihuahuas? I don’t understand. Maybe he’s walking them for a friend.” Nope. They’re mine, and I love the shit out of ‘em. I have a fascination with all little things, from mini dogs to White Castle sliders to Verne Troyer. It’s kind of creepy, you say? Hmmm…yeah, I know. That’s why it’s on the list, Will Hunting.
In high school, I played with a hackey sack and wore hippy clothes- Now, I was never a hippy, just to be clear. I was just one of those long-haired dorklings at the punk rock show who looked hopelessly out of place because I never had a big brother or anyone around to tell me about subcultures and all that. So, yeah, that was me with the ponytail, the medallion and the baggy jeans, hacky sacking outside the NOFX show with my friends. Very sad. At least those dirty hippy girls are into free love and stuff. I had the misfortune of being the dorky, faux hippy in the subculture that for some unexplainable reason treats sex like it’s awful. What do punk rockers and puritans have in common? They both preach against sex outside of committed relationships like a bunch of grumpy moms and health teachers. God help you if your mom is a punk rock health teacher. You’ll be so repressed that you’ll be doing animal porn by the time you’re sixteen.
I take an improv class- Could it possibly get lamer than improv? I don’t think it could. If you’ve never taken an improv class, well, firstly, good choice, and secondly, you don’t know the half of how dorky the things that go on in there are. Yeah, there’s dumb make-believe stuff that you do with your ‘ensemble’ made up of housewives, theater geeks, dumb dudes who fancy themselves to be super hilarious and assorted ‘eccentrics’ who wear, say, cocktail dresses with moon boots, or bow ties and v neck teeshirts. But! The warm up games are even stupider than that! Hey, let’s do a mirror exercise! Let’s play zip, zap, zop. Ever speak in gibberish to an overly excited mother of two adult kids while a hyperactive flamboyant man cheers you on in the most condescending manner possible? It’s just great. Jesus, my skin is crawling. Forget I said anything.
I can beat the original Legend of Zelda in just one continuous life- And I can quote Star Wars, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Spaceballs, Lord of the Rings…all that shit. The dork stuff, you know? The shit you go to conventions to enjoy. Thankfully, I don’t go to the conventions, but you know what? I secretly bet they’re a good time.
I like metal- Ah, metal, the cockforest of music. With the exception of Insane Clown Posse shows, there’s no higher men to women ratio in the entire world (yes, including Alaska) then at a typical metal show/store/convention/group of enthusiasts smoking pot dipped in embalming fluid in the highschool parking lot. Also, even by metal standards, I like some dorky shit. I’ve got Queensryche’s Operation:Mindcrime memorized, just for example.
Okay, I need to stop this. My self esteem is taking quite a pummeling, and we haven’t even gotten to the real bad stuff. Time to go back to the internet porn part of my day. Before I go, however, I’m going to quickly get to some advice:
Workplace romance is a tricky thing. The flirting of today could easily turn into the boning of tomorrow, but then there’s awkwardness, and if it turns out you aren’t really as compatible as you thought, you can bet your ass that everyone in your workplace is going to hear about your tiny dick/pimply chest/tendency to cry right after you come. Soooo, take it slow. Get lunch together. Joke around but keep the overt flirting to a minimum, you don’t want the other people in the office talking about you guys potentially banging when it hasn’t even happened yet. That’ll dry your game up faster than you could possibly imagine. Be honest, but be casual. Once you have a good rapport, then you know, see what she’s into. Is she into just fucking with no strings? She’ll let you know if she’s interested, as long as you take it slow. You think you’re gonna rush into banging someone in the office? Listen, dudes secretly videotape or photograph things. They talk, they do lots of shit that can really, really fuck up a woman’s professional life. If she’s got any brains at all, she’s going to get to know you before she puts her ass in the air for you to potentially photograph and show to the whole mailroom. If she’s got no brains, try this: “Hey, wanna get some drinks after work? I’m buying?” I remember at Ben and Jerry’s the two managers banged, and he lost his rubber in her, and she found it a week later. I didn’t even know these people well. I just worked there for 3 weeks. See my point? If you absolutely must fuck someone you work with, be prepared for it to get ugly, and for everyone you work with to know that you don’t have any idea how to properly eat a pussy.
See you all next time.