The young couple sat quietly in the restaurant booth, on opposite sides of the table set for three. She kept looking out the window while he nervously fiddled with his iPhone. Any conversation was in short clipped sentences, even the serving girl could read the tension as she quietly asked again if they were ready to order.
“No.” The girl said, shaking her head as he stared petulantly at his phone, randomly skipping from one app to another like a nervous kid. The sun had set to the point where it was low on the horizon and shining straight into the window. A sound caught her ear, the low rumble of a powerful car coming into the parking lot. She could now see it out the window, a black convertible with the top down. It parked in front of the window, almost right in front of their table. By now her companion had noticed the car as well, and his fidgeting got even worse as he watched the man clamber out of the low slung sports car.
She watched him stretch out after his long drive. From their conversations she wasn’t sure what to expect. He seemed bigger in person than she expected, somehow more imposing than six feet tall would indicate. After stretching out, he dropped his leather jacket on the back seat and turned to walk into the restaurant. His strides were long an confident, no hesitation as he entered the seating area and waved over the waitress. She pointed to the young couple and he smiled and headed over after giving her a couple of orders that she quickly wrote down.
As he approached the table she felt a moment of panic. Unable to decide what to do, she slid over to make room for him and without hesitation he plunked himself down beside her. “Hello Katie, it’s good to finally meet you.” He said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. She blushed as his hand rested comfortably on her thigh and his lips slid back to her ear, whispering. “You look wonderful.”
On the other side of the table, her companion cleared his throat, looking both annoyed and nervous at the same time. “Umm, Greg, this is my husband, Jeff.” Greg looked over at him with a cool and almost blank expression. Jeff tried to meet his gaze, but after a few moments broke the stare and looked away. At that moment the waitress arrived with a couple of drinks, giving a momentary reprieve from the tension that had suddenly grown. “I took the liberty of ordering for you sweetie.” Greg said with a smile. They picked up their drinks and exchanged a toast, while Jeff looked on, his scowl deepening. Greg looked back to him, and again Jeff lost the nerve to challenge him.
“Jeff, you seem to have a bit of an attitude problem.” Greg said casually. “Let me explain this for you, so we are clear.” Jeff sat stiffly, looking down at his hands that fiddled nervously with his phone. “It’s quite simple, you will behave, do as you are told, and be a good boy. If you don’t, we’ll leave you behind. I’m sure I can find many things to do with your wife without you being around moping and scowling.” Greg slipped his fingers under her skirt, teasing her thigh with his rough skinned fingertips.
“Are we clear?” Greg asked. Jeff paused, his mouth set in pout. Inside his heart was racing, fear and doubt unmanning him. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good, because if you try and ruin your wife’s good time…I have no patience for that. Understood?”
“Yes.” The answer came more quickly this time. The pattern was set, he could almost physically feel his cock shrinking as he watched his wife flirt with this arrogant stranger. They sipped their drinks, touched, explored, as he watched silently.
The waitress returned, and Greg ordered for all of them. Jeff started to make his order, but Greg cut him off with a wave. He grinned at the waitress. “The gentleman will have the kids hamburger and a milkshake, vanilla.” She winked back at him, obviously this was part of what he had told her when he came in. Jeff blushed bright pink at the insult, but said nothing as Greg calmly sipped his drink and looked over at him.
Greg and Katie slipped into conversation, talking more comfortably as the meal progressed. Jeff’s food came first, and the waitress giggled as she put it in front of him, making him blush again. Greg motioned her over, whispering in her ear and making her descend into another fit of giggles as she walked away. The meal passed quickly, Greg giving Katie bites of his steak, the prime red blooded pieces that packed the most flavour. Her giving him samples of the delicate fish that he had ordered for her.
As the dishes were cleared away, the grinning waitress brought out a banana split for Jeff, putting it down in front of him with a giggle. “Well Jeff, it’s time for us to go.” He put a piece of paper down on the table in front of Jeff, with a phone number on it. “When you finish that and pay the bill, call me. The waitress will make sure that you have finished your dessert before you’re allowed to leave the table. Do you understand?” Jeff looked like he was about to stand, but Greg stared him down with his steady calm gaze and Jeff slumped back down.
Offering a hand to Katie, they headed for the door. She liked his presence, how he moved and the firmness of his body. As they walked out to the convertible she marveled at how easily she had gone along, no consideration of not going with him. It just seemed like that was never an option she should consider. He opened the door for her, helping her settle down into the low car. The black leather seats were warm from the sun, a nice contrast to the chilling air. He climbed in, comfortable and familiar in the stark German interior.
As he started the car, he leaned over to Katie. “Give me your panties.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t exactly an order either. The tone was reasonable, it seemed like a natural thing to do. As she reached down and hiked up her skirt, she felt her body respond. Arousal, in a rush of understanding and implication. She handed over the panties and he took them with a smile. “Thank you sweetie.”
She could see Jeff staring out the window, his face downcast as he watched them leave. Cruelly, Greg held up her panties, hooking them on the mirror and making sure that Jeff got a good look at them. Katie could see the waitress standing behind him, also looking out. She felt heat in her cheeks as she blushed, realizing that it was quite obvious to anyone what was going on. They drove away, the cool rush of the wind easing her mind. He took the panties off with a chuckle. “I know it’s tacky, but it had a great effect on him. Put them in your bag, you won’t be needing them.”
With a laugh she pushed them into her little purse and leaned back as the road rushed by and they tackled the windy coastal highway. His hand rested on her thigh between shifts as they sprinted through the corners, slowly working its way up until her bare pussy was uncovered and exposed. She parted her legs unconsciously, almost lifting her hips in eager anticipation of his fingers. But he was patient, fingers circling, teasing, but never touching her sex.
After a few minutes of driving, his phone rings. He pulls over as he answers.
“Are you finished everything? Are you sure? Mhmm. Put the waitress on. Yes. Now. Thank you.” Greg winks at Katie as he waits. “Did he finish it? Oh really. Tell him to drink that part out of the bottom. Thank you.” He waits for an answer from the other end. “Perfect, thank you sweetie, you’ve been a huge help. Yes his wife is here with me. I know, he’s not very happy about it is he? There’s a surprise for you at the front counter that I left. Call me later. Yes, tell him to call me after he has paid the bill, not before.” He hangs up, turning to Katie. “Spread your legs honey.”
Katie leans back, opening her legs as he snaps a quick picture with his phone. Before long, it rings. “You did as you were told? Good boy. Now, I’m sending you something. Call me back when you get it.” Greg hits send on the picture, he already has Jeff’s email from the communications they had to setup this meeting. He fires up the car and they roar off, belting down the windy road until they reach a small exit that leads down to the beach. Carefully he navigates it, easing the low car over the bumps and holes in the old gravel road.
As they reach the bottom, the phone rings. “You got it? Good. Wait there, I will call you back.” Greg hangs up and opens the door, walking around to help Katie up. He gets a blanket out of the trunk, takes her hand and walk out onto the deserted beach. They kick of their shoes, leaving them behind as they get into the soft powdery sands. He lays the blanket out far enough from the water to not get wet, but close enough to feel it’s cool mist as the waves languidly crash further out. He takes her in his arms, kissing her slowly and deeply, moving his body against hers.
“Romantic setting isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She said, eyes locked on his. “But we are not here for romance, are we?” He says as he pushes her gently but firmly to her knees on the blanket. “Undo my pants girl.” Quickly she complies, licking her lips as she fumbles with the thick leather belt, finally freeing it and pulling the buttons free on the old button-fly jeans. Without hesitation she pulls his pants down, leaving him standing there in his loose black boxer shorts that outline and hint at what lies beneath.
“Go ahead sweetie, I know you want to see.” With a wicked grin she pulls the boxers down, revealing his dark thick cock, hanging heavily in front of a pair of large balls. She sucks in her breath, eyes widening. “I love it.” She said with a smile, leaning forward and kissing the dark smooth skin. She heard the snap of his camera as he lips touch his cock.
“Call me when you get the next picture, and I will tell you where to find us. Yes, it’s sent already.” He runs his fingers into her hair, the gorgeous red locks glinting in the fading light. There was no way he could turn down this offer, despite the long distance and flighty husband. This girl was gorgeous. The phone rang as she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the girth of the fat cock head. “Nice picture isn’t it? Yes, she’s sucking me now. She’s very pretty, and she is even more beautiful with a real man’s cock in her mouth. We’re at the #25 exit for the beach, of the coast highway. You know it? Good. Better hurry, or we might change our minds.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone on the blanket. “Are you ok sweetie?”
“Oh yes, this is exactly what I wanted. I feel so alive. And wet.” He watched as she took him back into her warm wet mouth, working herself up and down on his thickening phallus. He grew to full size, his long thick cock standing proudly at attention as she eagerly took as much as she could in her mouth. The dark skin glistened in the half light as her saliva coated it. In the background she could hear the crunching of gravel as her husband’s minivan scampered down the hill, creaking to a stop beside the bull’s convertible. She felt her stud begin to fuck her mouth with his veiny cock, her attention caught between knowing her husband was walking up behind her, and the insistent cock pounding her mouth.
She could feel him behind her, close enough to touch, but a void was now between them. “She has a wonderful mouth, doesn’t she?” Jeff mumbled something in reply that made her bull laugh. “Undress, boy.” Greg pulled his rigid cock from her mouth, she licked her lips, eager to spend more time with this gorgeous cock.
Greg moved over to stand beside her now nude husband, his dark skin and thick proud erection in stark contrast to Jeff’s small pale circumcised cock that peeked out of a nest of brown pubic hair. “So Katie, which cock do you want?” Greg grinned at her as Jeff stared openly at her stud’s huge hard cock. Katie smirked back. “Hmm, I don’t know. I mean, it’s hard to decide between a flaccid little dickie and a big hard mans cock isn’t it?” They laughed as Jeff visibly cringed.
“What do you want sweetie?” Greg asked with a smile. “I want to suck your cock until you cum, then I want you to give me a real fucking with that thing.”
“Mmm, good thinking, but we have something for Jeff first.” Greg reached down and grabbed his pants, fishing something out of his pocket. It was a little pink bow on a small rubber ring. “That little dickie needs some decoration, don’t you think?” He handed the cock ring to her, and she reached out to pull her sissified husband towards her. The ring slipped easily over the head, making him look even more pathetic with the bright yellow bow shouting to the world, ‘here lies a pathetic cock’. Katie giggled as she gave his little cock a kiss.
“Stop playing with the kid stuff sweetie, I want your beautiful mouth.” With a smile Katie complied, working her mouth down as far as she could on what was rapidly becoming her favourite cock. Using her hand she stroked him fast and hard, fingers not quite reaching around the girth of his swollen meat. He groaned and thrust into her mouth, steadying himself with a hand on Jeff’s shoulder as he fucked his wife’s mouth. Faster and faster she stroked and sucked, loving the feeling of his cock filling her mouth and pushing her limits into her throat.
He couldn’t last, the anticipation and perfection of the scene driving him over the edge as he erupted into her mouth. Long streams of his cum pumping into her, more than she could swallow and it ran down her chin and dripped onto her summer dress. Jeff watched in horror as his wife eagerly kept pumping the spewing cock, making cooing noises as she drank what she could, and let the rest spill out in a mess. Greg squeezed his shaft, dropping the last drops of cum onto her extended tongue before stepping back. “Kiss her.” He ordered.
Jeff blanched, looking like he wanted to run, disappear, or burrow under the sand. Greg put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees. “Kiss your pretty wife.” Katie didn’t wait for Jeff to make up his mind, she leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders, giving him a long deep kiss and pushing her cum covered tongue into his mouth. Greg moved back closer as she finished the kiss, hanging his semi hard cock in front of Katies mouth, and right in Jeff’s view as he kneeled there, powerless.
He felt his stomach turn from the combination of the cum in his mouth, and the up close view of his beloved wife taking this stranger’s big cock into her sensual mouth. With impotent rage he watched as this bull’s cock grew and hardened as she eagerly sucked and stroked it, her other hand busy fingering her obviously wet pussy. His rage turned to despair as he realized that he could not compare to this, that he could never satisfy her in this way. She would never look at his cock with the obvious need and passion that she had now.
Greg pulled out of her mouth, fully erect and ready. “Get on your hands and knees please sweetie.”
“Ooh, with pleasure baby.”
“Jeff, come here.” Greg had crouched down behind Katie, his cock bobbing each time he moved as he eyed her beautiful little pussy. Jeff slowly moved over, kneeling beside them. “Take my cock in your hand boy. Don’t be shy, it won’t bite.” Jeff visibly quivered as his hand slowly reached out to grasp the thick cock. “Good boy, now line it up with her pussy.” Greg lowered himself slowly as Jeff pointed the fat plum head at his wife’s little slit. “Your wife is going to fuck my big cock, and she’s going to love it.” Jeff groaned as he watched the dark skinned head push against his wife’s opening.
“Oh god Greg, I’m going to cum fast.” Katie said, biting her lip as he pushed harder against her slit. With a strong thrust, he forced himself into her incredibly tight opening, Jeff’s hand caught at the point of penetration, unable to bring himself to move it as the thick cock pushed into his wife, stretching her out more than he had ever seen or imagined.
Within seconds he could feel her climax, body tensing as she shouted out joyfully and bucked against the bull mounting her from behind. As she came Greg thrust deeper, driving his cock into her in long powerful strokes. Jeffs hand was mashed between his wife’s pussy and the stud’s pelvis each time he slammed into her. He realized he was hard, his little cock twitching each time he felt the big cock slide between his fingers into Katie’s soaked cunt. When she came again, lost in her haze of pleasure, he felt the ache in his balls just before he sprayed his cum onto his wife’s thigh. The sights and sounds were driving him wild, watching the dark skinned cock glistening with her juices pounding into her spread open pussy. The sound of her squealing and moaning with pleasure as he used her.
Greg looked down at him, noticing that he’d cum on himself. “Look Katie, he’s cum already and he hasn’t even touched his cock.” Katie looked back at him, laughing. “Aww, poor boy, good thing I have you here to give me a real fucking.” Chuckling, he slid his cock out and smacked her ass. “On your back girl.” Ignoring Jeff, they continued their fun as she lay back and spread her legs wide, and he slapped his cock head on her swollen sensitive clit. Each time she gasped in pleasure, back arching, hips lifting up in an appeal to have his cock back inside her. Soon he gave her what she wanted, sliding into her flushed slit and starting to fuck her hard and fast. Jeff watched as his lovely wife was slammed mercilessly, here on this beach they had visited so many times as a couple.
Shamed and unsure what to do with himself, Jeff sat beside them and gawked. He lost count of how many times she came, watching mesmerized as he wanked himself, forgotten as they fucked. Finally the bull started to grunt and moan, pistoning his cock into her until finally he blew his load deep into her soaking wet pussy. He kept pumping slowly as the heavy load of hot cum started to leak out, savouring the feel of her raw, well used pussy gripping his spent cock. Finally he pulls out, sitting back to admire his handiwork. He grinned at Jeff. “I think she’s happy now.” Jeff looked at his wife, her legs spread open, raw wet pussy open wide and leaking this stranger’s cum. Her eyes were closed, mouth smiling, her long red hair spread out in a fan on the blanket.
“Now boy, clean her up.” Jeff looked at him in horror. “No.”
“Yes you will. Or you’ll be walking home. I have your keys, and your clothes.” Jeff realized that as he was watching his wife, Greg had already dressed and was holding his keys. “Come on, all of it.”
Reluctantly he kneeled between Katie’s legs, bringing his mouth to her sensitive sex, almost gagging the first time as he licked her and a thick wad of cum coated his tongue. But his wife responded to it, moaning deep and long from the sensation of his tongue. Encouraged, he started to clean her, surprised as she reached down and grabbed his head, pushing it into her pussy, wanting more. “Oh fuck baby, eat me.”
Greg chuckled as he dropped the keys to the van and walked away, picking up his shoes on the way to his car. He opened the door, and sat down while he knocked the sand off his feet and shoes. As he put them back on, his phone rang. The waitress was off shift and waiting for him.
He took a last look out on to the beach where the couple were lost in their moment, barely visible as it got darker. The car came to life, rumbling it’s deep bass line as he pulled away and left them to their pleasures.
I've just gotten off the phone (well, Skype, but it's pretty much the same thing) with The Amazing Jennifer Priest. Why is she so amazing? Because in the space of an hour, she brought me up from exhaustion to excitement; from depression to delight; from gnarly to gnostic! During our Skype call, she led me toward an epiphany, and it's put me on the path to something great.
Full disclosure: I may have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder (Adult ADD). All my life, I've had difficulty concentrating, been easily distracted, have never had a moment when snatches of songs weren't running through my mind, was extremely forgetful ... and these things have hurt me. Just as an example, Jennifer gave me a mutually agreed-upon task to help me pursue some of my goals. But two weeks have gone by, and I haven't been able to do them. Last night, I realized that my biggest obstacle is, in fact, my brain. It just doesn't work properly. So I asked Jennifer if we could spend today's session discussing ways to fix that.
We began talking about the different drugs that people with my problem take to alleviate their symptoms. But she said something that hit me like a bolt from the blue. I mentioned that I'm always recycling old song lyrics, great bits of writing from books I've read, things people say that I found particularly clever ... and yet I can't remember to do a simple thing like turn off the garden lights at night before I go to bed. Jennifer said that that's because experiencing pleasurable things lights up the part of the brain that helps me learn and remember things. Things that are onerous, like household chores, or doing taxes, or any of a thousand things, just don't stick with me; in fact, I tend to postpone them, or outright avoid them.
She likened it to sitting in a boring business meeting. You might start to twiddle your thumbs, or drum on the desk, or play with your cellphone -- anything you can do that will add just the tiniest bit of enjoyment to the proceedings. Because without that extra stimulus, you might as well not even be there.
And that concept struck such a deep chord with me, it literally woke me all the way up, and I got really excited. Do you understand how amazing it is to have a big piece of mystery suddenly come loose and fall away, like icebergs calving in the arctic seas? A huge part of my life suddenly made sense! All my life I've been told that I had to pay closer attention, to work harder, to have the right attitude. But it seems that some peculiarity of my brain has made that near-impossible ... and more than that: there's a way to fix it.
Now, I should say that as a whole, I've always had a certain reservation when it comes to drugs of any sort. I'm wary of their effects and side effects, I've seen their abuse lead to the loss of friends and family members ... they're a loaded topic for me. So to consider that I might gain some benefit from taking some kind of pharmaceutical was a huge step for me. But I'm doing it. I'm going to make a call soon to put me on the track to 1) Get myself diagnosed, and 2) To get the treatment I need.
You may be thinking "But it seems so obvious; you need drugs, you go get drugs." But the problem has always been my broken brain. I would always think to myself "Oh, I just need to do this", but 5 minutes later, and it's gone. There have been moments when I've nearly wept, or screamed in frustration at my inability to understand the simplest ideas, or remember the most common sense steps. In a lot of ways, my mind has been my biggest enemy my whole life.
But The Amazing Jennifer managed to turn that around, too. She said that even given that hurdle, that obstacle, what I have managed to accomplish is that much more laudable. Look how far I've come, even with a broken brain: I've managed to keep my First Job in this horrible economy, and am maintaining two secondary jobs at the same time, both of which involve the regular application of my thoughts. I've stuck with my difficult living situation, when others might have cut and run. I can honestly say that I'm thankful that I have my willpower in place, because without it, I might have given up long ago.
Just think what I'll be able to do when I fix my brain!
So there you have it: working with The Amazing Jennifer has been the smartest thing I've ever done. Sure, these steps were always there for me to figure out on my own, but that's the point: I never had. It's taken an outside voice to help me put it all in context, and help me understand why my life is the way it is, and what to do about it.
I'm going to get better, you just wait and see. I'm going to astonish you all.
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
Hey, I said
You can keep my things, they've come to take me home
-- "Solsbury Hill", Peter Gabriel
Part of wisdom is knowing when to seek help. I don't claim any special store of knowledge apart from the common sort that arrives with age, but I do know when I need assistance.
I've come to a point in my life in which I feel overwhelmed by the very act of living. I'm working all the time -- I see my son off to preschool in the morning and I go to my First Job. I work at my Second and sometimes Third Jobs during my First Job, and then I come home to help take care of my son. Once he's off to sleep, I go back to working on my Second and Third jobs. I work until 2 or 3 AM, most days, and sleep (hopefully) until 5:45, when I have to get up to help my co-parent get up so she can get ready for her job. I go back to sleep until about 7:30, and start all over again.
I'm mired in the deepest debt of anyone I know, the result of years of poor decisions that have all come home to roost. Any one of my jobs could conceivably disappear tomorrow, and I have nothing concrete to fall back on. I have nothing in my savings, and no practical training in anything other than writing.
So I need help. I've needed help for quite a while now, and have been trying to tough it out, hoping it would get better.
Fortunately, I use Twitter. That's a phrase you don't often see in the media, but I've found Twitter to be an amazing resource for many things. I've made friends through Twitter, have found work through Twitter, and have expressed my humor, anger, fear, and hope through Twitter. And a few weeks ago, I found help through Twitter.
Jennifer Priest (http://www.jenniferpriest.com/) is a life coach. She's in the business of helping those who need help. She does this by telling you things that you may already know, but choose to ignore, or choose to avoid, for whatever reason. She makes complex issues plain. She sees clearly. She takes that journey of a thousand miles -- which feels unassailable -- and gets you to forget about all the steps it will take you to complete it, to focus instead upon the very first one.
Thanks to Jennifer, I have tasks. Concrete, simple, agreed-upon tasks with a deadline. These tasks are due by the end of the week, and I will accomplish them. Then Jennifer and I will talk, and she'll help me focus on the second step. Sooner or later, I'll come to the end of the thousand miles, and look forward to the next thousand -- but maybe by that point I won't need help anymore.
I'm going to keep this blog updated with my progress, in the hope that it will give me perspective. If I suffer setbacks, as I'm certain I will, you'll know about it. If I learn something important, I'll set it down here. And if, by the end of my journey, I've acquired wisdom, I'll share it with you.
And will this be
Our second chance
Our secret, better lives?
Adjusted freedom, somewhat less unsupervised?
-- "Where They Go Back To School But Get Depressed", The Loud Family
O the wonders and joys of drink! The epicurean delight to be had in a precisely-concocted formula of alcohol! The gastronomic pleasure inherent in every chilled sip and swallow! It is a consummation I shall never know. For I, dear friends and enemies, am an Abstainer. A teetotaler. A Man What Does Not Drink The Booze. Why? I’m glad you didn’t ask!
My earliest memory of alcohol is being offered beer by my then-stepfather. I was 12 years old. I looked at it (urine-like). I smelled it (stenchy). I rolled it about the glass (noisome). I took a sip. And… have you ever… eaten rotten, festering cardboard that’s been sitting in the backpack of a wetbrain hobo, alternatingly soaked by DT sweats and dried by the heat of his self-righteous indignation at the state of the world?
Better than that beer. I recommend it for whenever you’re in a terrible hurry to vomit.
So my first experience was formative. My next attempt at alcohol consumption came when I was 16 years of age, at a New Year’s Eve party. I was handed a glass of champagne by a pretty girl, and when that happens to you, you drink. In fact, I was so smitten by her that I failed to realize until it was too late that my hormone-addled brain had decided it was okay to release a swarm of fire ants into my esophagus. I only gradually became aware of this when I registered the look of alarm on the sweet girl’s face, followed by the sound of someone strangling a dyspeptic moose, which turned out to be me. The inability to breathe soon followed, joined by an unpleasant buzzing sensation in my head that sounded and felt like the world’s tiniest jackhammer being wielded by the cutest damned bee you’ve ever seen, cursing at me in Esperanto.
Eventually the whole suite of impressions died down, and I was left with a warmth in my stomach that was jealous of its space, rebuffing my every attempt to put anything else in there that might help with my sudden feelings of confusion and nausea. When I was finally able to speak again, I saw that the girl in front of me looked worried. Still hoping that I could salvage some shred of dignity, and perhaps steal away with her to a less-populated area of the party for muchas smooches, I summoned up my last reserves of suaveitude and looked her in the eyes. “Smooth,” I croaked.
You can see a pattern here, I think. Some of you might be thinking, “Well, drinking, like smoking and perhaps serial killing, is something that you just have to keep doing until you get used to it.” You might be right. That which doesn’t kill you… leaves you debilitated and in a coma. Look, it’s not as though I don’t “get” the drinking thing. It looks like great fun to sample all these different flavors, and reap the relaxation and loss of inhibition that comes with inebriation. I mean, just looking at Drinks After Dark makes me really yearn for a new hobby. And I live in San Francisco, one of the great Foodie meccas of the world! If I can’t do my experimentation here, I can’t do it anywhere!
But sadly, my body just seems to find alcohol – in whatever strength – poisonous. I’ve tried, oh how I’ve tried! There was that one time a “friend” handed to me something that smelled JUST like a vanilla shake, a drink of which I’m enamoured. Of course he neglected to mention that it was alcoholic, which should have been obvious to me by the way that it conducted electricity and glowed with a fierce crimson light. But, you know, vanilla. You know? So I took a hearty swig. For the record, let me just say this:
I love gravity. I think it’s great the way it keeps me and all of my toys from floating into space. However, I’m not such a fan of it when it decides it’s time to force me to make out with the floor. Remember that old game “stop hitting yourself”? It’s like that, only with a lot more swearing. A LOT more.
Now, I’m not sure exactly why alcohol affects me the way it does. I suspect my mother had a run-in with an old Gypsy woman before I was born, causing her offspring to be cursed. Fortunately for me, the Gypsy was a little unclear with the stipulations of the curse when she said “Afflicted by spirits”. But, you know, it’s too late now, no do-overs in the world of Gypsy curses! Could be a lot worse. I could’ve ended up like Haley Joel Osment and see dead folks everywhere. And it wouldn’t be the cool dead dudes, either, like Jimmy Hendrix, or Jim Henson, or… Benjamin Disraeli. No. Instead, it’d be that annoying woman down the street who always yelled at you for walking across her lawn when you were a kid. Or the high school gym teacher who always picked on you with screams of “C’mon, I said HUSTLE!” Oh man, can you imagine a crowd of loud, obnoxious creatures following you around all day making life miserable? It’d be like… being Octomom. Haha! ZING! Who says I can’t be relevant and edgy!
But I digress. The next time you have a drink of your favorite liquor, please think of the children. And by “children”, I mean me. Poor little Akela, standing alone at a party, clutching his glass of Coke to himself, watching with hungry eyes the rest of the room mingle, dance, flirt, and generally have some worry-free fun, fueled by free-flowing libations. Do him favor. Send a cute drunk girl over to him. There’s something to be said for the “contact high”, especially when it leads to a next morning of recriminations and awkward disentanglements. Thank you, alcohol! Awwwwwwww, YEAH.
Why can’t we not be sober?
I just want to start this over
Why can’t we sleep forever?
I just want to start this over
-- "Sober", Tool
According to lore -- and by "lore", of course, I mean "Wikipedia" -- there really is no supportable reason behind the fact that traditionally, Friday the 13th is considered a day of bad luck. Mostly, it's a concatenation of the belief that Fridays are unlucky, and that the number Thirteen is similarly unlucky. But you have to admit: it's been pretty unlucky for Jason Voorhees' victims. And as a side note: Jason, look, I get the whole "iconic" thing, okay? But c'mon, that hockey mask is SO 80's! Kick it to the curb, man! Update your look. I'm thinking... Michael Jackson mask. Now THAT dude is scary! Wha -- no, I'm not taking a dig at the guy's music -- hell no! I love Off the Wall! ... WHAT? "Man In the Mirror"? Man, Michael would FREAK OUT if he ever saw a man in HIS mirror!
Hold up, hold up. I gotta audiocast to do. I'll talk to you later, Jason. Mm-kay. Give my love to your sister. Bye.
Anyway: Friday the 13th. Like so much of what passes for culture these days, this phenomenon seems to exist simply because people expect it to exist. It's like not wearing green on St. Patrick's day -- suddenly, everyone's Irish, and out to pinch the holy hell outta you. It's assumed behavior, based on nothing more than hearsay, and a ton of media behind it. Take your favorite sitcom, for example. Writers stuck for ideas? Base an episode around Friday the 13th, have one of your characters take it so seriously that they refuse to go outside for fear of something awful happening, and boom! HILARITY AND HIJINKS!
But I'm here to tell you: Friday the 13th is, in fact, the luckiest day of the year. Why? Because of Newton's Third Law of Motion that states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Lemme 'splain, Loosy.
There is something insidious and powerful to the adage "Opposites attract". People who are allergic to cats find themselves constantly at the center of feline attention.
Allergic human: Crap, you didn't tell me you have a cat -- I'm totally allergic!
Cat owner: Oh, don't worry about Mr. Squinkles, he's afraid of people. He'll never even come near you. He just runs away when -- oh, wow, look at that, he's coming right for you!
Cat: I LOVE YOU!
Allergic Human: *explodes*
That guy you've had a crush on for months now, who you just know is absolutely perfect for you, is going to end up getting together with that unbelievably skanky cougar the next cubicle over, even though they have absolutely nothing in common except MAYBE biology based on the carbon atom. It's like rain on your wedding day, Alanis.
This kind of thing happens all the time, and we just write it off to silly bad luck. However, it applies in spades during Friday the 13th, because of everyone running around in dread of some form of bad luck that's going to strike them like a greasy lightning bolt from the sky, Danny Zuko-style. By fearing it, these people attract bad luck! But you, O fortunate one, can take advantage of this fact by observing the Third Law.
It's all about energy. Positive energy and negative energy are constantly swirling around you in flux. Push some positivity this way, and negativity rushes in to fill the void. The universe maintains balance. So, it should naturally follow that while everyone's out there drawing in all this negative Friday the 13th energy, you're in a position to reap the benefits of the concomitant positive energy flow rushing in to fill the void! Don't know how? Here's what you do:
Although this might go against everything you've come to expect from life, go ahead and expect the best to happen. Make reservations for that restaurant you've always wanted to visit, yet is always booked solid. On Friday the 13th, you can get in. Drive downtown for a packed event: you'll find parking. Take that extra-long lunch: your boss will be too busy to notice. On Friday the 13th, pay close attention to your life. Happy accidents will occur, but you need to be in a receptive state to observe them! Take it from me. I was once an oblivious consumer, joylessly wandering through life, unaware that the entire time the universe was simply itching to give me gifts if only I'd been aware enough to recognize them. And now look at me! I have an amazing son who is already a Nathan Fillion times smarter than I'll ever be. I have this audiocast with which I'm free to express my pent-up ideas, and I have a thriving network of friends via Twitter!
It's all about expectations, kids. If you expect today to be horrible, then congratulations -- lemme know how that works out for you. But if you let yourself soak up the positive energy carelessly pushed away be so many people on a daily basis, then the world will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make a call to the Fab Five. We're planning a Very Special Episode of Queer Eye: Friday the 13th Part VIII.2: Jason Takes Manhattan... BY STORM. Freak Chic, baby! The new Voorhees line? It'll MURDER you.
I don't know why I feel this way
I don't know if it's right or wrong to laugh at misfortune
Darkness can never last too long
When you laugh in its face
-- "Only Makes Me Laugh", Oingo Boingo
So! Valentine's Day, huh? Am I right? Huh? Yeah! Hearts! Flowers! Candy! Ha-haaaaa, ugh. Now that it's safely past us for another year, I gotta question. Whether you're a dyed-in-the-wool romanticist, all luvvy-duvvy boo-boo kitty nummymuffincoocoobutter, or a hard-nosed, bitterpants, my-heart-is-a-black-cinder, Gothy/Emo Morrissey mumbleynose, there is one thing we all wonder about: What the hell is up with all those cherubs?
These little winged refugees from a Van Halen album cover are always seen flitting about with bow and arrows at the ready, intent upon riddling some poor innocent sap with their barbed shafts of lurve. Okay, first of all, who's arming these flying menaces? Listen, I know that in Russia, love makes YOU, but here in America, you need to be at least 21 years of age and require a permit before you're allowed to own a projectile weapon. Unless you're talking Nerf weaponry, in which case, there's a little warning story for you to hear elsewhere on this blog.
Second of all, doesn't it concern anyone else that these ambulatory celestial rats just kinda meander around dispensing their own brand of indeterminate matchmaking, with no apparent brief or mandate as to which two people might actually be compatible?
Location: San Francisco. Seen sitting across from each other on the local transit, a man and a woman, each absorbed in their own little pursuits. He's into multiple piercings, facial tattoos, hardcore thrashgrindsloppunk, and, curiously, needlepoint. She likes Jane Austen, bob-do's, O magazine, and the collected works of Shostakovich. In floats a frisky little cherub with sheer simple-minded perversity on its face. Twang! He's gut-shot! Twong! She caught a hot one to the neck! And now it's all over. Somehow, these two are now doomed to try to mesh their individual social, familial, professional, philosophical, and emotional worlds together, and heaven help them both. I give it two months.
And third of all, speaking of heaven, do we even know for sure that these things have divine backing? Tiny mutant wings and a bioluminescent cranial light source do not the beatific make. So we're talking either infernal origin or mad science. I'll tell you which I'd prefer.
If I were an undersexed over-brainy nerd/dork type with full government funding (I've got two of those covered already; guess which two!), this is what I'd do. Under the guise of Valentine's Day, I'd release into the unsuspecting populace droves of genetically-engineered flying babies, outfitted with Olympic marksman-level sharpshooting skills, the very latest in miniature sniper technology, and the pheromone-sensing knack for finding two people cosmically unsuited for each other. Then, having embedded the both of them with light-bent heat-seeking projectiles containing a potent cocktail of pair-bond selective-antigen orgonetropevores combined with sophisticated tracking nanobots, these Cross-pollinating Heuristic Explore-and-attack Recombinant Uncanny Blasphemies (or C.H.E.R.U.Bs) would keep tabs on the resultant hook-up, break-up, and wash-up pattern that typically occurs over the succeeding couple of months, weeding out the chaff from the wheat until at last my perfect mate rises to the top of the heap of broken, disillusioned, ready-to-settle-for-less women, and I STRIKE!
The question you have to ask yourself now, is: does this pattern sound familiar to you? Have you gone through this experience already? Have you lowered your standards to the point where they're already met? Now you know. Oh yes... you know.
So, yeah. Valentine's Day, huh?
It was late last night in the red barlight
And she looked all right
Oh no
She had a slutty kind of appeal and there was definitely something to her
And you could think of friends of yours who if you knew if they could they would do her
She had a dirty sock kind of appeal
Oh God, NO
-- "Billy's", The Billy Nayer Show
If you’re like me, or even like him, or her, but not her or her, and totally not like that guy, ‘cause eww, what the hell is wrong with his ears, he doesn’t know the business end of a loofah from a turkey’s wattle and MAN he needs the services of a manicurist like WHOA… then you’re concerned about supramandibular cranial detonation, or headexplodeytude.
Headexplodeytude, or HET, is a syndrome suffered by millions of decent government-fearing folk daily. Doctors diagnose headexplodeytude in 4 ½ out of 67% of sufferer…ers every month, and new cases are on the rise. What causes HET, and how can we hunt down and lynch those responsible?
HET begins as a throttled impulse. We’ve all experienced moments of feeling frustrated at a co-worker’s cheerfully ignorant ineptitude when filling out a TPS report, or the inability of a customer service representative to understand that it’s impossible for you to go to the website to fill out a problem ticket when lack of Internet service is the reason you’re calling in the first place. DID YOU GET THAT, COMCAST? STOP PLAYING BEJEWELED AND PAY ATTENTION TO THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!
However, as well-raised, polite, and intelligent people, we understand that we can’t just say whatever rage-fueled magma-like invective we’d like to let spew forth from our mouths, so we push our anger way down deep inside and try to conduct ourselves with decorum. Unfortunately, that anger doesn’t just go away. Instead, it mixes with the digestive juices, deeply-held resentment, and fears of mimes we all harbor inside and causes pressure to build up from within. Over time, that pressure can travel up the esophagus and fill the sinuses, causing a horrendous explosion, showering everyone nearby with viscera and bits of the previous night’s Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream binge.
So what can be done to arrest the effects of headexplodeytude? Well, you could try yoga and meditation! No, no, seriously, science has long ago debunked the myth of cultivating a healthy philosophy of tolerance, acceptance, and inner peace as a method of managing the kinds of stress that leads to HET, and instead turns to biopharmaceuticals for help.
Introducing Noboomitor. Carefully developed over the course of 5 years by a team of caring, respected scientists from various third world yet totally clean and broadband-enabled countries, Noboomitor has been proven effective in over a thousand Phase IV clinical trials as compared to placebo. Noboomitor is quick-acting, totally more purple than that other purple pill, won’t stain your teeth, and is effective for over 12 minutes before requiring another dose. Noboomitor isn’t for everyone – please check with your physician if you are:
• Pregnant
• Thinking of becoming pregnant
• Terrified you’re already pregnant
• Arnold Schwarzenegger in “Junior”
• Currently taking anything for anything
• Over 5 feet tall
• Were born in a month ending in “ember”
• Bipedal
• Have a face
• Or have recently been possessed by Shreeknolgth, Dread Monarch of Styrofoam Peanuts and All Related Packing Material That Makes That Nerve-Shredding Squeaky Sound When They Rub Together, I Hate That
Side effects may include nausea, vomiting, vomiting out of someone else’s mouth, inability to say the letter “ “, plague of frogs, Reaganomics, mudtongue, inverted nipples, slight headache, and loss of appetite. Ask for Noboomitor at your local pharmacy. Please remember to provide adequate credit references, and any documentation concerning mortgages, trust funds, and off-shore bank accounts. After all, if it’s expensive, it probably works!
Noboomitor is your best choice for temporarily staving off the inevitability of supramandibular cranial detonation. Remember: only you can prevent your head from exploding. Please, think of the children. If they go to school with pieces of their daddy’s noggin plastered all over their precious little faces, you can bet they’ll be picked last for dodgeball. And no one wants that. Noboomitor: it works, bitches.
Having every question answered isn't gonna help at all
Having every question answered isn't gonna help at all
Having every question answered isn't gonna help at all
Having every question answered doesn't help
When you're not supposed to know
You're not supposed to know
You're not supposed to know
Anything
-- "Textbook", We Are Scientists
