Sunday, August 14, 2011

Thank You Steve Turner

Steve Turner does awesome tattoos.


See more of Steve's work at

Adventures of Shop Cat I

Shop Cat rules.





Boredom Sets In

It's art.




Brothers in Misery


This picture was taken at Doughboy's wedding.

Steve and Sheila Forever

This weekend our friend Steve Turner dropped in to do a guest spot. After a few days of heavy duty tat banging he decided to unwind at the good ol Opossum Holler Show. The events that unfolded are that of legend.

Here Steve is entranced by Sheilas moves. The harpy of the hardwood was the apple of Steve's eye. Observe as they move and sway in a way that proves love conquers all.

The two lovers couldn't keep their hands off each other. I wanted to know what love was. They showed me.

With Steve gone, Sheila dealt with her heartache in the same manner that cats display anger and loneliness. She pissed her pants.

So I Creep


I know how this movie ends.

I bet this film is a wreck.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Whip it Up!

When I see a tweaker buying Redi Whip I chuckle to myself because I'm pretty sure I know what he's REALLY going to do with it. When I see a fat girl buying Redi Whip I laugh out loud because I know what she's REALLY going to do with it.

This makes me feel awesome.

I want to be a writer. Correction, a published writer. That sounds super pretentious. I've been working on a book for a while now and in between episodes of writers block I have been doing music reviews for Skye Magazine here in Bowling Green. It's awesome. There is something about seeing my name in print next to something I worked on that makes me feel like I'm making the right moves to get to where I want to be.


I reviewed Touche Amore's new album "I'm Parting the Seas Between Brightness and Me". This album is soooo good. I can't recommend it enough. You can read my review at My review is on page 44. These guys all work really hard to make this happen every month. Please take the time to check it out.

I don't celebrate nothing with Jew in it.

I only left the house to do laundry and buy the new season of Squidbillies. That left me plenty of time to mix and edit the new episode of Laser Brain.


As you can tell from the picture my laptop has seen better days. We will be working on a kickstarter campaign to get the show (and me) a new one.

I have been doing some reading on what I could do to maybe brighten my mood and I've come across a few things. I will definitely be hitting the gym a little harder than I have been. I'm going to stop eatting fast food. I'm going to start saving money. To track my progress I'm going to try to post a picture a day. Maybe I will start seeing results sooner if I know I have to post and own what's going on with me everyday.


Sweet Cave In shirt I got when I saw them at Krazy Fest. Sweet beard I am in no rush to cut. Sweet balding. Sweet three day stache.

I;m going to sit in the tub now and work on finishing The Strain bu Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan. The sooner I finish this one the sooner I can get started on Men, Women, and Children by Chuck Kultgen. If you haven't read The Average American Male or The Lie, you're fucking up real bad.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

I'm not making a face. That's just my face.

I look like this about 100% of the time.


That's me on the left. That's Doughboy front and center. This picture was taken at his wedding a few months ago.

Action Figures. Not Dolls.

Want to see some of the new figures I scored latly?

Today Was A Good Day

The God I love to hate has been spewing all things awful right into my mouth hole. To combat his endless attacks on my psyche, I decided to make a few adjustments to my living quarters.

I bought curtains y'all! Now my room can be a little closer to being as dark as I feel on the inside. I moved the continuity plagued Lego Star Wars poster the other side of the room. I plan on putting some new prints where the poster used to be.


I hung up these bad boys in the bathroom. Now I can get my Force on while I get my wash down. I can't make the artist's name because I do not know how to read cursive. Shut up. Here's a link to their Etsy profile



I convinced my Dad to let me have this awesome picture of my Grandfather and Uncles. Never playing Hockey is my only regret in life.


I also made a few minor adjustments to the living room. Maximum Poo Piss Coffee Table Hangout, ENGAGE!


The changes are small but I feel a big time difference in the cozy level of The Fuzzy Pat Poo Palace.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Yesterday Could Have Been A Mine . . ..

Because it was full of gems.

Here's a few of the insane things that were said at work yesterday.

Me to Brad - "Can we just agree that anything past a snakes eye's is pretty much it's tail."

Steven to some Ugly Girl with a big dumb furry purse - "How long did you have to track that couch before you shot it?"

Steven's question about Andy's baggy, stained, stinky, 3/4 sleeve, sweater/baseball shirt - "How big of a fight did Jack Sparrow put up for that shirt?"

Brad's impression of Arnold doing his presidential speech should the Constitution be amended to the point to where we are now electing action stars who are also bad at being husbands and fathers into office - "One nation under Crom, indivisible, like the Predator, because you can't see him because he in indivisible."

Some dumb Hispter kid - "I only flame up swag when I've got brew." (Just say, "I only smoke when I drink." you Elliot Smith loving fuck.)

Saturday, May 14, 2011

It's A Major Award!!

A couple of semesters ago I decided to man up and present my writing for judgement. I entered an interview paper I had written into a campus wide non-fiction essay contest. The interview was to serve as a counter opinion to an essay we read in class about Social Masking. Social Masking is where someone decides to make a conscious effort to hide certain characteristics and traits in hopes of fitting in t better with their peers.

The writer of the essay we read class is an English professor at a respected university. He, at the time, was not open about his homosexuality with his students. In his first year as a professor he was warned by another professor (also Homosexual) about the importance of being a "Gay Professional" as opposed to "Professional Gay". He decided to take his co-workers advice and did his best to hide anything people might pick up on as being "gay" and focus on exhibiting more "straight" tendencies.

I was never a fan of this piece and decided I wanted to see if I could find someone in the same position as the writer and see if I could get a different opinion. Lucky for me I was able to.

Now, let me get this out of the way. Donnie is one of my oldest and dearest friends. For the sake of the paper I pretended that I didn't know Donnie very well. The guidelines for the paper said we were not allowed to interview someone we knew. I was super excited about the premise and direction of the paper so I lied.

I did not win the contest. I came in second. I lost to a kid who wrote about how awkward funerals are. I can only assume that the judges were not big stand up fans as the topics of funerals is about as new as any jokes dealing with airline food. It's OK. That guy was in my math class last semester and he is kind of a moron.

When I was given the task of conducting an interview with someone from a different social group, I did not think that finding a person willing to let me drill them with questions would be as daunting of a task as it was. We as humans have a need to feel at ease with our surroundings. We associate with people we share mutual interests with and very rarely venture too far outside of our comfort zones. Being that I have a tight circle of life long friends, we all know entirely too much about each other. An interview with one of my cohorts would quickly turn into an conversation about “that one time” and would defeat the purpose of the assignment all together. Had I not found a picture of myself in my awful Carmike Theaters uniform, this paper would have been on someone I found at the last minute and all the questions would have been a mediocre attempt at getting a C, at best.
Donnie Sackey is a person I have known for a while but have spent little time with. We met when I was 16 and we worked opposite shifts at the local theater. We never exchanged much more than a few nods even though we shared multiple mutual friends. We would always find ourselves running into each other at work related functions, parties, and I have seen him at a few shows I attended. It never really crossed my mind how strange it was that I knew next to nothing of a person so many of my close friends were close friends with. Part of it might be contributed to our obvious differences. I am white, and Donnie is not. I am straight and Donnie is not. I guess when you’re seventeen and you’ve never had much exposure to something outside of your comfort zone, you shy away from it without even noticing.  
I was able to get in touch with one of these mutual friend and get Donnie's contact information. I approached him through a text message, gave him the rundown of the assignment and assured him that I would do my best to avoid asking stereotypical questions that I felt would have been a waste of both of our time. He was able to find a break in his schedule on a trip home and I was able to have a sit down with him and one of our mutual friends and conduct the interview.
I wanted to make sure that I did my best to ease the rails and allow Donnie to see that I wasn't taking the easy way out. Donnie is gay. Donnie is of Western Pacific descent. I didn't want to come across like a jerk and spout out, “So what's it like being a Black Gay in America.”  That would be insanely insulting. I would have outed myself as someone with no respect for a person who was going out of their way to help me. I also didn't want to appear to be a stereotypical white alpha male who was there to force my beliefs on the subject matter. Although I did have an angle, it wasn't to be an ass. I knew that Donnie was a teacher and because I had recently read an essay in class written by a gay professor, I wanted to field him some of the same questions my teacher fielded me. Being openly gay, his perspective might or might not differ from mine. I figured this would be a unique and different take on what maybe my teacher had in mind.
I was seated already (I'm insane about being on time) when Donnie and Jeremy arrived. We had both known Donnie around the same time but Jeremy and Donnie had become very close and  had maintained their friendship long after we all eventually moved on from the Theater biz. I shook Donnie's hand, slapped Jeremy a high five, and made fun of Jeremy's choice in open toe sandals. It was cold outside. Jeremy retorted with a comment on the length of my beard and I assured him his Mother was yet to complain. This was my sad attempt at breaking the ice. Here I was, wanting this near stranger to help with a class assignment, and I am cracking jokes about peoples’ mothers. Thankfully Donnie DID laugh and if any ice was there it was at least a little more melted than before.
Before we started, I promised Donnie that if at any point he did not want to answer a question or stop the interview entirely, he was more than welcome and I would not take offense. I assured him that I was thankful for his time and I began my interview. I wanted to make good with my promise and avoid any obvious questions. I guess I wanted to impress him. I wanted to maybe catch him off guard a little bit.
“Ok. So; In class we read an article where an openly Gay professor was instructed by a coworker that he should focus on being a Gay Professional, rather than a Professional Gay.” I could tell by the way Donnie put down his drink that he was eager to interject, but he allowed me to finish. “Would you find offense in being told something like that?” 
“Do I find the remark of being a “gay professional” as opposed to being a “professional gay” offensive. In short, yes. Usually when people make remarks like that it is because they have problems valuing difference. They enjoy the fact that they can have Lesbian, Bisexual, Gay, and Transgender people or other minorities around for diversity sake without ever having to really value their presence within a workplace environment. You could take any identity category and substitute it for “gay” and this critique would still fit. Think about this scenario. You’re gay and your co-workers make a light-hearted joke directed at your sexuality. You remark that you’re offended and you explain to them why it’s inappropriate. It is not unlikely that you will be immediately marked as being a “professional gay” and leaving the “acceptable” position of “gay professional.” You’re likely to hear remarks about pushing a particular agenda on people or how you're just too sensitive to deal with “light-hearted” humor. In my opinion those two categories are really categories created by heterosexuals, I would venture to say white heterosexual males in positions of power, as a means of controlling people from a different race or sexuality.” 
“Warning someone against being a “professional gay” is a way of telling them that it’s okay to be gay, but just don’t be gay. Like I said, this is a means of controlling certain bodies so that other bodies can feel more comfortable. Do you think that a gay person could go to a straight person and say, ‘Excuse me, sir. Could you please stop talking about the girl that you met at the bar last night.’ Or ‘Excuse me, sir. Could you please not kiss your girlfriend in the office? It’s kind of gross.’”
He said all of this is what seemed like one breath. He took small pauses only to separate sentences, not to wait for his words to come to him. He made no verbal missteps. I think I remember him pausing a little more than a second, but only to take a drink. 
I was floored. There was no way I was going to catch this guy off guard. I told Donnie that he was obviously well versed in this area, or had run across something like this before. He assured me that he hadn't himself, but had seen it happen to people he had previously worked with. I could tell by his response to my first question that I had definitely taken the right approach with my interview and that he was not going to by shy about answering any of my questions.
“The writer also went on to talk about how we as members inadvertently cover certain aspects of life. Whether it be your religious views, political affiliation, or sexual orientation. Do you agree with that?” Surely he would scratch his chin or take his glasses to his shirt and clean them. Something to stall while he found an answer worthy enough to stand up to his first. Nope.
“Can people hide aspects of their identities and keep them out of the public sphere? Yes. Is it easier for some people to hide aspects of their identities than others? Yes. I guess I’m arguing that some people can’t hide their sexual orientation. There are often visible rhetorical markers that facilitate labeling who is gay and who is not. No matter what you may think, you can’t control how people will read you. I personally don’t hide my sexuality. I just don’t think that it is the most important thing about me.”
Donnie 2, Patrick 0.
“I know that you are teaching at a college level. That's primarily why I decided to ask you your view on the article we had read in class. You obviously make no effort to hide your sexuality.  Are you as open with your students as you are other people? Or do you even feel as if your sexual orientation is any of your students business?” 
  “I think that this is a wonderful question to ask. For me, I don’t tell my students that I’m gay, because there are so many other things that we need to focus on in class. Now, I think that better questions to ask is ‘whether I perform in specific ways in order to hide or reveal my sexuality to students’ or ‘whether I am preoccupied by with the fear that my students will find out that I’m gay.’” 
I showed Donnie the next question on the paper and we both laughed. I was in fact planning on asking him if he thought or even feared that maybe his students would think of less of him he they were to find out he was homosexual.
“It would be disingenuous for me to sit here and say that I’m not worried that my students would find out that I’m gay and treat me differently in class. This is something that I worry about a lot and it has a lot to do with my experiences in high school. I’m not sure about what markers that I exhibit that allow people to mark me as being gay. Therefore, when I stand in front of the classroom, I can’t help but wonder how students are reading my body. I have fear that they might not respect me if they knew that I was gay. Yet, I also realize that if I treat them with respect then they’ll return in kind. One thing that I’ve had to force myself to think about is the fact that my students , and most students in general, aren’t thinking about whether their professors are gay or even important aspects of assignments. They are more preoccupied with other more important things in their lives that don’t matter immediately to their classroom experience.” 
Donnie then went on to tell me how he is actually friends with many of his students on the social networking site Facebook. He said, “So, even if my students don’t read me as gay in the classroom, there are a few indicators on Facebook that would indicate that I’m gay. I will say that I’ve had the opportunity where I’m become close friends with some of my former students. They have all individually told me that they never knew or even thought that I was gay. Actually, I went to a gay club for a friend’s birthday party and I ran into one of my students (a heterosexual female) who was quite surprised to see me there.” 
I immediately asked a question I had not written down.
“Do you feel as if younger people are more educated on what it means to be homosexual, and maybe more accepting of lifestyles not their own?”
“First, I’m not sure what being a “homosexual means” any more than I really know what being “straight means.” I’m not really sure that your sexual orientation means anything more than you’re attracted to one or multiple sex or gender categorical distinctions opposed to others. Moreover, I take offense to labeling orientation as “lifestyle.” Drinking champagne in your houseboat on the French Riviera is a lifestyle. I think that “lifestyle” is a convenient way for marking same-sex attraction as being a choice. Like race, class, and disability, sexuality is not a choice. Heterosexuality is almost never referred in mainstream discourse as being a “lifestyle.” I think treating things as “lifestyles” are ways of marginalizing certain “behaviors” that don’t necessarily fit into what some may see as normalized mainstream everyday practices. It marks queer sexualities as being mere popularized fads that don’t have the same staying power as normalized heterosexual practices.” Oh no. I had done it. I was certain that I had offended him. My face blushed and I got that weird sweat you get when you don't know the answer to a question your teacher asks you but you’re certain every one else in the room knows it and they are thinking about how big of a dummy the guy with the gross beard in the back of class is.
I was quick to apologize and before I could he stopped me. He told me there was no reason to and that up until this point he was very glad I hadn't asked him, “So how old were you came out?” or “So like, are your parents mad you're gay?” We both laughed. Me in an overcompensating manner as I was still certain he was actually very offended and was just being nice. 
  “I can tell you that the general trend that I know from statistics is that younger people are more educated about identity and issues. Yet, I also realize that that claim depends upon location. For example, would you say that younger people in Smyrna, Tennessee are more accepting of homosexuality than young people who live in Los Angeles? I think that you can say the same about older people. I don’t think that age is really an important indication for determining to what extent someone is more accepting of gay people. What I think matters is the exposure that people have to them and the extent to which they value their presence within their lives. I have friends that are young who know that I am gay and make no qualms about telling me that they have problems with it. Some of my friends actually say that it is an issue that they struggle to not talk about with me because it makes them consider not being friends with an “immoral person.” I, however, have friends that are middle-aged and older who are incredibly supportive of homosexual people and are generally concerned about issues that affect these communities. Like I said,  what really matters is whether people value the people in their lives and to what extent they choose to learn from these people as a way of changing and structuring their practices so that they can serve as affective allies. And I want to note that this could easily be applied to issues of racism or issues dealing with class.” 
Point. Match. Donnie. I knew from these few questions and his eagerness to answer thoroughly,  that I certainly had enough to fill the requirements of the assignment. I was also working on a tight time frame as we were trying to finish up the interview so that Donnie and Jeremy could catch a movie, but he made it very clear that he was more than willing to stay and answer anymore questions I had. He stressed how he appreciated my take on the interview and was glad I avoided asking the easy questions. Questions I'm sure he answers way more times that he would like. I could tell Jeremy, however, was in a rush to leave as he had taken two straws and was now insisting that he was a walrus.
Donnie insisted we had time for at least one more question.
I paused. Shuffled my papers. “So,  How mad were your parents when you told them you were gay?” Donnie laughed hard enough to draw the attention of everyone around us causing Jeremy to slowly remove his new tusks.
Donnie 6, Patrick 1.

I just re-read this for the first time in a long time and I'm still very proud of it.

They're Jokes Dummy

Yes. The events that I discuss here and on the Laser Brain Podcast have really happened. Have minor details been exaggerated as to add humor? Yes. They're jokes dummy.

Example: I did write down extra notes on the sign in sheet to announce that the TA was to be the butt of a series of jokes for a podcast. Did I actually call the guy an asshole? No. I have borrowed way too much money to start paying it back now.

Patrick Delaney
Class of 2000 Whatever

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Some A's to your Q's

Sucking your own dick is NOT gay. Ever.

When does sucking a dick cross into the gay territory? When it's not your own.

Does jerking off to the image of yourself make you gay? No, just super confident. Not narcissistic. Confident. Why? Jerking off to yourself is the highest form of flattery. Why do you jerk off to your favorite porn starlet? Because she is super hot. If you see yourself as super hot than shake the monkey one time in front of a mirror. I can see this only boosting your confidence between the sheets in the instance a lady women is kind enough to drop by to let you drop it in. If you can get off to seeing you, than there is no reason she can't get off to seeing you be in her.

Short post this week. Long week. Finals are dumb.

Am I Bad Person?

Does assuming that a book titled "Autism Solutions" is about the benefits of 4th trimester abortions make me a bad person?

I saw two deaf people arguing today and my first thought was, "Those two people are terrible dancers."

Friday, April 29, 2011

Poop > Periods

If you are in a relationship long enough you will do things you are not proud of. You will see movies you would never watch on your own. You will go see bands that make your ears shit themselves. You may even get swindled into making the one purchase that seems to rob all men of their self proclaimed manliness. The one thing that if your Dad caught you buying would make him hang his head lower than the time he caught you singing Prince songs in your undies in his bedroom. I'm not a wierdo. My parents were greedy and they kept the only computer with internet access in their bedroom as to put a stop to any web fueled Tom Foolery. Ha. Jokes on them. I tugged it many a time in a chair mere inches away from the bed on which I was created. But I digress. I'm not writing this to detail the cummings and goings of Patrick, age 14-17. I'm writing this to help my fellow man. No longer should you be embarrassed when your lady ask you to buy tampons.

Now before you start with the, "Oh Fuck that. I would never do that." Fuck you. You're a liar. If you are even taking the time to read this it is only because you have already dusted your figures, fed your cats, and gotten fed up with the raiding tactics of your online friends. You would and probably already have bought tampons. Why did you do it? Love? Maybe. If you're like me, you MIGHT do it because you are well aware that your lady is a thousand times more attractive than any girl you could probably get on your best nite out with your dude buddies. You MIGHT do it because buying tampons is no more embarrassing than the time she made you go see Hanson or Britney Spears. Both of those COULD be reasons. However, they are not. I am completely OK with buying tampons because I buy Toilet Paper.

But Patrick, everyone buys toilet paper. Yes. Yes they do. But are you aware that your selection in toilet paper is much more telling of who you are in that moment, than tampons are? Tampons do one thing. They keep blood from falling on the floor. As far as I know, they're are only 2 types. The type that looks like a marker that goes all up in the baby cavern, attacking the period at it's source and the other type that seems less effective and more flawed structurally. These are called pads. They come in a small bag, much like a single serving Cheez-It's package. You open it, unfold it, and just lay the cloth thingie in the panty region. This seems like a very rudimentary way of constructing any form of blood dam.

Now toilet paper. Holy god, where do I start? There's an assortment of plies, scented/unscented, wet or dry? What you buy not only represents the current state of your ring piece, but also serve as an estimation of how solid/drippy your bowel movements are going to be for the next week or so.

Below I have developed a list of the types of toilet paper one may choose to swab their holes with. To the right of the choice, the thoughts that are running through the acne ridden store associate as he rings up your purchase.

Regular - "This guy lives by himself."

Two ply - "This guy lives by himself but has a few rubles in the coin purse."

Scented - "This guy is an idiot. I should tell him how much this is going to irritate is anus. No. Wait. I'm going to sit this one out only to see if he comes back later to buy anti-itch ass cream."

Wet - "This guy has an irrational fear of skid stains."

Super Soft - "This guy has hemorrhoids." or, and more likely, "This guy loves anal."

Super Duper Ply - "This guy should make better life choices."

What does a clerk think to himself when a lady brings tampons to the register? Let's see.

Tampons - "This girl ain't pregnant. I could probably hit it. I heard girls are like, SUPER horny when they are on their periods. Get them Red Wings. Dragon Breath like a mother."

Those Pad things in a Cheez-it bag - "I wish Mom would would go to the other Wal-Mart."

So there you have it. Maybe now when your sweet lady asks you to pick her up some Cunt Corks you'll think twice before throwing some lame ass man tantrum.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

I Didn't Even Get My Suck Off

Prior to Emily I have only had one real girlfriend. Or, as real of a girlfriend as one can have at sixteen. We talked on the phone, we went to the movies, we held hands, all the lame bullshit that every other 16 year old couple has ever done since the invention of courting.
She told me she loved me all the time. I said thank you every time. Even at 16 I had a knack for putting things in perspective and over evaluating them. I was 16. This was my first real girlfriend. I didn't love this chick. Love is supposed to feel like a unicorn farting a glitter covered rainbow directly into your heart. Or, how Han must have felt when he looked at Leah as he was being lowered into the Carbonite freeze. I felt no rainbows, I felt no inner smuggler sense to break the cuffs, blast vader, and escape cloud city. In retrospect Darth Vader was just an overprotective father.
The only thing I did feel was an aching sense that my first real girlfriend was cheating on me the whole time. Which turns out she was. She cheated on me with one of my best friends.
I should have been mad. But as I mentioned before, I was able to put the situation in perspective. I was 16 and my girlfriend had cheated on me. Not too bad. Me and her didn't go to the same school and didn't really share any mutual friends, so the awkward hallway stares were not going to happen. There would be no staring and whispering when I entered classrooms. Shit. No one would even know that I was sans girlfriend or for what reason as long as I never mentioned it. So I didn't. Not because I was embarrassed. I just didn't care. I didn't love that bitch. It was just her turn.
She wasn't much more than my sexual lab rat. That sounds rapey. What I mean is, she was the first girl I did things with. Like REAL things. Prior to, let's call her “Liz”, my sexual ventures had always stopped at the zipper. I would be doing some finger talking above the denims and make a little dash at the goods. The girl would pull away, bite her lip, and say “Not yet.” I would oblige and go back to the petting of the sweater kittens. Right there, Fuck women. Why do they insist on biting their lips, batting their eyes, THEN telling you No? This is why rape happens.
I had done some under the bra groping but I was mostly stuck in a pickle between second and third base. Liz was the first girl who waved me on in. She would then go on and on about how I was the first guy she let diddle her goods. Right there I knew something was up. I just assumed I was the first. Her insistence to reassure me that we had broken new sexual ground together sent up a flare that spelled out BULLSHIT in the night sky.
All my assumptions became truths on a rainy Christmas Eve. She had invited me to her house for presents. Being that I hate my family, I was more than happy to have an excuse to leave them to their bickering over whether or not I was gay or what the hell is granny going to do when she finds out my sister is dating a black guy. Holidays have never been anything special in my household so it was neat to venture out into the outside world and see how normies celebrated the birth of the world's most famous and least productive carpenter. For the record I am not gay. Yet.
Like most nites her Mother was working later so I got the green light to come over. Her mother worked at the hospital in town but not as a doctor, nurse, surgeon, desk clerk, or janitor. I had no idea what else she could do there so I often joked that her mother was in charge of cleaning out the bed pans. With her mouth. In my head the thought of her mother eating the daily contents of the bedpans was hilarious. She would never laugh and instead called me “yucky”. So, now she has obviously lied about me being the first dude to double click her mouse, and she used the word yucky, not hilarious, to describe eating sick shit-piss out of bed pans as a paid profession.
With her mother out we had the run of the place. By run I mean we could go into her bedroom, but we didn't. We just hung out in the living room. Like we always did. Her mother would make us stay in the living room whenever I came to visit because her mothers bedroom was right outside the living room. The bed inside the room was in the direct eye line of the couch in the living room so her mother was able to read her papers and keep an eye on the going ons (and eventual going downs, HEY OH). This never stopped us from groping each others privates. I was a growing boy, she had boobs. No bedridden voyeur was going stop me from getting mine. But every now and then she would. Me and "Liz the Lie Face" would be playing a round of tonsil hockey and her mother would quickly put an end to the game and say, “Behave.” She would never yell. She would say it in that “Awww shucks you guys” voice that. But not tonight. The game was going good. With no ref around, we decided to put some extra time on the clock.
“I want to give you an early present.” she said pulling away.
“It's Christmas Eve. Giving me a present now, isn't exactly giving me an early present.” See. I am incapable of not over analyzing situations.
She put her finger to my lips as to shush me. She was trying very hard to be sexy. I was trying very hard not to laugh. Who the fuck does that? I would never do that. Mostly because I am always picking my nose. I would hate to in a moment of passion, attempt to mute the woo's of a lover with my booger finger.
"Liz the Lie Face Who Six Months From Now Is Going To Fuck My Friend Mike From Down The Street" then slid down between my legs. My head was about to explode. Not the one on my shoulders, the head of penis. I was completely in my right mind and was somewhat expecting this. I had put in my time and she had told me how her friend had just sucked her first dick and how much she thought she wanted to suck a dick but didn't want to do it with just anyone. This was the only part of the hour long conversation from the night before that I had paid attention to. I was busy playing Nhl 02 on Playstation 2. Emily always jumps in my shit for playing Hockey on the phone. It's not that I don't care about what she has to say, I just care more about my online stats than what she ate for breakfast or how she heard something funny in class. I don't usually eat breakfast and I'm the funniest person she will ever meet. Maybe if she talked about bobbing on ween a little more I would be more involved. Just saying.
So "Liz the Impending Cock Smoker" started to unbuckle my studded belt. It was a three row studded belt because I played bass guitar, listened to Rancid, and wanted everyone to know how hard I rocked. By this point I'm concentrating super hard to not do the deed in my briefs. The whole time "Liz The Licker" is staring at me. I'm staring back. Not because I'm trying to be sexy, but because I can't help but notice how well she is disrobing my lower body with out looking at her hands. I'm certain this bitch is a liar and is about to do something she has done at least a dozen times before, no matter how much she told me last night on the phone that she doesn't want to be mouth humped by a stranger. Then it happens. She touches it. A ladies fingers are around my penis. The threat to pre-maturaly squirt my seed has since passed and I'm now more worried that through kissing this girl I have some how also sucked all the dicks she has probably sucked excluding the one she is about to suck. I have tried to suck my own dick, as has every man before me. I have experienced little to no results. I can lick it, but licking your own dick is oh so gay.
Now it's happening. I am receiving a blow job. My first blow job. Even with no experience with receiving blow jobs, I am aware of one thing. This blow job is awful. I'm not feeling the sucking sensation I assumed I would feel. Not the awesome tongue flicking my friends told me about. "Liz the Pole Polisher" has just put it in her mouth and is bobbing up and down on it. There isn't much contact on my member except with the air I seem to be displacing every time I re-renter her food hole. Maybe she hadn't done it before. Now I I just feel guilty. Surely somewhere down the line of suck offs, some guy would have pointed her in the right direction. Took her by the ponytail guided and himself around her face and whispered instructions from above. I was not that guy. I'm still not that guy. Mostly because I have orange pubic hair. No girl ever imagines that her lovers rod will dangle below the tuft of a muppets moustache.
The ordeal went on for a lot longer than I thought blow jobs usually do. I could tell that her neck was getting tired and I was starting to feel bad. First I had pegged this nice girl as a Jezebell and now she was doing her best to give her boyfriend an early present he just couldn't open. She started to pick up the pace. Like a racehorse rounding the last turn in the derby, her hands and mouth were working at break neck speed. Her free hand started to venture south from the leg it was resting on. She was in it to win it. Again, my mind went from focusing on the matter in her hand to how no girl ever goes out of their way to touch a dudes balls. Again, the thought of all the guys before me rushed though my mind. I had actually met a few of her guy friends and now all I saw when I closed my eyes was them surrounding her, dongs out, waiting their turn.
My concentration was broken by the lingering fingers not wrapped around my love stick. She was starting to explore more unmapped land. She was treating my taint like the Western Frontier and her fingers were now Louis and Clark'ing their way toward the Manifest Destiny that was my asshole. I jumped. Banged my boner on her teeth and slammed my knees to my chest. She grabbed her mouth assessing any damage. My eyes were wide like a cats when you catch them licking themselves.
Nothing was said. What the fuck was I supposed to say.
“I'm sorry.” she said breaking the silence and avoiding eye contact.
She should be sorry. She had blown her cover. There was no way a girl plays with a dude's turd cutter the first time she sucks a penis. That is a learned behavior. There was some dude before me who had also had a problem finishing. He too was too scared to give her verbal directions on what to do. But because of her experience with johnsons she knew exactly what to do. I can't imagine that milking the prostate is something other 16 year old girls talk about. They may share trade secrets but I doubt any girl, at that age, is quick to explain the inner working of a mans ass.
I gathered my gear while she did her best to look upset and embarrassed. She could have very well been upset, but I grew up in a household with three women. I have learned to pick up on the facial cues of a woman who is genuinely upset. She exhibited none of them.
“I should probably go.” I was dressed now. Staring at my feet at my feet. As far to the other side of the couch as I could get without sitting on the arm.
“Did it not feel good?” she asked with the doughy eyes all girls have when they want you to say yes.
“You tried to put your finger in my butt.” Yup. That's how a comforted her.
“I though that it would help.” she answered. She was insinuating something. Fuck her for trying to make me feel bad about her being bad at blow jobs. The old poop-shoot pop must have been her finishing move to many of the men before me and because I was not susceptible to such an attack, she was now questioning a technique she thought she had mastered.
I lied and told her that it felt awesome and I must have been nervous. She found my lies endearing and held my hand as I walked to her front door. I was hoping to make it to my car without having to discuss what had happened any further.
“I can't wait to try it again.” she said kicking one leg back and smiling at me. I wanted to kick the lying bitch in her cunt.
“Yeah. Me either.” I giggled back. I was such a pussy at 16.
“I love you.” she said kissing my on my cheek. I smiled a fake smile.
“Thank you. For loving me. Not the blow job.”

2 Years. Wow.

It's been two years since my last post. Damn. Here's a quick rundown of what I have been up to.

School - I decided to go back. Best decision I ever made. I am working very hard at earning a BA in Technical Writing. 3 years in. Fingers crossed I'm out in 2 1/2.

Employment - I finally got a real job. I work for a vending company that goes into Wal-Mart and makes sure the video game cases are set up correctly. It's not as cool as it sounds. I still work at Carter's Tattoo. Three years strong. They closed down the shop I started out at and we all moved over to the new shop. So far so good.

Music - Cloakhorse came to an end and me and Cole formed Make History. We recorded a 5 song ep that will never get released and played 3 shows. It was awesome. I'm going to talk to Rory and see what I can do about getting the songs and maybe posting them on here for download.

Podcasting - Me and Nick finally got one started. Laser Brain shot down the throat of the internet in late December of 2010. Me, Nick, and Tristan work very hard to come at you dudes with 90 minutes of straight dick jokes. We must be doing a good job being as we are currently being hosted by the premier nerd news site, Big Shiny Robot ( If you're not checking this site daily then your life is not complete. Or you have sex pretty routinely.

Living - I moved out on my own. The Fuzzy Pat Poo Palace is off the chain. Me, Fuzzyboots, and PooPiss be getting crazy wild in here. Debauchery is in no short supply. All nite NHL 11 benders? Check. Dr Who and Torchwood marathons? Shit Yeah. No Pants Pantera Dance Parties? Ask your mom. She was here. She loved it.

The Lady - Bought her a ring. Relax. A promise ring. I promised to get her one as long as she promised to stop asking about one. Her loss.

Samuel L Jackson - Still alive. Still bummed about it.