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.