Death, Horny

Thinkin’ ‘Bout De’th

People mistake me for being somewhere between the ages of 28 and 32 nowadays. Until about a year ago, I was mistaken for being between the ages of 15-18. How come I have to skip all the good years?

When I was a teenager I comforted myself with the fact that despite my babyfaced patheticness was preventing me from getting laid now, that same babyfacedness would help me score when I was in my 30s and was still looking a healthy 24. Nope. I just went from one type of person who doesn’t get laid to another type of person who doesn’t get laid.

I think in high school I just wanted to assume that before I died I’d get to experience being a man of sex – a person who would enjoy sexual arts whenever he wanted. That’s not to say I was absurdly horny, or that I only thought about sex, it was just that that was the type of life that seemed most opposite of the life I had and I wanted to experience all lives. Now, I’ve come to the realization that the playah lifestyle is not one I will get to experience, and that makes me sad. Again, not because of my inability to get laid, but because it means I’m close enough to death to scratch things off my bucket list that I never even tried to accomplish.

So, death has been a pretty consistent worry for me all of my life, but now it has gotten worse as I realize how much work must go into being famous enough to have the affect I need to have on the world. This means that I will be writing once a day about what instance made me think about and fear death most in that day. Y’know because this is supposed to be a funny blog. This will last as long as it lasts.

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Horny, Hungry, Lazy, Lonely

Saturday Night!!

You know you’ve hit a new low when making a peanut butter sandwich seems like too much work despite the fact that you forgot to eat dinner.

It was that crunchy organic shit though. The shit that doesn’t come premixed. The shit with the oil floating on top just forcing you to make churning one more task in your already arduous day. Plus it has that plastic sealing. That sealing that I’m gonna need a knife to open, though it is the same knife that I will use to do my churning.

I did it though. I broke seals, churned, spread peanut butter on a piece of bread, and put the other piece of bread back because I realized I could just fold the one I had already peanut-buttered and doing double the work seemed like, well, a lot of work. Then I had to wash the knife. Ugh. My life is getting too difficult.

It has been well documented about how much I love Beyonce and Lady Gaga and hate my penis. I’m too lazy to say something new about them, but felt a need to say something and figured I could go back to my old standbys in writing even if only through link/reference.

My pants are not as good of napkins as I wanted them to be and the oil that leaked out of my sandwich and onto my hand because I didn’t churn well enough is now creating stains that look like I’ve done something fun with my Saturday night. That’s right. I am now saying that I could improve my Saturday night by getting into a thumb plus-four-other-fingers war with my penis, but my roommate has some big law school paper due, so he’s still yelling at the furniture.

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Horny, Lazy, Socialism

Your Imagination

I don’t know my roommate well. I choose not to know him well. He owns four copies of Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, has said that he doesn’t believe women should be allowed to vote, and gets so angry when he loses at Halo that he has punched a hole in the wall. My point is that we don’t relate on much. The funniest thing he does though is that he constantly talks to himself. He’s a law school student and a fireman so everyday he’ll get into an argument with someone that he thinks should have gone differently. This means he needs to reiterate over and over that that person is a moron while pacing from the kitchen to his room and explaining how somehow their line of reasoning leads to a country overrun with prostitution and drug-gambling. Which, he wants to point out is not necessarily a bad thing, but he just wants this imaginary person that he is yelling at while brandishing the whisk he is supposed to be washing to admit that this is the conclusion that they need to come to if they believe that providing backup plans for our least fortunate is worthwhile.

He’s been on a tear this morning while I sit in my bed half heartedly jerking off to people I’ve seen in the past couple months. It really kills the mood.

I just want to touch myself and imagine the people I’ve seen clothed without their clothes, but now these imaginary naked women who are riding me keep screaming at me in a Staten Island accent about how Equality is just a word that means people don’t work hard enough.

Imagination is a wonderful tool. As an only child who grew up in rural Maine, I feel as though mine is one of the more vivid imaginations, but imagination is meant to be in your mind. When I talk to myself, I may gesticulate wildly by accident, and even mumble things under my breath, but I do not force my fucked up mind-journeys onto others because they need the opportunity to have their own imagination. And that is true equality.

True equality is not fucking with my vague attempts at masturbation.

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Gender, Horny, My favorites

I Like Basketball, You Like Fucking

I love the NBA. It surprises everybody, but I really enjoy basketball. I love playing it (not for that long because I am woefully out of shape), watching it, studying the stats of it, playing video games of it, Charles Barkley. All of it. I love it, yet people refuse to accept that I like it because it is so out of character.

I feel bad for those who like sex. People assume they don’t want a relationship. Or if you are me, and you can and do go long periods of time without sex, people assume you love relationships. This thought process is absurd. Sex and relationships are intrinsically linked, not diametrically opposed. Yet, I constantly see women who enjoy getting their rocks off, getting their hearts broken as well and nobody understanding why. “If you want to get laid, that must be your only motivation.”

Relationships are about stability. Relationships are about consistency. Relationships are about making sure that you have someone to bone with often. I don’t like relationships because I enjoy masturbation too much. If you need the sex of another, you probably also want the sex of another on a consistent basis – you probably want a relationship.

This is the the destructive thought process that has created the Christian Right’s stronghold grip on America’s “moral values.” Bear with me here, this makes sense. We’ve decided that sex and love are diametrically opposed – that sex is one thing and love is another, and sex with someone you love is very different than sex. We’ve decided that love leads to sex, when the very opposite is more often the case – sex leads to love. When we separate sex and love and decide they are in opposition, we can’t define them as equal – Jim Crow taught us that. Therefore the Christian Right has championed love and therefore downplayed the importance of sex. They’ve created abstinence only education, a xenophobic society frightened of sexual experimentation, and, most importantly, labeled sex as the devil’s work if love is god’s work. This makes people who like sex the devil – especially women. And the devil goes by a different name in our society: “Slut.” Now, if you like sex, you hate love, and you must be evil.

I hate love. I also am not ridiculously sexual. I respect those who like sex – and like it in weird ways, but I also assume they are much more likely to fall in love. That makes more sense to me, and if we all understood that, then maybe we’d stop demonizing sex because it’s not the opposite of love, but rather the embracing of it.

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Attention Whoring, Horny, Pathetic

My Nightmare.

I just had a horrible nightmare. This is what happens when you lock yourself in a unventilated room and pass out with the lights on, the terrible extended interview between Jon Stewart and Ken Blackwell buffering, and your wool pants on but no shirt.

I was getting out of a rehearsal/class/performance (this was unclear and unimportant). Kevin Allison was cleaning up something behind the piano which was somewhat hidden behind a fort made out of cushions. I was doing a slow pack up in order to talk to a British girl in my class/rehearsal/performance. We were attempting to make plans for when we should go see Furry Vengeance. KA kept attempting to get my attention to help him plug in the grand piano with the right cords because I guess I was his tech guy. In my attempt to juggle the two conversations I brought up that I have a British friend coming to visit soon (This part is true in real life, not dream world). Then I got nervous that I had talked too positively about my other British friend who was a girl and the one in my performoclassersal would think I was crushing on the one I had met while traveling the West Coast. (Not this one). So, I backtracked awkwardly and made myself look stupid and fidgety.

I’m scared of society. That’s why I go on stage, it’s separate for society. It’s a place where you are not longer held accountable for your actions, but rather for how you made people feel. I’m going on stage tonight at Belleville Lounge at 7:30, you should come if you’re in New York because I need to escape the nightmare that is basic social interaction.

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Gender, Horny, Lonely

Stop Loving Me

I am a very unlikable fellow. I am also very lovable. I’ve spoken before of the “gauntlet” that I put potential sexual or friendship partners through, but in order to catch people up to speed I will quickly define it: It is how I act like a very hateable person – accenting all of my traits that are most societally disliked when I first meet people so that if they can like that then they can like me. It’s only a downhill road. This also has an opposite and equal reaction where people assume that if they’ve found their way through the gauntlet and have found some way to find me likeable they must be in love with me.

While I am a very caring and nice person to be in a relationship with, I also do not get emotionally attached easily if at all. Combine this lovability with a trend of sexually heroizing the slightly effeminate heterosexual geek (1 2 OMG 3), and I am quite the catch. Which sucks.

Oh no, H2$ is complaining about people loving him, what a fucking tool. I don’t want to be loved – especially not by some blonde bombshell who doesn’t understand how she is being tricked by sitcoms into liking me. I want friends. And not the sitcom. I want fucks. I wish that were a sitcom. I do not want a wife.

Another problem: People look to me when the want that “final” relationship. I don’t have the energy right now to rant about why we shouldn’t have “final” relationships, so instead: Why can’t you just fuck me now realize that I’m not very good at it and move on. Then you can use me as your back up plan. Not. Because when I’m 35 I’ll have a harem of women who were using me as a backup plan to reject. Really, I’m just telling you that it’s now or never because none of you are alone in your desires for cliched relationships – and none of you are lovable to me.

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Attention Whoring, Horny, Lonely

The Comedy of Cumming

When I was 17 I had a girlfriend. We were on the phone once during a week we were unable to see each other much.

“Sometimes I’m thinking about you at work and I just have to chew on ice.”

“Yeah I get bored at work too and I love chewing.”

I have always had a hard time understanding when people are interested in my sexually. It seems to make very little sense to me that someone would want my penis near them. It’s hard because I’m not typically bad at reading people and their intentions – in fact I’m ridiculously good at it, but the idea of a woman desiring my hairily awkward advances clouds my ability to judge.

My first two girlfriends broke up with me because I didn’t have sex with them and one in college called me out on her radio show once we broke up for not having sex with her enough. None of this was because I didn’t want to penis-bang them. This was because I was so worried about forcing my monotonous thrusting and early ejaculation upon them. I’m much more confident in forcing my monotonous stories and pathetic punchlines.

I feel like there are three categories of relationships. In one you have the desire to make the other person laugh – these are what are typically described as friends. In another you have the desire to make the other person cum – these are one night stands, bad relationships, and week long romps. In the last you want to make the person laugh and cum – these are the people that we marry. Of course, I don’t believe in monogamy so each of these groups can and should be just as populated. My problem is that I tend to believe that people want to shove me into that first group, and I like equality so I push them back into that first group. This is very easy to me because laughing and cumming are nearly synonymous. Making people laugh and cum is the same to me as someone who laughs at double my jokes.

I guess my desired profession is prostitute, but I need a microphone to do my business.

Because I like shoving large phallic objects into holes.

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