Monday, May 13, 2013

missed connections, part 2.

I wrote this one a while ago. It was taken down pretty quickly, so I wasn't able to get a screenshot of it. Language gets a little salty, so take heed, intrepid readers:


You: tall, skinny, bespectacled, and quiet, always hanging around bars in Ferndale.
Me: nondescript, zestful, and maybe a little amorous.

I saw you playing pool with a friend on one of my regular expeditions to the bar. I was already three sheets to the wind by the time I took notice of your rail-thin frame, but something about the way you handled that stick told me that I should pay attention to you. I sat and watched as you struggled through your game, quietly analyzing your body language and trying to piece together what kind of person you are. By the time you had racked up the balls for your second game, I had painted a picture of you in my head that I was positive was at least partially accurate. You're studious and industrious, yet reserved and dignified. You're confident, but not showy. You consider yourself more of an observer than a participant, but I was already entertaining thoughts of making you a participant in my seediest of fantasies, if only in my own imagination.

I recorded a video of you with my phone and rushed to the bathroom to indulge my carnal urges. I watched your movements on that phone's tiny screen, my petite fingers working their magic down the front of my skirt. Sitting on that toilet in that stall, we lived entire lives together in my own mind. I imagined approaching you and telling you what I thought of you and your lithe body. I imagined us sneaking away and fucking in the bathroom stall, my finger plunged firmly in your anus, milking your prostate as you thrusted away into my hairy honeypot. I imagined us dating, eventually marrying, growing old, and dying together, only to come back, reincarnated as two gypsy moths, who fucked even more voraciously than we did in our human forms. I fell in love with you as I watched you morosely stalk around that pool table, planning your next inadequate shot. I timed my orgasm with you sinking the eight ball, and I fell limp, thoroughly exhausted from my self-pleasure.

I've used that video countless times since that night. Sometimes I pretend that I have a penis, and I imagine you handling it in the same way that you handled that stick. You're Jake Gyllenhaal and I'm Heath Ledger, and we're two cowboys who can't quit each other. Other times, I picture myself as Scooby Doo, and you as Shaggy. You're holding a jar of peanut butter and your pants are around your ankles, and you have the most mischievous look in your eye. I pretend that I don't want that peanut butter badly enough, but I really do, and we both know it.

Once I had a dream that you were a tampon that I had accidentally inserted into my own urethra, and I had to go to the doctor to get you out. He put me up in stirrups and took a look, and after a minute, he informed me that there would just be no dislodging this tampon from my urethra without serious surgery, which I couldn't afford because I didn't have any insurance. I woke up believing that it was a sign from God that we were inseparable, and I masturbated as symbolic acceptance of our entwined fates.

Please, message me to let me know that you read this. We're already married in my mind. Be my tampon, and let me be your Scooby Doo.


Monday, May 6, 2013

i try my hand at "missed connections" on craigslist sometimes.

click to embiggen.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

how my wife and I facebook.

Monday, April 15, 2013

i call them "jerk robots with candy".

I have a long-standing feud with vending machines.

"What's a vending machine ever done to you besides given you tasty treats and caffeinated beverages when you needed them?", I hear no one ask.

I'm just of the opinion that if we were treated to the same purchasing experience in any other context, we wouldn't put up with it. But we bite our tongues and swallow our pride and suffer the indignity of an interaction with these glass and metal fascists for convenience's sake.

It could be that I'm the only person in the world that takes our treatment to heart to this degree, and that's not something that I'm comfortable with. How do we ever expect things to change if we're fine with the bar being as low as it is? What, you get a Snickers and a Dr. Pepper in a waiting room and that's good enough for you? Uh, last I checked, this was The United Goddamn States of America, where "good enough" is never good enough.

Allow me to illustrate my point. Through the magic of our imaginations, lets go on a trip to a 7-Eleven that has recently hired a man who has had his brain transplanted with that of your typical vending machine.

Ah, good day to you, sir!

"Ice-Cold beverages. $1.45."

Right to business, I see! Fair enough! I see that you have everything behind the counter there... I suppose that's convenient?

Uh, alright. Right on. Lets see... how much for the Mountain Dew?


Alright, alright. Um, I'll take that, I guess. I could go for a Mountain Dew. I-- I'm sorry, but I don't see a card reader here? You do accept credit, right?

"Why would we accept credit, idiot?"

Maybe because we're in the 21st fucking century and why wouldn't you? I don't know, maybe I'm being silly. Am I being silly?

"Do you want the Mountain Dew or not, jackass?"

Fine, here. All I have is change.

"Alright, put them in my hand, one-by-one."

Are you serious? Fine, alright. Here.

"Oh, is this a nickel? I'm sorry, but we're randomly not accepting nickels today."


"Yeah, it's a great soda, isn't it? Look at all of those Mountain Dews that I'm selling, right behind this glass on the shelf! So cold and refreshing! Only $1.45!"

I'm dying, sir. I'm literally dying of thirst right now. What if I were to tell you that? I have $1.45 right here, in my hand. I want you to take it. I want to make this money yours, and I want that Mountain Dew that you have for sale in return. Look, you have so many!

"Indeed I do. $1.45 and one can be yours! But we're not accepting nickels today."
Shit, alright. I have five pennies, you son of a bitch. Is that alright with you?

"HAHA PENNIES WHAT? THAT'S LIKE MONEY FOR BABIES. Get the fuck out of here with your pennies and nickels."


"Alright, here's your Mountain Dew and your change."

What the fuck? You just shook it up and threw it on the floor!

At this point, using the magic of our imaginations, we slowly beat the man to death over the course of a weekend.

Do you see what I mean? Nobody would put up with this bullshit if it were coming from a person! Where's our sense of pride, America? I go through this every goddamn day with a machine that I can't even sass back!

You know what, thinking about it, I don't even need someone to fix the above-specified issues. I just need a machine that I can sass back. Just give it some basic sass-recognition software and a dumb little face for me to punch when it throws my change on the floor. Then I'll be satisfied.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

just a quick kitler sketch.

Monday, July 4, 2011

trolling on facebook.

My brother-in-law reminded me of this when we all went out to dinner last night. I got a little too descriptive with his friends concerning an incident involving vomit and a school bus. Unfortunately, they didn't react as I had hoped, and they were all very sporting and complimentary to me. I cut that part out though, so we can all pretend that they were all "OMG THAT'S DISGUSTING YOU ARE THE WORST PERSON EVER".

Saturday, June 11, 2011

precious the precocious kitten! X

Twist: Precious was really Adolf Hitler reincarnated in kitten form all along!