Crazy (noun) 1 Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results 2 Internet dating

Crazy (noun) 1 Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results 2 Internet dating

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Unhirable: A Look at an HONEST Resume

Michael Allen Hempen

Cell (---) --- 2054

Work (---) --- 1403



Job Goals:

Searching for that rare position where I don’t have to deal with assholes while allowing me to go home at night knowing that I did a good job and earned my pay, which is enough to afford me the luxury of an occasional date.

Education:


Lewis University – Romeoville, Il 1998 – 2000

Majored in Aviation/Flight Management with a minor in religious history

Received a full scholarship but had to pay for my flight time which became too expensive after my instructor quit and my NEW instructor was over 300 pounds, forcing me to train in a larger aircraft, which cost more money

Learned a great deal about irony as being a pilot brings a certain amount of respect and pussy, but I now work 2 blocks away from an airport as a retail manager which affords me NO respect or pussy

Took out a student loan to pay for my flight time which I’ll be paying off until I fucking die



Morainne Valley Community College

Received a top score on the GED and Super high scores on the ACT.

Learned that my I.Q. is so high that Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson are eating Doritos and playing video games with it right now



Oak Lawn High School

Dropped out because I have no ambition



Richards High School

Failed Drivers Ed…twice




Previous Employment:

• Electronics Store – Store Manager - 10/2005 – Apparently until I die

Responsible for not earning enough money to live like a human fucking being

An ability to be stupid enough to reach for the fucking carrot of a quarterly bonus that is dangled in front of me even though that bonus can only be earned by exponentially achieving 22%, year over year, in gross profit sales gain which is less likely to happen than getting a foot massage from Uma Thurman

Responsible for hiring stupid kids who have no ambition or thought patterns that would allow me to trust them alone in my store for more than 20 minutes

An innate ability to tell customers that we don’t have what they’re looking for simply because I don’t want to explain to them how it works

Able to piss customers off by feigning ignorance at how to perform complicated register tasks such as service plan replacements, multiple return receipts, and adding minutes to pre-paid phones

Responsible for working 50 hours, 6 days a week, even when I earn a 5 day work week, for less money than a McDonalds employee makes and with more responsibility than an air traffic controller, because my District Manager is a control freak

Taught me the value of semi-racism by showing me that Pollacks return EVERY fucking thing they buy, black people will steal the fucking ceiling tiles if you leave them alone for 30 seconds, and fat white women are cunts



• Not working – 2004 – 10/2005

After my mother passed away in 2004, I spent a year drinking, getting laid, going out, and generally pissing away every penny that she left me in her inheritance



• Borders – Merchandising Manager - 2001-2004

Responsible for not caring how much money I made because I lived at home with my mother

Able to get drunk with fellow department managers at Hooters during our lunch break and then go back to the store and hit on hot spectacled female customers

An ability to live a Soap Opera life style by fucking fellow employees, talking about which OTHER employees were fucking each other, and advising new employees WHICH employees not to fuck

Having the most awesome employee discount of 30% off of anything in the store, a 50 dollar a month per diem to use towards anything in the store, and an ability to check out books like a library

An ability to meet some of the most awesome people I’ll ever meet such as Gordon, Derek, Suzzy, Matt, and Erica



• Waldenbooks – Assistant Manager – 1993 – 1995, Store Manager 1995 – 2001

The ability to work for a sexless troll named Mara

Learned how to hire employees and then sleep with them

Gained insight into the human condition as I watched Action Jim sleep with my fellow employees that were too whacky for me to want to bang

Held constant discussions with Smart Jim and Ian regarding the effects of time travel on masturbation

Responsible for shitting multiple times in the toilet at night without flushing so my idiot manager would get a surprise when she opened in the morning

An ability to sleep at my desk all day on Sunday because I was out drinking until 4 am on Saturday night



• Hero Land Comics – multiple titles all meaning nothing – 1987 – 1993

Responsible for being a kid and not knowing shit about shit

Responsible for hauling my boss’s Polish mistress from place to place behind his wife’s back

Learned how to rip people off from my fat ass boss who eventually ripped ME off by stealing over 15 thousand dollars of my comic books

Learned of the ridiculous nature of life by meeting and observing Action Jim in his daily skullduggery



Part time jobs

• Always Open Convenience Store 1989

Fired for stealing scratch off lottery tickets



• Clark Gas Station 1991

Fired for stealing cigarettes



• Kay Be Toys 1996

Violently quit by throwing a chair across the store during peak Christmas time hours and mother fucking Action Jim, who was my boss at the time, in front of a multitude of rich moms and their asshole kids because he didn’t show up for work when he was scheduled leaving me in the store alone on a Saturday before Christmas for 6 hours.



• Toys R Us 2006

Quit with no notice because I began fucking a semi-hot 22 year old and no longer had the energy to work overnights there AND at the Electronics Store during the day



• Thornton’s Gas Station 2007

Quit with no notice because I began fucking a hot 19 year old and no longer had the energy to work overnights there AND at the Electronics Store during the day



Sunday, April 17, 2011

The Yoga Instructor Part 2: Santa Clause is Coming, but Not Necessarily to Town




 
This past Christmas Eve saw me on a 2nd date with the beautiful Yoga instructor. I’ll explain how the evening came to this in a moment as I’m sure you’re all saying to yourselves ‘but didn’t the yoga instructor ditch you after your Halloween Date?’, but first I want to spin some mea culpa. I know that most of you are used to me putting people, places, and things down or ‘in their place’. HELL, I enjoy DOING it, because fuck people, places, and things. But in regards to my, aforementioned ‘date’, I don’t really have any negatives to spill regarding her…yet. However, I feel VERY comfortable discussing some of the bit players and my own neurosis throughout the evening of December 24th, 2010.


After hearing about my Christmas party from a few weeks ago, some people who didn’t make it called me to express their regrets. They heard that it was a great event, and someone suggested that because Christmas wasn’t here yet…I should throw a SECOND Christmas Party. I wasn’t crazy about the idea because I have to work so much this time of year, I didn’t really have the extra cash to throw behind another bash, and there IS the ‘one party per year’ rule to consider. From YEARS of experience at throwing parties, I know that you can ONLY have one successful party per annum. I throw a Halloween, Christmas, and New Year’s party because I don’t know WHICH one will be the good one. However, ONE of them always is.

This year it was the Christmas party, so I put the thought of having a SECOND Christmas party out of my head. Who needs to go through all the trouble for a party that would probably suck anyway? Then I received an unexpected phone call from someone who I didn’t think I’d hear from again. It was the yoga instructor. I hadn’t talked to the yoga instructor since our date on Halloween. I figured that she didn’t have a good time OR I was a shitty kisser, but in any case when a girl doesn’t contact me I just leave her the fuck alone. What am I gonna do? Stalk her? Yeah, I romanticized the events of that evening, but I got a feeling like she just wasn’t that interested in me…so I never bothered with a ‘follow up’ call.

One of my dating rules is that I don’t initiate contact with a woman UNTIL she initiates three times. After that? I figure that I’m in. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t CARE, or that I’m just too stupid to see the signs, but I usually can’t tell if a girl likes me until her hand is on my state of Florida. Besides that, one of my biggest fears in life is being called a ‘stalker’. I never want to invade someone’s space to the point that they get sick of me, and I never want to seem desperate…even when I am. So, if a woman likes me but is as stubborn as I am? Well we find ourselves in something of a Mexican stand-off, don’t we?

Plus, if I’m being honest, although she was one of the most beautiful women I’ve gone on a date with in a long time, she was a tad narcissistic. I like a little bit of humility in the people that I associate with, especially the girls. Confidence is fine, but full blown self adoration can be intimidating AND annoying. It’s hard to tell if a chick likes you when she constantly talks about how wonderful SHE is, and never throws you a compliment bone. Personally, I prefer to date hot chicks with low self esteem because I’M fucking ugly. I don’t have ‘good looks’ to fall back on but I can USUALLY impress a woman’s panties off simply by pitching some amazing woo. One of my strongest attributes as a date is my ability to make chicks feel good about themselves, and even though I may not sound like it from what you’ve read, romance is something of a specialty of mine.

So, when a woman compliments her looks before I can, I find myself stumbling for something to say. But, I thought that perhaps the yoga instructor would make a good friend, and ever an eye towards the future…I thought that maybe if I played my cards right, she might set me up with one of her hot yoga students. THAT’S social networking.

During our conversation, I invited her to the Christmas party that I had already decided NOT to throw. I told her to bring some friends AND that I have a friend I’d like her meet. This was actually true. I have a friend who is an artist. He sells his work in galleries in Illinois and New York. He’s a hard cat to nail down, but I’m always pushing him for more information about himself. The general feeling is that he’s gay, but I can’t get a clear answer from him.

Because I know SO many Jims, I call this one Art Jim.

Now, Art Jim is a good looking guy, he looks like John Hamm from ‘Mad Men’, and even though the yoga instructor is only 22 while Art Jim is pushing 40…HE’S the kind of good looking guy that I imagine a girl like her would dig. Plus, because she’s going to college for Art history, works at an Art Gallery, and is a tour director at a Frank Lloyd Write house besides her yoga instructing duties…I figured this would be a helluva match.

The yoga instructor was a bit taken aback by the invite, but told me that she would come. Great, NOW I have 3 days to prepare a party. I called everyone and started the invitation process. I told Art Jim that I had someone I’d like him to meet, and although he wasn’t happy about being ‘set up’, he agreed to come as well. Maybe he’s NOT gay.

I made sure to tell everyone that this would NOT be the big event that it was earlier in the month. This would be a more laid back party because I couldn’t get the same guest list together as I had before. Mike was coming with his girlfriend Jess, some people from work would make it, and a few others.

The Saturday before Christmas came and about 6 people showed up; Mike and Jess, Gordon, Babatunde, Art Jim, and of course…the yoga instructor. The Yoga Instructor arrived soon after Mike and Jess who were the first ones there. After only ten minutes, you would have thought Jess and The Yoga Instructor had known each other their whole lives. The two of them were yentering it up on the couch together, as Mike and I talked in the kitchen. At one point the yoga instructor took me to the side and told me that she wished I was trying to set her up with Jess, because she likes girls, and Jess was just her type. Ain’t nuttin wrong wit DAT.

Art Jim was the next to arrive and I immediately introduced him to the yoga instructor. That’s just how I roll. When I plan a ‘set up’, I try not to give EITHER party time to think. I just THROW them at each other and let the private parts land where they may. Art Jim said ‘Hello’…and then the two of them didn’t say ONE fucking word to each other the entire evening. Ok, maybe he IS gay.

As the festivities progressed, Jess made me go out on the balcony with her to have a cigarette. While we were out there she told me that the yoga instructor had told HER that she was interested in ME and that’s why she came to the party and that Mike wasn’t sure if he was gonna take her to homecoming and that her mother had tore down her hello kitty poster and her teacher was a real slave driver and she REALLY didn’t like her job at ‘Jr.’s Hotdogs’ but her boss was really cute and played Kid Rock on the overhead speakers even though he cussed in his songs and that ‘Twilight’ was the best book she ever read but Mike didn’t like it because that’s not how vampire’s are supposed to be but how does HE know how vampire’s are SUPPOSED to be and maybe I had some more cocaine?

Jesus. My point is: I hate ‘he said, she said’ crap. High school sucked for me, I don’t need to relive that shit. Plus, hear say is inadmissible; you want the dick? You ASK for the dick. You don’t have someone else ask for the dick FOR you.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Jess’ enthusiasm in trying to get me laid, would that ALL of my friend’s girlfriends took such interest in the affairs of my cock, but I had to consider the fact that Jess was maybe reading too much into something the yoga instructor might have said. After all, she was WAY hot, and she didn’t really need my sappy romantic compliments. Plus, she blew me off after our Halloween date. THAT was a hint and a half for my ass.

The evening passed, without incident, I’m sorry to say for those of you who enjoyed the exploits of Matt and Rob with the Canadian Moose after my last party, but the next day…the yoga instructor called me again. She told me that she had a great time and that she was WAY too hot for Art Jim. Any lingering doubt that I may have had regarding her interest in ME, vanished when she said that, because if she thought she was too hot for Art Jim? Well, he’s WAY hotter than I am. Like I said; He looks like John Hamm, I look like fucking John HamBURGLER.

Our conversation soon turned to her favorite subject…her, and JUST when I was starting to feel the weight of ‘the friend zone’ crushing me underneath it’s twat-less foot…the yoga instructor asked me out on a date. SHE asked ME out…and she CALLED it a date. I have to say, this is one confusing bitch.

She felt bad that she hadn’t gotten in touch after our first date, which she really DID enjoy. But the demands of school, 4 part time jobs, AND being a single mother…were such that she just didn’t have the time. I accepted her apology, her reasons, AND her invitation to dinner. Because of demands on BOTH of our time…she set the date for Christmas Eve. She didn’t have school the next day, her ex-husband was taking their child that week, her parents were out of town, and I got off of work at 6. Fuck it, what was I gonna do? Go to Aunt Jill’s and risk another Roast beef incident? Plus, this was guaranteed ass. Obviously she WAS interested, and the way she WORDED some of her reasoning, left me to believe I was getting a round trip ticket on the pussy express.

She kept saying things like “My ex will have the kid both days, so WE can sleep in on Christmas morning”. REALLY? ‘WE’ can? Ain’t nothin’ double about THAT entendre. “When we go back to your place after dinner, where can I leave my car for the night?” Well now, let’s just…”I’m going to put your penis in my vagina” OK, Jesus, take it down a notch. I mean, at least PRETEND like there’s going to be a little romance, some subtle sexuality, intimate word play, SOMETHING…I’m not a piece of meat after all.

It just seemed so…I don’t know…robotic, the way she ASSUMED the dick. But then as I thought about it that evening…I started to feel fussy about the whole arrangement. Truth be told, I didn’t really know this chick that well. SHE was acting JUST like I had been ACCUSED of acting when I was younger. Like pussy was a conclusion, already reached, before the night even started.

Even with her forceful suppositions, I still looked forward to this date. I found her to be kind and attractive, plus my friends seemed to like her a lot. Perfect girlfriend material. I should know by now that if it looks too good to be true? It fucking well is.

Christmas Eve arrived, and I was in NO way prepared to go on a date. Let me give you a little exposition leading up to the evening in question. As you know by now, I am a manager of a big retail store in Chicago. I have not had a day off of work since Thanksgiving, and I’ve worked 10 to 16 hours every day since then. (I know: “Waaaaaaaaah”, right?). At this point my vision is like first person point of view in a fucking zombie movie.

In the past week, I’ve had about 6 hours of sleep. I have to take ‘west coast turn-a rounds’ like a junkie truck driver hauling ‘Pabst Blue Ribbon’ from Boise to Indio, every 4 hours just so can I keep some semblance of wakefulness throughout the day in order to deal with self loathing, ignorant, cry babies who think that giving someone a shitty 10 dollar gift is gonna make them any less of an asshole. Jesus people, put some fucking effort, care, and THOUGHT into your choices of gift. Maybe if you buy little Timmy a fucking BOOK, instead of a Wii, he won’t end up having his asshole searched for contraband at Cook County Jail when he’s 18 by a guard with fingers so fat he has to use a monster truck tire as a wedding band. Sorry, I got off topic, but I’m fucking tired.

So why did I agree to this date? On the ONE night I could actually sleep in since November? Simple…cause I like this girl. She makes me feel like a slow song and a glass of expensive brandy at 2 in the morning in a dimly lit, vaguely smoky jazz piano bar. I’m instantly comfortable talking to her. I don’t feel like it’s something I have to work at. Not to mention that she’s a total knockout. And not just ‘cute’ either. She’s the kind of woman who actually makes me have to rethink my entire definition of beauty.

So, even though I wasn’t in any kind of top form, we went out to a Japanese Sushi Place on Christmas Eve. I have a vague recollection of that dinner, and I’ll try to recall it for you here. But just know that I was so fucking tired, that I ACTUALLY nodded off on the bar when she went to the bathroom at one point. Luckily the Japanese lady bartender smacked me on the head to wake me up.

We went in, and were the ONLY people there besides the very busty, but NOT very attractive waitress who was limping at a 45 degree angle for some unspecified reason. She was either practicing for her acting workshop, trying to garner sympathy for more tips, or since she talked so damned much, someone told her to ‘shut the fuck up’ a little too hard…in any case this was the WORST limp I’ve ever seen. Not in a ‘Awww, you poor thing’ kind of way, but in a ‘C’mon, cut that shit out’ kind of way.

Behind the bar stood the 40 something year old Japanese lady who reminded me of Sam Malone from ‘Cheers’. She was sassy and had a quip for every topic. She was very helpful in steering us in the right direction regarding our food. Neither I nor the yoga instructor had ever been to a sushi place, but when she suggested it to me, I didn’t fuss because I know that raw fish is good to eat before fuckin.

And then there was the older Japanese ninja sushi chef (Say that 5 times really fast). This guy was AWSOME. He had on a red silk shirt with Japanese symbols on it, and just stood at the bar cutting fish all night with a look on his face like he KNEW something that he wasn’t gonna tell us. NOT trying to sound racist, but THAT’S how I like my older Japanese men to look. He and the bartender occasionally shouted at each other in Japanese, and when they did? I knew I found my new favorite place to eat.

Since there was nobody there but us, we decided that we would sit at the bar. This is where I made the first in a SERIES of mistakes that evening. When presented with multiple seats, as a man, you have to make a split second decision as to where your relationship with this woman is. If your relationship is intimate? Then you sit right next to her. If the relationship hasn’t hit the fuck point yet, but you HAVE made out? You sit ONE stool away, but MOVE the stool that’s between you. If it’s a first date and NO intimacy has been had? You sit one stool away and DON’T move the middle stool. And if she’s a pig that you’re not interested in? You either don’t make it to the seating situation at all, or you sit across the fucking bar from her.

Well, my sleepiness caused me to fuck up this simple dating etiquette. Because there were so many stools, crammed together around the bar, I sat 2 stools away from the yoga instructor and instantly regretted it. From the look on her face I could tell that I had, once again, made the wrong decision just as I did when I tried to ‘set her up’ with Art Jim. Later in the evening, she threw this poor choice of seating in my face, but in a good way.

We ordered everything that the Japanese lady bartender suggested; seaweed soup, sake, four different plates of sushi rolls, and some Japanese beers. We ate, we laughed, we drank…good times. I’ve gone out on a ton of dates in my life, you win some, you lose some, but as simple as this date was…it was more fun than I’ve had on a date in a long time. That ‘comfortable’ vibe that you get from certain people really adds a lot to any situation you find yourself in.

As we left several hours later, I got the SECOND hint that something wasn’t quite right with this woman. The first hint was her complete lack of humility. This one came as we walked out to the car and, I being a tad tipsy and a lot tired, felt comfortable enough with my companion to say ‘Dude, that was some good fucking food’

Suddenly, I found myself in the 23rd year of a marriage that was starting to get stagnant. “Did you just call me ‘dude’? What kind of a man calls a woman ‘dude’?” She said to me in a snippy tone. I laughed it off thinking that she was fucking around with me, then she said, quite seriously “Don’t ever call me ‘dude’ again.” Jesus. I apologized and we drove silently back to my place. The entire ride I felt like I was in the fucking doghouse. Lucky I didn’t call her ‘cunt’, she might have shot me.

When we got to my place, we had a short conversation in the car that brought the mood back down to something civil. I was running on fucking fumes, and how I managed to stay awake is beyond me, but apparently my charms don’t diminish with the rest of my faculties in that state of exhaustion. Maybe it was the sushi, but at that point I was also so fucking horny that I thought my dick was gonna jump out of my pants and start singing ‘Wang Chung’.

Anybody else out there get that? You’re SO tired that you fear you’ll pass out while standing, your body almost feels like a fucking puppet that’s being held up and moved by strings, and suddenly a BURST of horny rushes over you and you HAVE to have some release. THAT’S when people start experimenting with cutting holes in a pumpkin and warming it in the microwave, sticking your dingus between 2 couch cushions, or greasing down your pinky and shoving it up your ass while you dry jerk NOT because you’re gay, but to see what the big deal is. It’s like the governor on your masturbation inhibitor breaks down and a REGULAR jerk off just won’t do. After you cum though, just before you pass out like a fucking bear about to hibernate, you think to yourself ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ Well sir, there’s NOTHING wrong with you, we ALL do that shit. It’s a helluva burden sometimes to walk around with one of these things.

But if you have a girlfriend and she’s around when that slap happy, experimentation, uber-horny rushes over you? Fugetaboutit, she’s about to have some of the best sex you’ve ever made on top of her.

However, much like when Popeye eats his spinach…that feeling passes so you have take advantage of a ripe vagina if there’s one in the vicinity. NOT in a rapey way either. So, I invited her up to my apartment for a nightcap like I was some detective in a shitty dime store 30’s noir novel, and to my surprise she actually said ‘yes’. Even though she made previous dick assumptions earlier, I didn’t really expect ANY thing beyond dinner and I assumed after I called her ‘dude’, she was gonna squeal the fuck out of there. Three strikes, right? Art Jim, the stool, and the dude incident.

At this point, it should be obvious to even the mentally challenged that she kinda, sorta, maybe liked me. So I KNOW what you’re all thinking; “uh-oh, Mikesgonnagetsomepussy!”, but that’s not what I was thinking, partly because I was severely sleep deprived, but mostly because I’m an idiot. Even with my super horny on, I’m not someone who likes to PUSH the issue of sex. It goes back to the ‘never wanting to be called a stalker’ thing. Also, like a lot of guys, I kinda dig it when a chick makes the first move. Takes the pressure off.

When we got up to my apartment it was about 11PM, I poured us a couple of glasses of wine, dimmed the lights, and set my computer to play the romantic playlist I had set up for just this kind of situation. Little Marvin Gaye, some Dead Can’t Dance, and of course…Barry White. She didn’t like ONE song on my playlist. What kind of vagina can resist Barry White? She asked me to go get her iPod out of her car because she wanted to listen to HER slow music. Yoga music. Shit, THAT’S gonna put me the fuck to sleep. Luckily though, when I brought it back upstairs, the battery was dead and she hadn’t brought the charger. But I couldn’t put on fuck music that would only serve its purpose on MY end and not hers. So I suggested a movie that will always turn a woman on… True Romance.

I recently got lucky when purchasing a couch for my living room. When I moved into my apartment 2 years ago, there was a couch already here. It was a shitty ripped blue sofa with a pull out bed that smelled of pot smoke and bacon grease…but as I had no furniture of my own, I kept it. A few months ago however, I was looking for a new couch on the Craigslist when I came across a posting offering a large L-shaped couch, brand new for only 50 bucks. When I called the woman, she told me that she had recently bought it in a store but several weeks later her boyfriend asked her to move in with him. As he already had furniture, she had no use for it. So, this is my new couch.

The problem with this couch, and I didn’t really SEE it as a problem until I had a woman ON it…is that it’s tall but not deep. The back of the couch reaches up far past your head when you’re sitting down, but the bottom of your ass cheeks almost fall off the cushion.

As the yoga instructor and I watched the movie, she came to sit next to me from the left. As ALL men know, even Seinfeld…if you’re a righty, and a chick sits on your left, this can cause a bit of discomfort. Plus, because the cushion was so short, there was no opportunity for me to lay her back and make a move. When sitting on my couch, you’re almost forced to sit completely upright. In order to go in for the kiss, I would have to get down on one knee and press myself in like a fucking Greco Roman Wrestler. I pictured this from HER vantage and decided to forestall my objective. As we talked throughout the movie, I kept running the logistics of HOW to make a move from this position and cursing myself for always saying ‘When the fuck am I gonna use geometry?’ in high school.

I WANTED that booty SO bad, but it’s imperative to the pussy process that you make a distinct, deliberate, and confident first move. Her feeling of annoyance at my failure to act was palpable and eventually she lay down on the couch with her head on my lap. It became obvious to me that she was spending the night whether I was getting laid or not. Not because she wanted to fuck me and sleep close to me, but because it was 1AM, she lived an hour away, and she was beginning to look as tired as I’d been all evening. As a gracious, but dick withholding host I asked her “If you fall asleep, would you like me to put a blanket on you? Or wake you up so you can drive home?”

She looked me in the eyes as she began to sit up and said “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” I replied. “Why do you put yourself in the friend zone?” I tried to stammer an incoherent answer, but nothing that came out of my mouth made any sense. “I’ve come all the way out here to see YOU three times now. I drove over an hour to meet you for our first date because I liked the way you write. I came to your Christmas party and you tried to set me up with someone else. And tonight you sat two stools away from me at the restaurant.”

What could I say? I mean really, she was absolutely right. The Yoga instructor was the REASON why I started internet dating in the first place. I hit the fucking jack pot with her. I’ve never been like that with ANY girl that I’ve dated before. Reticent, stalling, unsure. Was it her beauty that stood my cock? When she brought it into the light like that, I was forced to really look at my inaction. Was I tired? Hell, I’ve never been too tired to fuck. Was it the couch? I fucked a girl on a tree branch once. Was I allergic to pussy? Fuck it, I had Benadryl in my medicine cabinet. To be honest with you, it was almost as if something…DEEP inside me was keeping me at a penile distance. I couldn’t put my finger on it but it was almost like a warning that I couldn’t HEAR…but I could feel.

I told her “I just don’t get a VIBE that you like me like that” Now that I think back on it, all the vibes WERE there, but for some reason my magnificent seven inches just wasn’t paying attention. Hell, at dinner she was twirling her hair with her fingers. What bigger hint is there than that? If a woman twirls her hair around her fingers she’s either in a mental institution and pulling it out, or YOU just struck a clitoral bonanza.

The yoga instructor looked at me for a moment…processing what I just said…and then her gaze softened into something sensual. She lay slowly down on her back, stretched out on the couch, put her hands behind her head and said “VIBE…right here”. I felt like an idiot. I stood up, kicked the coffee table out of the way, went down on one knee and kissed her.

I’m not proficient in many sexual endeavors, but I’m a great fucking kisser. I never use too much tongue and I’ve been told that my lips are great to suck on. I keep telling myself that it was because of the position and my shitty couch…but I did not kiss her well. It seemed forced, put upon, and ham fisted. It could have been that I was tired, it could have been that I was self conscious because I’m SURE that my breath smelled of cigarette’s, brandy, and raw fucking fish, or maybe it was that needling voice in the back of my head, but in any case, rather than drag it out I stood up and helped her to her feet. “Fuck the couch” I said “take off your top and get in my bed.” She raised an eyebrow, kissed me on the cheek, and did a runway model walk to my bedroom while taking her top off in that sexy way that women do, with the arms crossed and pulling it up from the back. Hello captain pants tent!

My bedroom is at the end of a hallway, and JUST to the right of my bedroom door is the bathroom. I made a quick pit stop to brush my teeth and spruce up my junk like when you fluff a pillow or make sure that a rose is properly opened before presenting it to a woman. When I came into the bedroom, she had lit the candles that hang in sconces from my wall and put the Sirius radio on the ‘Spa’ channel. She was laying on her stomach on the bed wearing nothing but the tiniest pink panties. Oofa.

I’d never seen a body quite like that outside of porn. It was soft Italian music. It was as if I were looking at something beautiful, yet forbidden, like when your mom tells you not to look directly at an eclipse, or your dad makes you wait outside the tent at a carnival on a warm summer night while he goes in to see ‘Lydia: The Tattooed Lady’ and you go around to the back of the tent and peek through the tear. It truly felt as though I was looking at a naked woman for the first time. THAT…that was an incredible feeling.

The way the candles lit her made her look like a 17th century oil painting. Her shoulder blades just showed underneath her smooth skin and the curve of her flank ran down perfectly into her soft hips like a lazy parenthesis. Her ass was the tight ass of a woman who takes care of her body, and the muscles in her legs told the story of a woman on the go.

She looked back at me and said “take off your pants and come give me a message…my neck hurts”. Don’t have to ask me twice. My pants came down quicker than Clint Eastwood draws a gun, and I mounted her like Everest.

As I gave her the patented and famous ‘Hempen Massage’, she made the sexiest noises of appreciation. I’m sure she could feel my hard on pressing on her ass as I gave her a thorough rubdown and after a time I lay down on my back and eagerly waited for some reciprocation…that never came. She moved in close to me and spooned herself into the crux of my arm. She felt SO…I don’t know…right? In my arms like that. But really, what woman doesn’t. It was really the highlight of the evening for me. What in heaven, or on earth, feels better than a beautiful naked woman in your arms?

She talked to me and lazily ran her fingers across my naked chest and stomach. I kept waiting for her to find her way down to the foothills of my mountainous belly but my anticipation was always cut off as she lightly made her way to the band of my boxer/briefs and then moved back up to my chest.

At this point, it was 2:45AM, and I chalked HER unwillingness to unleash the dragon up to the fact that she was probably really tired, so I wasn’t going to force the issue of a sexual encounter. Plus, I was inconceivably tired myself. I thought that maybe this was a good thing. Rather than do it poorly while we’re both tired, not doing it at all may be the better road to take. And if there IS a 4th date, I’ll fucking well know to start THIS shit at around 6 so we can fuck like Bengal Tigers on Cialis trying to repopulate the species. However…I fear that what happened next will forestall a fourth encounter.

We both drifted off to sleep in the warm glow of burning candles and the soft music of the spa channel. I dreamed of African drums beating a foreboding rhythm, coming from the shoreline of a jungle. I was on a boat that was being rocked vigorously in a storm and I knew that my only chance of survival was to steer towards that horrid and frightening sound. As I came closer to the beach, the distance would seem to double like the hallway in ‘Poltergeist’ that seemingly gets longer and longer as you run towards the door. This went on for hours, days, months, and then years. There was no relief and I was trapped between the certain death of the storming ocean, and the unknown perils of those jungle drums.

And then I slowly woke up to the yoga instructor beating on my chest and shouting in my ear. My face was wet and sticky, and I groggily looked over at the clock. It felt like I had been asleep for days, but the clock told me that it had only been 3 fucking minutes. The yoga instructor told me that I was snoring so loud she couldn’t fall asleep. She tried to roll me over but I was too heavy, she tried to wake me but I wouldn’t budge, then she splashed the glass of Dr. Pepper I had by the bed on my face and started beating on my chest. Fuck. This was embarrassing.

I sleepily sat up and told her to lie down and relax, I’d go sleep on the couch. As I stumbled out to the living room…the fucking sushi finally caught up with me. And not in a ‘horny’ way either. I felt a wave crest in my stomach and the sound of gurgling disruption filled the air around me. I had to take a Christmas shit. I looked back at my bathroom…and then to the open bedroom door RIGHT next to it. This was gonna be a fucking loud one, and the smell was sure to filter into my bedroom. No courtesy flush was going to stave off the odors that were brewing inside of me.

I quietly made my way back into the bedroom and grabbed my pants off the floor, there was nothing for it. I had to make a run for the gas station. I tip toed back out into the hallway, clenching my ass cheeks together which only made the farts that DID slip out squeakier and louder. When I bent down to put my pants on, the need for release hit its peak and I knew that time was too short to break for my car. It was either shit in MY bathroom, or risk shitting my pants as I made a ‘ Smokey and the Bandit’ run for the Speedway. Ho, Ho, Ho, I GOTS TA go!

I dove into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind me. THEN I turned on the lights. With any luck, the yoga instructor was already fast asleep and would have no knowledge of my late night craptacular. I turned on the faucet in the sink, just in case, and spread my ass cheeks as far apart as I could as I sat down on the bowl. If I had a pair of salad tongs or a fucking jaws of life, I would have used them to pry my asshole open so that what was inside of me could POUR out quietly instead of spurting out loudly like it did. I was mortified, she HAD to have heard that. I flushed the toilet as soon as I was done and sat in the smell for several minutes. My hope was that it would dissipate before I went out into the hallway.

All seemed quiet. I turned off the lights, went out into the hall, and quickly but quietly shut the door behind me. In my bedroom, I could see the yoga instructor firmly asleep under my blankets. Whew…I’d gotten away with it. I made my way back to the living room and just as my head hit the pillow on the couch…I heard the bathroom door open. FUCK! I JUMPED up and ran down the hallway. The yoga instructor stood, in her panties in the door way to the bathroom. Under her sleep filled eyes, her nose was crinkled up in disgust. She looked from the bathroom to me and said “what the fuck?”

I grabbed for the first excuse that hit my mind: “What had happened was, the dog had shit in the living room and I JUST now threw it in the toilet.” The words flowed out of me as quickly as I thought them up, and my dog looked at me with a shameful expression, shook her head and just walked away. “I have to pee, but I’ll wait. You should get your dog checked. What do you feed that thing?” she said stumbling back into the bedroom. “You are absolutely right, I will take her to the vet directly tomorrow. That’s a good idea” I said in a comforting tone.

She told me that she wanted me to come back to the bed, but I should sleep on my stomach. I did as she asked, but I’m not really a ‘stomach’ sleeping guy. I only sleep on my back or my side, but never my stomach. However, I was so fucking tired, I didn’t really care. I woke up five minutes later to the sound of the yoga instructor yelling at me again. Apparently I had rolled over on my back and started snoring again. Jesus.

She told me that she had gotten a text a few minutes ago and had to leave. I knew it was bullshit, but I just wanted to fucking sleep. I walked out to the living room with her and she gathered her things from the couch. She came over to give me a kiss, and what happened next snuck up on me and surprised me JUST as much as it surprised her.

From the deep recesses of my rectum came a breathy fart that exhaled like a windy moan coming down a long cave. It sounded as if someone were slowly ripping a silk sheet lengthwise. I tried to clench my ass together to impede its long hollow tone, but all I managed to do was force the flow up under my balls which turned the trumpeting declaration of my ass into a series of short loud pops coming from the FRONT of my pants. The yoga instructor stood before of me…horrified. And as the putrid aroma wafted up and warmed the air between us, I knew that there was NO mistaking that it was the same smell from the bathroom…I simply said; “That was the dog?”

And she walked out of my apartment without a word.

What are you gonna do? Look, I know I blew a lot of chances with this one, but truth be told; pussy is not the end all and be all for me at this point in my life. I’ve been with a lot of women; I have at least 2 I can call right now if pussy was all I wanted. But that’s NOT what I want. I want someone to surprise with breakfast in bed so I know she’ll have a good day. I want someone to send flowers to while she’s at work cause I KNOW she’s gonna light up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center when the other office chicks look all jealous. I want someone who will ‘meow’ and loudly ask inappropriate and dirty questions about what kind of shoes the delivery boy will be wearing when he drops off the Chinese food I’ve ordered for us.

The yoga instructor simply isn’t looking for these things from a man. She doesn’t WANT to be tied down and from what she’s told me of ex’s…I’m simply NOT the type of guy she talks about being into (and I think she’s in love with my best friend’s girl). Plus she’s told me in a not so ‘tongue in cheek’ way that she just got out of a relationship with a guy she was in love with partly because he was hung like a stack of tuna cans…I am NOT hung so. I know how I am, nothing good will come of this. Sure I could have gotten some ass, but then I would have caught a feeling for her, and she would have just bailed like Indy jumping out of the plane in ‘Temple’.

Even though she seemed to have wanted the dick, that’s ALL she seemed to have wanted. She told me flat out that she wasn’t looking to be in an exclusive relationship right now and if she wants to date other people, more power to her. I won’t get into what her normal dating preferences are out of respect, but she’s used to dating rich guys and I can barely afford to BUY her a fucking stack of tuna cans. But if that’s the kind of man she prefers, who am I to judge? Although I appreciate her honesty, it’s her candor in telling me everything that I’m NOT…which may have stayed my hand.

If I’m a homo for simply wanting to date a girl who only dates me? So be it. But if I fucked her, if I let myself be drawn into her in THAT way, I know it would have only led to feelings that wouldn’t have been returned. And THAT….that feels like shit. That’s a road I’ve been down, and on occasion, it took me awhile to hitchhike my way back to the self confidence diner.

So bottom line? I like the yoga instructor. I’m NOT in love with her; I’m NOT predicting a future with her, whatever happens, happens. But I’m not gonna fuck her just so I can high five all my friends and then never talk to her again. It ain’t that kinda party. Partly because I actually respect her, and partly because I’ve just never been wired that way. I can work with A LOT of stuff. Kids, distance, school, work, I’m just not THAT guy who’s ok with not caring who someone’s fucking just so long as I’m getting mine. Deal with it.

Since the future is MOSTLY unpredictable, we’ll just have to see what happens next. Although, I have a feeling that there’s a better chance of Carrot Top winning an Oscar For his portrayal of Don Corleone the third in ‘Godfather IV’ than there is of me hearing from her again. But it’s cool. At the end of the day people, we have to live with ourselves AND our decisions. Although my decisions might have been different had I been well rested and better prepared, I’m fairly confident that I did the ‘right’ thing by being a gentleman…

Jesus…I shoulda fucked her.



To Be Concluded…

Saturday, April 16, 2011

The Yoga Instructor Part 1: Date Nuts


In the months since I started my internet quest for a girlfriend who meets my exacting standards, I haven’t met with too much success. In that time I’ve gone on a few dates, I’ve had some penile success, and I’ve met some interesting ladies. However there hasn’t been much worth writing about. Although I may not be Rocky, I still hold out hope that I’ll find an Adrian. One of the things that’s been holding me back from putting more of an effort into my search, is my ex girlfriend. I’ve been a tad reticent about actually MEETING some of the women that I’ve talked to thus far. I haven’t really felt…the spirit of cold calling potential penile clientele, mostly because my ex hasn’t really shut the fuck up and given me a chance to get COMPLETELY over her yet.

But this past week, I talked with a woman who was…well, unbelievably attractive in an all around way. Not only is she a yoga instructor, but she’s also a 22 year old art history major. Oofa, body AND brains…so, why am I so lucky? Well, apparently she enjoyed my ramblings on one particular site and wanted to find out more. Join the fucking club; I’d like to find out more about me too.

Talking with women from the internet has been easier than I initially thought it would be. A woman will respond to my post or profile, we’ll do the email tango, followed by a waltz across the phone lines, and then my ex will not-so politely tap me on the shoulder and ask to cut in. I guess instead of taking a chance with unknown pussy, my dick has been staying in the shallow end of the pussy it already knows. And believe me, the SHALLOW end of that pussy runs deep. I’d been through a lot with my ex, good and bad…mostly horrifyingly bad. But, because she’s WAY younger than me, not illegally younger mind you, and she was there during some particularly shit points in my life, it’s hard to sever that bond that probably shouldn’t exist. This past Sweetest day however I found myself at the precipice of new pussy mountain, and at the same time…the ex pissed me off enough to take that leap and FINALLY cut the bungee cord before it could whip me back up into her twat.

Since I came up with my mission statement to find the perfect woman on the internet to, not only prove that it CAN be done, but to satisfy my selfish need for a relationship grounded in mutual harmony, my ex has taken every opportunity to derail my love train. She keeps shoving her mound in my face and well, how does one pass up on a moist, young, fresh smelling mound? I was forced to retire from my full time job at my ex’s company; Pussy Corporation Ltd. Inc., but she’s been keeping me on in a strictly ‘freelance’ capacity. Although I was a spiteful mess when the relationship came to an end…I now find myself wondering why it lasted as long as it did. The ex was 19 when we met, and although I broke several of my dating ‘rules’ to be with her, I enjoyed her company quite a bit.

I’m ‘eh-HEH-hem’ years old, but since most of my friends, who are my own age, are married at this point…I don’t have any ‘wingmen’. My best friend Mike, whom I met several years ago at my job, is 23 years old. He’s introduced me to his friends, who have now become MY friends. I enjoy their company a great deal, and although I’m ‘on my own’ in the struggle to meet a woman at a bar…they make the struggle that much easier.

Mike’s one of those good looking guys who doesn’t ACT like he’s a good looking guy. That’s probably the reason why we’ve gotten along so well. I’m fat, older, and unattractive but Mike and I are like brothers who have known each other all of our lives. We like the same TV shows, we like the same restaurants, we hang out nearly every night, and we’ve even gone on a vacation road trip together. Hanging out with Mike has been like being in MY early 20’s again. Yes, I know; it all sounds very gay, but I promise you…it’s not.

Mike and I shared something else, and I’m going to explain to you WHY that was such a huge misstep on my part, why Mike dodged a bullet, AND why I finally decided to get my 1973 Dodge Dick polished at a different mouth wash this past Halloween.

Soon after Mike and I started hanging out 2 years ago, he went to a party with a friend of his and ended up making out with a girl there. He told me about it the next day, and said that he made the mistake of giving her his phone number, and now she wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. He wasn’t all that interested in her, but she invited him to go bowling with her and her friends that evening and he wanted me to tag along. Well there’s nothing I like better than drinking white Russians in a bowling alley bar. [1]Where’s the money Lebowski?

Since Mike wasn’t interested in this girl, I figured she must have been a hot mess. But, she was bringing girlfriends, and ugly chicks always seem to have hot friends. So that night we drove to the bowling alley together. On the entire ride there he kept telling me that he REALLY didn’t want to date this girl. He said that she wasn’t his type, and he had a rule that he wouldn’t date ANY girl who lived in a trailer park. Silly rule, if you asked me at the time, now its number 8 on MY list.

We went inside of the bowling alley and because it was a Friday night, the joint was packed. Teenagers played video games, adult leagues bowled on the main lanes, drunks stumbled about the bar area, and the 20 something’s bowled on the secondary lanes. Mike spotted the girl from across the room, and I followed him to her.

When he introduced me, my jaw nearly hit the floor. This was the exact opposite of what I expected. This chick was a knockout from top to bottom. A thin tall blonde with large breasts, and she was even wearing glasses…one of my favorite accessories on a woman besides a ball gag. However, her 3 friends all looked like they asked people for toll money before they crossed the bridge that they lived under. We later dubbed them: The Troll Brigade. As far as the trailer chick was concerned? Other than a bit of teenage acne on her face, I didn’t see what the fuck Mike’s problem was.

Later on that night, as he drove me home, he kept insisting that he COULDN’T date a girl who lived in a trailer park. I protested and told him that he was crazy, this chick was gorgeous. I WANTED Mike to date this girl. She was fun, she was intelligent, she was just about to start college, and she wanted out of that trailer park. SURE you don’t date a chick that voluntarily MOVES into a trailer park, but she lived with her mother and was working to get out. He told me that you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. I didn’t know it at the time, but I came to find out that Mike is wise beyond his years. Those trailer park chicks might be hella hot, but it’s like dating Kid Rock with a vagina.

Over the next week, Mike told me that the trailer chick was calling him daily. She even showed up at his house one afternoon. He felt stalked. I told him that having a hot girl pursue YOU is a rarity in life, and that he should take full advantage of it. But he said that if he fucked her, he’d never be able to get rid of her, so he ‘ducked and dodged’ as much as he could.

Finally, I got fed up with his indecision. I told him to quit being allergic to pussy, and invite her out on a date. He did, and they went to a restaurant in downtown Chicago. Mike knew where the evening was headed, so rather than take her home, he brought her over to my place to watch a movie.

During the movie, T.C. (or ‘trailer chick’) got up to use the bathroom, and Mike and I took the opportunity to whisper furiously at each other. “Why would you bring her back here!?” I asked. “Because if I took her anywhere else, I’d fuck her, and I just know I’ll never get rid of her!” he exclaimed. “So FUCK her! Do I have to stick it in FOR you?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t WANT too!” he insisted. “YOU’RE FUCKING HER!” I angrily whispered at him as T.C. came back into the room.

This was no longer a point of living vicariously through Mike, this was now a mission. What I didn’t realize in MY twenties, when I was dating the hottest chick ever, is that they don’t come around all that often. Sometimes, it’s a fucking one-shot. These good looking guys think that every chick they bang is going to be a fucking ten, and it happens less than they think. I’ll bet you, that before ‘[2]No Way Out’, Brad Pitt was fucking chubby flat chested waitresses in Oklahoma. SURE looks enter into it, but it’s not ONLY good looking girls that want to fuck you when you’re hot. Good looking chicks can pick and choose which hot guys to fuck, if an ugly chick sets her sights on you, she’s gonna dig in like she’s getting ready for trench warfare.

Shiiiiiit….I just realized…I’M an ugly chick. Fuck you self discovery.

So, knowing that Mike is Irish, I made a beer run. 2 hours later, Mike and T.C. were both drunk, and I left them to ‘talk’ in my bedroom. I was asleep in the living room when they left in the morning, but later on that day Mike called to tell me that he was going to kill me. It seems that, not only did he fuck her, but he’d received 37 texts and phone calls from her after he dropped her off. Oofa.

As the week went on, T.C. showed up at Mike’s work, she called him and left him pleading text messages asking when they would go out again. She even tried to get him to have dinner at her mother’s trailer. He was livid, and telling her that they shouldn’t see each other anymore wasn’t working at all. It seems that I’d Frankenstein’d a stalk monster, and Mike was coming after me like an angry villager. I could see that my attempt at a ‘love connection’ was a complete failure, and I finally got it through my head that Mike just wasn’t interested.

He told me that since I, using alcohol, basically DID put it in for him, it was my responsibility to get him out of it. So, ALWAYS willing to be all up in other people’s bid-nass, I invited T.C. out to try and talk some sense into her.

We met up at the bowling alley again and sat in the bar. Even though she wasn’t old enough to drink yet, I ordered myself a beer and told her that Mike JUST wasn’t ever going to be interested in her. I told her that sleeping with her was a shitty thing for him to have done (yeah, I know), and I placated her in any way I could. I comforted her as she cried and carried on like it was the end of the world. Oofa, that teen drama. After about an hour, I apologized to her again, and told her that she would have NO problem finding another man because she was so beautiful…that’s the thing about women who live in trailer parks; Nobody ever tells them that they’re beautiful, just hot, cute, or fuckable.

As the month carried on, T.C. started to seek my counsel concerning relationships. She wasn’t in one, and she said she wasn’t looking, but she started staying over at my place until 4 or 5 in the morning telling me about her past exploits with men. One of the most annoying things about teens is the fact that they talk like they aren’t JUST 19. Jesus. She would say things like ‘I’ve been through a lot in my life’, and ‘I’ve been through so much with men’. FUCK, you wanna strangle a bitch and say “ARE YOU KIDDNG ME? YOU’VE BEEN ALIVE FOR 19 YEARS, COGNICENT FOR 12 AND ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THINGS FOR MAYBE 6! YOU HAVEN’T BEEN THROUGH OR SEEN SHIT YET!” It’s frustrating, but a guy will sit through nearly any thing for a chance to play whack a mole with a hot chick’s what now.

But, to be honest with you, I never in a million years thought that this girl would be interested in me in THAT way. However, I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t want to fuck her with all the youth and stamina of a man half my age.

I told Mike that this was going on, and I told him that if I had the chance…I was going to bang her. He said if that made me happy, I should go for it. So one morning, as the sun started to creep up over the horizon, I walked T.C. to the front door. She had school in a couple of hours, and she needed to get some sleep. I don’t quite know what came over me, maybe it was that tired sense of unreasoning we get from being up all night, maybe it was the way she looked as the first darts of sunrise came through the kitchen window and lit up her golden hair like an angel, or maybe it was just ‘the moment’ that I could feel dangling in the air like a ripe apple waiting to be plucked.

You know ‘the moment’. It’s that point in time that transcends any age difference, when you’ve done NOTHING sexual with a woman, and one night, as she’s going to leave…she lingers JUST a second too long. Maybe she shuffles her foot, maybe she brushes her hair back with her hand, but as she’s standing in front of the door making uncomfortable small talk with you, it’s JUST enough time for YOU to think: “well, if she DIDN’T want me to kiss her, she would have left by now”. You reason with yourself to make a move, and make a move I did.

I leaned in and kissed her, and to my surprise she kissed me back. It was the ‘gentle’ first kiss of two people who were just getting to know one another. And after 5 minutes or so, we stumbled like people who had been up all night, to find the words to explain ourselves. She left, and I spent the rest of the day unsure of my action.

The next night, I broke my FIRST rule. Rule number ONE, the MOST important rule of them all: You NEVER, EVER, under ANY circumstance, fuck someone that a friend has fucked, no matter how much time has passed, EVEN with permission FROM that friend. This is NOT a gender specific rule, and I suggest that all who wish to lead a drama free life adopt it.

I have to tell you, the next two years found me having the best sex that I’ve ever had in my life. Each time was new, romantic, and thrilling. We did everything together, and I was that guy that a young woman finds her sexual core with. Sure she’d been with other dude’s, but it was a grope here, missionary position there and always quick. I introduced her to her first orgasm, her first multiple orgasm and I even got her to squirt…ONCE.

I don’t say that to brag, I don’t claim to be proficient in the sack and lord knows I only gave a woman a ‘dick in’ orgasm once, and that was because she was playing with herself while I was inside of her. But, I was the first person to lick T.C.’s twat, and THAT I am good at. I only tell you this to illustrate the fact that I woke a sleeping giant.

Those first few months were filled with sexually charged energy. It seemed that we couldn’t get enough of each other’s company, and even though I’m older, and should know better…I fell in love.

Mike started dating an awesome girl, but because of his…dislike of T.C., I saw less and less of him as the months went by. It was frustrating because I like the ‘double date’, but because Mike told his new girl of T.C.’s ‘stalky’ tendencies months earlier, WITHOUT telling her that he banged her (a secret I STILL keep for him to this day) she wanted nothing to do with her as well. DrAaAaAaMa!

During my field trip to the young twattery, I was living with another friend of mine…John. John had bought a house earlier in the year, and circumstances soon found me renting a room from him. Since he was an alcoholic, John was either at work making money so he could go out drinking, or he was out drinking. He was rarely home, which is probably why we got along so well as roommates. So because we had the privacy and because of her dislike of the trailer, T.C. spent many a night at my place.

I was only supposed to stay at John’s for a few months while I saved money to get another apartment. However, after I started dating T.C., you could forget about me saving money. I’d never dated anyone that much younger than me, so I did what I thought I needed to in order to make her happy and fell down a hole that MANY an older gentleman has fallen down while dating a younger chick. We went out to dinner all of the time, we saw movies, went to roller rinks, bowled, and I bought her expensive gifts including a pair of sugar gliders with a cage and everything you need to make them comfortable, for her birthday, simply because she saw some on TV and said they were cute. I think a fucking diamond tiara would have been cheaper.

Part of my payment for John letting me stay there, was that I had to drive him to work every weekday morning at 5 AM. It was about an hour drive to his job, and one particular December morning, I decided to go into work myself right after I drove him. Usually I’d drop him off, and then drive an hour back to the house for some nice loud morning sex with T.C. However, she hadn’t stayed over the night before, so I just said fuck it and went into work early. That turned out to be a HUGE mistake.

When I got back to Johns that evening at about 530, I didn’t quite know what the fuck was going on. I could see a mess of shit from inside the house on the curb, some mine and some Johns. My first thought was that John had thrown me out, but I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that because we hadn’t argued or anything when I drove him to work that morning. When I saw some of John’s things out there as well, I thought that this had to be a prank. Then I went to go into the house and saw the eviction notice on the door. WTF?

The neighbor’s kid who always mowed our lawn came over and told me what happened. He said that the Sherriff’s police had been to the house at around 7 AM, and threw everything out on the curb. Throughout the day, everyone in the neighborhood had come by and taken stuff from the pile. Everything I owned was gone, except my bed. I was stunned. John had NEVER told me that he was on the verge of eviction. But apparently he had been spending all of the money he made, AND the money that I’d given him on booze. Now THAT’S a good alcoholic.

These fucking white people who posed as good Christians, the kind who call the cops if the music is too loud because it offends the sensibilities of what society has deemed acceptable to the pallet of good, clean, honest, hard working Americans…had stolen everything I owned including my pets, my ball gag collection, AND my Thunder Spank magazines. FUCK white people.

EVERYTHING was gone: my autographed comic books, drawings that I had made since 5th grade, my writing, my TV, my computer, and all of my clothes. I was back to square fucking one in life. Everything that I’d accumulated over the years was taken. I felt violated, I was angry, and I didn’t know what to do. All I could think was that if I’d just gone home instead of to work, I might have been able to save my stuff. That night I parked my truck in the parking lot of my job and slept, prone, in the front seat.

The next day I told T.C. about what had happened. I was homeless and more than anything else, I was fucking ashamed. My only saving grace was that I, at least, still had a job. So, instead of saving money like I should have, I started renting hotel rooms whenever she and I were together. I couldn’t stay at her place, and I couldn’t afford a hotel every night, so when she had to work or study for school, I just slept in my truck.

Soon after I found myself amongst the structurally deprived, T.C. cheated on me…the first time. I was lost, and she was the only thing keeping me sane at the time. Without her, I felt like my last semblance of sanity was slipping away. It’s one thing to be homeless; it’s a WHOLE other thing to be homeless and alone. I convinced her to take me back, but things were always different after that. There were things that I never really saw because I was so caught up in my own shame. T.C. had never really gotten over Mike, and even though our time together was amazing, I always felt that in the back of my mind.

After I caught her cheating on me the second time, Mike could see that I was devastated and invited me out to dinner to try and cheer me up. While we were at one of our favorite restaurants, he told me that he wanted to show me something that was pretty horrible. He said that I wasn’t going to like it all, but he felt I NEEDED to see it in order to move on. Mike proceeded to show me a series of text messages that he had saved on his phone.

Apparently, on that past Saturday, T.C. had sent Mike some messages NOT only proclaiming her love for him, but mother fucking me in the process. What T.C. didn’t know, was that Mike had been at a bar with his girlfriend at the time, and the TWO of them decided to fuck with her. So, WHILE T.C. was spewing and gushing her heart out, Mike and Jess were instigating her to continue by making her think that he might fuck her. I just pictured Mike and his girlfriend laughing together like the couple in that [3]Tom and Jerry cartoon, when Tom has to go to that island to relax, and the people in the room next door are just laughing and carrying on the whole time. To be honest with you? I kind of felt bad for her. It was like I had a case of pussy Stockholm syndrome.

I confronted her and made her feel like a piece of shit by telling her the truth behind her textual outburst with Mike, and then I took her back…again. After about a year of living like an asshole in the name of love, I finally got my shit together and got an apartment. T.C. moved in briefly and cheated on me a third time…and then a fourth. She finally left me back in February, under false pretenses claiming that it was my fault, when in reality she just wanted to fuck another guy. Whatever. I’m straight now. Since I have my own place and a more stable situation in life, my confidence is finally up to where I don’t need her shit. The IRONY of that is that because of my new found confidence and ‘I don’t give a shit about you’ attitude….NOW she wants to cheat on her current boyfriend with ME. Fucking young chicks. Oofa.

Recently, Mike told me that the reason he hadn’t seen me much over the past year was because he kind of felt odd about my situation with T.C. In a way that men don’t like to admit, he was a little pissed that I banged her. He KNOWS that he shouldn’t feel that way because I did everything that a man is SUPPOSED to do in that situation. I asked permission and I did nothing behind his back. However, THIS is the reason why rule number 1 is in place. Sometimes we can’t help the way we feel; even when we know it’s wrong. Like me being in love with T.C. I’m glad that Mike confronted me with that, and his honesty was not only brave, but it made me feel closer to him as a friend. Even though he constantly reminds me NOW of the SECOND reason that rule number one exists: Because I don’t wanna hear the ‘how does my dick taste’ jokes. Anyway, after T.C. left, I made it my mission to find a decent woman. However, because of a D.U.I. that I incurred while living at John’s place I won’t go to bars anymore. I find that drinking and driving now, makes me more nervous that [4]Upton Sinclair at a steak house. So I’ve been doing the internet fandango for the past 8 months.

The problem has been that every time I’ve started getting a good vibe from a girl, T.C. ends up popping back up and wanting to fuck. After all, I’m only a gentleman…how can I refuse the request of a lady? That is, until this past Sweetest day.

I’d started talking to the yoga instructor a few weeks ago online and then on the phone. We had JUST made plans to go on a date this Halloween, when I got a text from T.C. “Happy Sweetest Day” she blathered. I hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks, and my life had trundled on just fine. I’d been talking to a girl who I was very excited to meet, now…with ONE fucking text, I started to doubt myself again. See as a guy, you have to make the decision; do I take my chances with NEW pussy, or do I go with pussy that I know I already like? Yes, we’re stupid like that.

Well, she soon took the decision out of my hands. “How have you been? I was just driving over to my new boyfriends place, and I thought I’d stop over to see you when I leave” What the fuck makes you women think that we want to hear something like that? ‘My new boyfriend’? Fuck you. NOW I gotta sit here and think about some beefy construction worker sticking his filthy pethis inside of her and drilling her like a Texas Oil rig RIGHT before she wants me to go twelve rounds with her who ha. I text her back and said “look, it’s nice to hear from you, but ‘how have you been’ conversations lead to YOU talking about your new man. I don’t wanna deal. Have a nice life.” I was polite, right? Well, after that I got the most hateful fucking texts from her all weekend long. I didn’t respond because I KNOW she’s only trying to get a reaction out of me, but I have to say; you bitches is crazy!

So, with T.C. finally off of my mind, I put all of my effort into my Halloween date. The Yoga instructor and I were going to meet a bar, and because I won’t drive drunk but KNOW I’ll need to drink when meeting an internet date, Mike and his girlfriend agreed to give me a lift. Before I dive in to my own inadequacies ON this date, let me tell you about my pre-date stress induced spiral into low self esteem hell. I, like most of you, consider myself to be something of an individual. I don’t submit to some of the more standard societal doctrines of political correctness, piety, and general skullduggery (yeah, I said it, I’m bringin’ it back). Now this doesn’t mean that I’m some performance artist who wipes self filled diapers on a canvas, I’m not some dick knob who brings 37 boxes of pudding pops into the 10 items or less lane at the supermarket, and I don’t give myself a scrotal cancer exam in the buffet line. What it DOES mean is that I’m my OWN kind of asshole.

Imagine a guy who lives on his own, a requisite bachelor, if you must. He has his own apartment, he’s clean, he has a steady job, he’s an excellent cook, he has a big screen T.V., a PS3, and a couch that’s so big you could land a fucking Boeing Double Body jumbo jet on it. PLUS, his bank account isn’t more overdrawn than M.C. Escher’s doodle pad. Not too bad right?Wrong. I also have a dog that greets people by doing a cannonball into their crotchal area and Star Wars curtains because THIS shithole apartment has more windows than my LAST shithole apartment, so I ran out of drapes and had to pull these out of a dusty old box from 1975. I’ve been here TWO years now. How unbelievably lazy am I that I can’t go down to the B, B, and B and just drape this bitch? Plus, I masturbate so much that I could have filled the warehouse at the end of ‘Raiders’ with oil drums full of sperm. If I haven’t painted a good enough picture of myself, since I haven’t had an interesting interaction with a woman since T.C. left, getting me to take a shower these days, is about as likely as getting your fucking cat to swim the English Channel.

Now that I have a place of my own, I’m pretty fine with how I live. I don’t answer to anybody, I watch what I want, I eat what I want, I don’t have to listen to the shrieking cacophony of a menstruating woman, and I don’t have to have a Vietnamese ‘rat’ tunnel dug into the side of a hill to stash my ‘Washington National Archives’ sized porn collection in. However, when you meet a new woman, especially one who’s obviously better than you…you start to question your lifestyle choices. When the yoga instructor and I began chatting a few weeks ago, I found myself impressed by her intelligence. I found her to be engrossing, charming, and ambitious. After some playful ‘you first’ talk, we exchanged photo’s. Now, on this point, I will admit to a bit of cheating.


I sent her pictures of me that are so old; you can see ‘[5]Manimal’ playing on the T.V. in the background. Then she sent me pictures of a woman SO attractive that I literally had to study them like a Hasidic diamond merchant looking for flaws in a freshly cut diamond. Well, I told her flat out that she was so far out of my league that she being seen in public with me would be about as appropriate as framing a fart, and putting it on display at the Louvre. So, just to avoid the ‘Oh no’ look that I’ve encountered on women’s faces when meeting them for a blind date; I sent her the real deal. A full on body, and head shot. Then SHE asked ME out. I immediately started running scenarios through my mind. We have a lot in common, AND she’s a fucking knockout to boot. My luck is NOT this good.


Maybe she’s actually a guy in the Russian Mafia and when I go to meet, what I think will be a woman, he’ll sap me over the head and take my car. OR, maybe she’s in a sorority, and part of her ‘hell week’ is that she has to do a treasure hunt. Y’know? She has to find the bumper for an 87 Capri, a green wig, and go on a date with a fat, vulgar, ignoramus who’s 10 years her senior. OR, it was one of those things that cops do to get YOU to come to THEM when you owe a bunch of money on tickets. Whatever, I played the game and we made a date. Now, I’ve gone on a lot of dates. Usually after meeting someone at the mall, or through a friend, or at work. The point being, that ‘How does he look’ is not the foremost question on her mind. So this is a new experience for me. I know that if she sees me and heads for ZE hills, I’ll have to take it on the chin and get right back up on the social pummel bar.


I would normally NEVER put this kind of pressure on myself, but I actually wanted to impress this girl. I don’t have any delusions as to what it is. I have no wants or expectations, at this point; my only hope is that she doesn’t bolt for the door like Rosie O’Donnell when she hears the ice cream man driving by. I don’t know if women know this, but men will go OVER board when they want to impress you. Keeping in mind that I have NO expectations, I went out and bought gum, binaca, Listerine, a new wash cloth, fucking baby wipes to make SURE my ass was clean, took my car to the car wash, which I haven’t done since Clinton was in office, I scrubbed my apartment down like a Hispanic maid, washed my dog, spot cleaned the clouds above my neighborhood, vacuumed the planets in my solar system, and dusted the corners of the milky way galaxy for cobwebs. Overboard. I pretty much prepared for EVERY scenario. So unless her face split in two and revealed a flaming skull…wait…actually I bought a fire extinguisher for that one too.


Date night came. I get home, hosed myself down like Stallone in ‘Rambo’, and danced around my apartment listening to the ‘Rocky’ soundtrack to pump myself up. Yes, Sly is a big part of my pre-vaginal ceremony. I even wrote out individual discussion threads on 3x5 cards in case I got stuck. I was bringing crib notes to a date. SUCHafuckingloser.


Mike drove me to the bar, and tried to calm me down. Because I’m a romantic at heart, after the date was over, I completely romanticized its content. I really can’t tell you how it was on her end, and out of respect, I won’t speculate. But even though I know that this will come off as being more pretentious than the diary of a fifteen year old girl on her first trip to Paris, here’s a novelized version of the date from my point of view. Also, what would a romance novel be without a cover? Enjoy:

"The Gentleman Wore Pants"


“The sky was covered in a dark cloak of deep clouds. Like a special effect in a black and white horror movie, foreboding. If it was an indication of how the night would proceed, my thoughts filled with terror. But, for Halloween eve, the scene played perfectly to a captured audience.



Sitting in the restaurant, my anticipation was visible. I stood at the end of the bar by the door waiting for her. Left foot on the brass kicker, my leg shook like a frightened dog. I ordered a shot to calm my nerves and immediately regretted slamming it down. Christ, what if I got drunk before she showed? A thousand scenarios flashed across my consciousness. What if I said something stupid? What if I began to sweat? What if….



And then the door opened. The cool night air rushed in to greet me like a slow dance. I purposely didn’t look up, giving myself a brief reprieve from my own hangman’s noose. She entered the doorway, outlined with red velvet curtains. My heart stood still and all of those feelings of dread were washed away like water leaving a clean swept beach. A slow motion moment. Time stood still and I ravenously drank in what I saw like a man dying of thirst.



Imagine that you lived in darkness your entire life and the sun suddenly appeared in front of you. Do you fear it? Do you worship it? Do you bask in its glow? She possessed the kind of beauty that one only reads about in renaissance love sonnets. She owned it and carried it like she knew it. Her clothes hung off of her perfect frame, hiding the body underneath like a treasure chest at the oceans bottom. Her confidence overflowed like wine pouring from a bottomless cravat. A lump formed in my throat and terror filled my mind with the thought that I might not be able to speak. She approached me with the walk of Aphrodite descending the steps of Mt. Olympus. No fear, would she see mine?



It didn’t matter as I was instantly put at ease by the sound of her voice. It hypnotized me and I found myself feeding off of her self confidence like a hungry vampire. Everything she said was interesting. We ordered a drink and asked for a table.



As we walked down the corridor from the bar to the restaurant, I watched as women looked at her with disdain. Men, heads down, trying not to be noticed by their prospective dates, glanced up with a look of shame and lust. She drew these glances to her like a Venus Fly Trap draws in its prey. Watching her do this, with no effort, was a sight to behold.



As we were sat in the darkened room, lit by candles and gold lights, my eyes were drawn to the way her hair sat on her shoulders. Hiding just enough of her neck to make me want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted. The candlelight drifted in and out of her eyes as if it didn’t know how to compete for the natural brilliance in them. My soul entered those eyes and even now has not found a way out. Like in a dream, where one comes upon doors that won’t open, or drawers that won’t shut, trapped in a feeling of sexual longing. What must it be like to look into those eyes while making love? I had a feeling that the way she looked was not intentional. That’s just the way the universe put her together. A perfect shade of unyielding beauty.



We talked for hours, flippantly ordering appetizers, dancing around painful subjects, laughing at each other’s jokes, the night drifted by like a satin bed-sheet blown from a rooftop clothesline on a windy day. After hours of flirtatious talk she told me that she needed to leave, that she had things to do in the morning. But we both agreed that our first date had been a complete success and made plans for a second. I offered to walk her out to her car, and as I did, we could both feel the tension mounting. We knew what we wanted, but things like 'decency' and 'propriety' stood in our way. She offered me her hand and leaned in to kiss my cheek...as I reached around to give her hug, we were briefly caught in a moment of time. A split second that lasted for hours...



Her lips brushed past my cheek and her warm breath glazed my neck sending goose bumps crawling up my arm. The hairs on my neck reached out and stretched as if awakening from a long nap. My hand lightly made its way up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, and as she leaned away, our eyes locked. We saw so many things in that look…acceptance of what was to come; longing for what was to come, anticipation of what was to come…we told ‘decency’ and propriety to go fuck themselves and kissed. Gentle, at first, not sure how the other liked to be kissed. It was the shy exchange of a first embrace. But then as our breath quickened and our bodies warmed and the world evaporated around us like icicles hanging from the eaves of a burning house, our passion took over our thought and our kiss became, not the awkward first kiss of fledgling lovers, but the passionate kiss of two lost souls.

She left me with a desire for her that would make Poe envious. When I look up at the night sky, I find myself seeing her silhouette painted in the stars. How does one release the image of that body? Of that smile? Will there be a second date? A third? Time will tell. What I do know is this: One can FEAR the sun, one can WORSHIP the sun, but one can never HOLD the sun. “

Yeah, I know, it’s gay but like [6]Hemmingway said…A writer writes.

So, after all that fuss I put myself through, I actually had a great time. It turned out that she was as charming in person as she was on the internet, and even more beautiful than the pictures she had sent. I found her to be disarming and charismatic. We carried on a conversation that, I’m proud to say, was both relaxed and informative. Whatta woman. We ate; we laughed, we kissed and we genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

And at the end of the day what else can we ask for? A pleasant exchange of ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams. There’s a ton of people in this world for us to date, and occasionally we’ll get lucky and find one that isn’t a filthy godless who-er like my ex T.C. Some chicks, hell MOST chicks thrive on drama, but that’s not what it’s about for me. I’ll have to wait and see where things go with the yoga instructor, and who knows? I may have to make up another rule after seeing her a few times. But at least I know that I’ve learned something about myself with each woman I date. Sometimes it takes me a little while longer to realize just what the fuck that is, but if I keep chipping away at the stone, eventually I’ll come up with a [7]David. (And, I meant that metaphorically…I’m not gay…not that there’s anything wrong with that.) End

[1] The Big Lebowski is a 1998 film which was written and directed by the Coen brothers. Jeff Bridges stars as Jeff Lebowski, an unemployed Los Angeles and avid bowler, who is referred to (and also refers to himself) as "The Dude". I don’t even know where to begin to tell you all the reasons WHY you AND many shitty directors out there should see this flick. The writing is amazing, the cinematography is amazing, Steve Buscemi and John Goodman are amazing, and Jeff fucking Bridges is amazing as always. I can guarantee you TWO things that will happen to you after you see this flick; 1. You will have an incredible desire to have a white Russian, and 2. You will play ‘What Condition My Condition Was In’ by Kenny Rogers EVERY time you see a juke box in a bar. And don’t just rent it, buy it cause it’s one of those movies that you’ll want to see over and over again like ‘The Godfather II’ or ‘Aurora Snow’s Head Down Ass Up #52’

[2] No Way Out is a 1987 movie about a U.S. Naval officer investigating a murder in Washington D.C. The film stars Kevin Costner, Gene Hackman, and Sean Young who was quite the piece of ass in her day. I remember seeing this flick in the theatre, and even though I didn’t yet know shit about movies, I loved the intrigue that Costner and Hackman provoked. Although he only appeared for several seconds as a naval officer laughing at a party, this was the first movie that Brad Pitt was ever in. [3] I’ve looked EVERY fucking where, but I can’t find anything that confirms this episode of Tom and Jerry exists. I have a vague memory of it from when I was a kid. Tom is told that he needs a break from the stress of trying to catch Jerry, so he goes on a vacation to an island or something. In the room right next to his, the man and woman are carrying on and laughing the whole time. You never see them, but every time Tom tries to stop them, they thwart his efforts and continue laughing hysterically. At the end, you find out that the neighboring vacationers are the psychiatrist who told Tom to take a break and his wife. I know this wasn’t a Tex Avery episode because the animation was less fluid, but can anyone out there confirm that this episode exists and prove that I’m not imagining it?

[4] Upton Sinclair, Jr. (10/20/1878 – 11/25/1968), was a Pulitzer Prize winning author who wrote over 90 books including The Jungle which exposed conditions in the meat packing industry. Sinclair actually went undercover in Chicago in order to make his book more authentic. His intention was to simply lampoon a capitalist enterprise, but what he did was bring domestic and foreign sales of American meat to its fucking knees. And if you read the book, you’ll see why. This is some of the nastiest shit I’ve ever read and what makes it even nastier is knowing that it’s all true. Let me tell you something, if you’re THINKING about becoming a vegetarian and just need a little push? This book’ll have you eating nothing but celery for the rest of your life. The book was SO nasty, that it forced the government to put into effect the Pure Food and Drug Act AND the Meat Inspection Act not even a year after it was published in 1906. Thank you Chicago. [5] Manimal was a shitty show that ran for only 8 episodes from Sept 1983 to Dec 1983. It was an hour long action show on NBC that had the AUDACITY to run against Dallas back when people actually watched CBS. The show was about a dude who could shape shift into any animal he chose, and would use this power to help the police solve crimes. Oofa. The special effects were as bad as you can get and even though the opening narration promised that Dr. Jonathon Chase could turn into ANY animal…he ONLY turned into a hawk or a panther in nearly every one. Although the creator of the show Glen A. Larson worked on some of my favorite shows as a kid (The Fall Guy, Automan, Knight Rider, Magnum P.I., Buck Rogers, and the list goes on and on) He really took a shit on my TV set with this one.

[6] The most quotable alcoholic writer to ever put pen to paper…next to Oscar Wilde of course

[7] The Statue of David is a masterpiece of Renaissance sculpture created by Michelangelo between 1501 and 1504. Whereas most sculptors of the time depicted David after his biblical battle with Goliath, Michelangelo’s marble rendition showed him, ready for battle, before the fight. Nekkid as the day he was born, David looks off into the distance with a ‘yeah, mother fucker? Bring it.’ expression on his face. You gotta respect a man who can fight nekkid, especially when they fight a giant. Oofa.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Getcher Pussy Off My Foot



Blu

Today I took my dog Blu to the lake behind my apartment. I’ve lived in this apartment for almost three years now, and although my place is small, it offers a great view. I have a walk up balcony on the second floor of my building, and from it you can see a spacious yard which is enclosed on 3 sides by other buildings. The fourth side of the yard ends at a fence. Just beyond the fence there’s a stream. On the other side of the stream is a path that goes around a lake. All told the lake is about 100 feet from my balcony. You can hear the ducks out there in the early morning, you can see the sun glistening off of the shimmering water in the afternoon, and in the wintertime you can see families ice skating on it like a Norman Rockwell painting. For all of these reasons, I find it hard to move on to a bigger apartment.

Because the stream cuts a long jagged path through my city, the only way to get to the lake is to drive about 2 miles in a circle around my neighborhood. Because of this, I’ve never actually GONE to the lake...until last week. Usually I take Blu to a forest preserve that’s 25 miles from my place. But last weekend my car was at the mechanics, so I figured we’d FINALLY give this place a shot, and it was great. First of all, there was nobody there but us. I don’t usually like going outside because I eventually have to interact with other human beings…and let’s be honest here, most of you are assholes. So I was pretty stoked to find no cars in the parking lot when we arrived. There were woodchip paths that took us through thick groves of beautiful trees, there were benches set up along the shoreline, and there was even a long wooden bridge with no rails that snaked through the marsh land on one side. I can’t wait to walk around this place after a fresh snow fall.

Today’s trip to Lake Pleasant ended a bit differently than last weekend however. Remember how I called you all assholes before? Well, I wasn’t the only person there this time, and society didn’t let my view of it down. Usually I listen to Howard Stern on my headphones when I take Blu to the forest preserve so I can drown out the annoying sounds of wind rustling through trees, dickheaded birds cawing at one another, and distant, muffled, selfish cries for ‘help’ that always make me feel like a pussy for not responding too. But this morning I didn’t. I can’t help but think that maybe if I did? Things would have gone down a bit differently. As it turned out, my day consisted of violating someone’s civil rights in a way I never thought I would, and an afternoon visit from the police. But that’s a story for the end of this blog.

Dogs in general have played an integral role in my development as an asshole, and today’s Lake Pleasant debacle is the impetus for the stories I’m about to unfold. I’ve had many dogs in my life, but what I’ve noticed is that most of the articles you read concerning man’s best friend tell you of the smart Golden Retriever who dialed 911 when his owner had a heart attack, or the brave Alaskan Husky that pulled a man out of a burning plane wreck, or even the fearless German Shepherd who saved a baby from a nuclear explosion. But, what about the dumb ones?

Well, I’m going to tell you about some of the exploits I’ve had as a dog owner, and as you may know from reading some of my other rants, THIS one is unlikely to be turned into a Disney movie. These aren’t stories of evil dogs who bite children, or dogs that helped the Nazi’s round up Jews, or even tales of Scooby Doo’s dickhead hillbilly cousin who wore that fucking hat, but REAL stories of the dogs in my life. Stories that tell you how, much like humans, dogs can be assholes too.

Don’t get me wrong here, I love dogs. Duh, who doesn’t right? Well, maybe Ellen…and Paris Hilton…OOH! And Mel Gibson…betcha he hates dogs. But I fucking love ‘em. I’ve had dogs my entire life, starting with a black schnauzer named ‘Pepper’ when I was a kid. Growing up, I always had the kind of dog that my mother wanted: schnauzers, poodles, Pomeranians. You’d think that with that kind of animal influence as a child, I might have grown up a little gay. Well, I DO like to look at the occasional penis, but I DON’T have a desire to touch one. Sue me.

The kid from Witness and Pepper

The sad thing was that as soon as I would really begin to bond with whatever gay dog my mother had gotten us, she’d give it away. First, there was Pepper, she was given away on my 7th birthday because we were going to move and my mother thought it would be easier to find an apartment if we didn’t have a dog. The irony of that was we were the only people without a dog in the apartment building we moved into. There was the poodle named ‘Cammie’. One day she ran away and when the animal welfare called us to say they had found her, my mother wouldn’t pay the 25 dollar fee to get her out of the kennel. We had a Rottweiler named ‘Maddie’ that my mother gave away while I was in Florida one summer because she was pregnant and mom didn’t want to deal with puppies. There was the Pomeranian named ‘Twig’ that she gave to a co-worker for no particular reason. There was Bacchus the Dachshund, given to another family while I was in school because her bark sounded weird. And finally there was mom’s last dog: a poodle named ‘Princess’. (How original)

Princess: The Gayest Dog Ever

Princess was my mother’s favorite and she was there until the bitter end. When my mother got the Cancer and had to go live in a Hospice, I kept Princess around so that I could bring her there to lift mom’s spirits. To be honest with you, at that age I didn’t really have much need of a fucking poodle. I always felt weird walking this incredibly gay dog, who wore a pink bandana around her neck, through the neighborhood. I probably didn’t help things by wearing a matching bandana and pink shorty shorts, but that’s a manly look on its own! Right? RIGHT?

Even though my mother wasn’t THAT old, the other people in the hospice were. Her roommate, Gladys was about 97 and she loved getting a visit from Princess just as much as my mother did.

One day, I took Princess to the groomers to get her that fresh clean pompous look that poodles should have. This place was the doggy equivalent of ‘Glamour Shots’ and they were the ones who got Princess accustomed to wearing that fucking pink bandana. After the groomer was sure that I would look like a complete homo with her, I brought Princess to the hospice to visit my mother. I carried her in, as I always did, so that the old people could pet her and coo at her as we walked to my mother’s room. When we got there, mom and her roommate were watching TV. I closed the door behind me and set Princess down on the floor. She immediately ran up to my mother who doted on her with love, affection, and a treat. Gladys shuffled over to where Princess was and leaned down to pet her. As she did, her glass eye fell out of her head, hit the floor with a loud ‘CLINK’, and began to roll away. Princess, thinking that the eyeball was a toy, immediately began to chase after it.

I stood there with a look of stark terror on my face. My first thought was that Gladys’ REAL eye had fallen out of her head. I didn’t know she HAD a glass eye. As the eyeball rolled towards my feet, Princess snatched it up off the ground and began prancing around the room and shaking her head back and forth like an alligator with a chicken in its maw. MY next reaction was to dry heave. I STILL thought the eyeball was real, and I had just watched a dog pick it up off the ground and play with it. This was some Hannibal Lector shit right here.

Being as old as she was, Gladys didn’t even realize that her eyeball had fallen out at first, but my mother kept calling Princess to her. This only made Princess think she was being played with, which made her run around more, while dropping the eye and chasing after it as it rolled around on the floor like a gay white soccer player. My mother, not being able to get around very well because of her condition, told me to get Gladys’s eye. “I’m not touchin’ that thing, call a nurse”. I told her wide eyed and still in shock. “It’s a GLASS eye Michael” she said, talking down to me as if I were still a child.

Fuck that, I thought. That thing was inside of a human beings skull. But I did as I was asked and gave Gladys back her eye. She didn’t even wash it off before popping it back into her head. As she came up to thank me, I could SEE drool and dog hair on that Sammy Davis Jr. eye as it stared out at me. After that event, I never put Princess on the floor in that Hospice.

After my mother passed, I vowed that I would never be put into a situation where I would lose a dog again. I gave Princess away to the groomer because I knew she would be better suited to take care of a poodle. I liked Princess, but she really wasn’t MY dog. I sold my mother’s condo and got an apartment that allowed pets. After doing research for a few months, I decided that I would get the dog that I always wanted: a Bloodhound. I found a woman in Indiana who bred this type of dog, and when a new litter was born, she invited me over to pick out the one I wanted. They were ALL so fucking cute, but one was even more adorable than the rest. Most bloodhounds are black and tan, but this one was a very unique rust color with NO black. The breeder told me that a bloodhound of this particular color is only born MAYBE once in 5 or 6 generations. She was a hundred dollars more than the rest, but she was beautiful, so I paid.

Because she was a new born when I picked her out, I had to wait several weeks before I could take her home. During that time, I thought long and hard about a name for my new companion. Because I’m a huge Elvis fan, I wanted to give her a unique name, and one that had meaning to me. I couldn’t very well name her Elvis because she was a bitch. Pricilla seemed too gay…so I decided on ‘Presley’. I bought everything I’d need for a new dog: Collar with a name tag, food and water bowls, toys, leashes, and a cage for her when I was at work. I was finally going to have a manly dog, and I wanted my first stint at LONE dog ownership to go well.


Presley

Presley was fantastic. As she grew, I started going to dog training classes with her at the park district, and eventually I paid a woman 600 bucks to train her properly for 2 weeks. I don’t know what that chick did, but when I got Presley back? She was the most well behaved dog I’d ever seen. She walked right next to me when we went out, she rarely had accidents in the house, and if a kid came up to her? She sat her ass right on the ground and let that kid pet her. Her one problem was that she was always incredibly protective of her food dish. That was a big problem.


My friend Action Jim worked as the book keeper at a restaurant and one afternoon he called to tell me that a waitress was giving away kittens. He told me that he was keeping one, and asked if I’d like one. Since Presley had always gotten along with other animals, I thought having a cat around the house to keep her company while I was at work would be a good idea. I went over to Jim’s place of business and picked up a kitten. On the way home, I stopped and got the cat food, dishes, toys, and litter box.


DIS-gusting
 I should tell you here, that I fucking hate cats. Every time I’ve helped cat owners move there’s a disgusting amount of cat hair and poop under their couches. People who OWN cats, smell like fucking cats, and don’t even TRY to own any black clothes if you have a cat because you become a fucking human lint roller. I simply got the cat so that my dog wouldn’t be lonely when I was at work.

When I got home, I set the kitty on the floor, and cautiously let Presley out of her cage, holding her by the collar as she walked up to sniff it. She seemed to like the kitten very much. She even laid down next to it and let it snuggle against her. It was so fucking sweet I thought I would become a diabetic just watching. I had left the cat food down in the car, so I ran down to grab it, leaving Presley and the kitty lying on the floor together. THAT turned out to be a huge mistake.

I was gone for all of 40 seconds, and when I came back into the apartment…there was blood and fur all over my kitchen floor. Apparently the kitten had gone sniffing around Presley’s food dish…aaaaaand Presley ate it. I totally FREAKED out. I was frightened because I thought that if a dog tasted blood, you had to put it down. I didn’t wanna put my fucking dog down, but at the same time I figured this wasn’t something I could hide! What if the next time a kid came up to her, she bit his face off? Plus I couldn’t believe that a cute ass kitten was just EATEN in my apartment! I basically FED my dog a cat! I might not LIKE cats, but shit, I didn’t get it as a Scooby snack for Presley.

I called the vet, and excitedly told him what had happened. “DO WE HAVE PUT HER DOWN?” I asked him almost in tears. There was a long pause….”Mike, calm the fuck down. Dogs have been killing cats since the dawn of time. Haven’t you ever seen ‘Tom and Jerry’? Just give her a bath, clean the blood out of her mouth, and take her for a nice long walk. She’s probably going to have to shit a kitten in a little while.”

Presley's Dad

Well, that was a relief, but I never tried to get another pet after that. Presley’s only interaction with other dogs was when I would take her out to Indiana to visit her mother, father, and siblings at the breeder’s house. The breeder had a dog run, and Presley loved visiting with her family there.

Over the 3 years that Presley lived with me, my friends came to love her as well. We would often all go out to different forest preserves with her, and she was a welcome addition to any party that I threw. She had quirks as any dog may have, but I loved her even if she drove me crazy sometimes. I think that everyone who’s owned a bloodhound will agree with me that, because of their loose skin, they can be the cutest god damned dogs to pet. However, they are also about the droolinest mother fuckers on the planet. Every time Presley would drink from her water bowl, she’d shake her head back and forth sending streams of drool flying all over my apartment and anyone in it. Although THIS happened daily, there were mishaps that were just as disgusting, but happened less frequently.

One night I locked Presley up in her cage while I went out on a date with a particularly beautiful secretary. As the evening progressed and it seemed that we were hitting it off, SHE asked me if we could go back to my place and watch a movie. First date? Back to my place? Uh, oh! Mikesgonnagetsomepussy! I didn’t eat a lot, partly for the leftovers I could bring home to Presley, and partly because I hate fucking on a full stomach. After a few more drinks, I convinced her to tell me some juicy secrets about her boss, and then we went back to my place. I turned the key in the knob, pushed open the door, and my date immediately threw up all over my back.

It seemed that Presley had a bit of the doggy diarrhea, and had sprayed shit all over her cage, all over the wall next to her cage, all over the floor around her cage, on the dust particles floating in the air, and had herself, rolled around in her mess after doing it. The smell was so terrifying, so extreme, that it made my date puke up the dinner I had just bought her. I was more offended that she just wasted my 20 dollar meal, than the fact that it was all over my back. Obviously she went home, and obviously I never heard from her again, but hell…having a dog is like having a kid, only you don’t have to pay to put it through private school…wait…I DID put her in a private school. Shit, there really is NO difference between having a kid and having a dog is there? Well, I guess there’s one…a kid would NEVER do what I’m about to tell you next.

A few nights after the diarrhea incident, while I was drying my hair after a nice long hot shower, I felt a slight tingle on my nut sack. I don’t know why, but when a woman licks your balls, it’s a better feeling than penile insertion. For a SPLIT second, my mind enjoyed that feeling, until it realized that there was no woman in my apartment. I removed the towel from my head and saw Presley looking up at me and licking her chops. She had just licked water off my scrote! AHHHHHHHHH! Much like in the situation with the kitty, I freaked out. Did this make me like one of those creepy British guys who ‘make’s love’ to their horse? I could come to grips with it if it had JUST been an accident and I quickly shooed Presley away RIGHT after she did it. But there was that SPLIT second where I enjoyed it! Sure I didn’t comprehend what was happening, but what were the philosophical repercussions of enjoyment garnered from a doggy ball lick? Like with the kitty…I once again called my vet. “Doc! Presley just licked my balls while I was coming out of the shower…and I liked it! What do I do?” I screamed at him frantically. He let out a long sigh and said “PLEASE stop calling me at home. It’s 2A.M. How did you get this number anyway?”

I told him that I was dating his secretary until she threw up on my back, but that wasn’t important right now! He hung up on me and changed his number…AND his secretary.

Presley was a great dog, but unfortunately after 3 years of being together, it was time for me to get a nicer apartment. Because my lease came up before I found another one, I ended up moving in with Action Jim while I looked. Presley went to stay with her family on the breeder’s farm while I continued my search for a nicer place for both of us.


Action Jim with ANY animal
 Unfortunately, there are some people on this planet who should NOT have pets. Action Jim is one of these people. Jim LOVES animals, but he only understands that they’re cute and cuddly…NOT that they need to eat and shit occasionally. His affection towards animals always reminded me of that Daffy Duck cartoon where the monster would give Daffy a big bear hug and say: “I will love him and pet him and squeeze him and call him George”. It’s like Jim morphs into a retard around animals.

Well, Jim still had the cat that the waitress had given to him, and when I moved into his apartment…I was stunned beyond belief. Action Jim was being VERY kind by letting me crash with him, but if I had a choice to have been anywhere else in the world, I would have. This place smelled like 30 football players who ate nothing but asparagus and Gatorade pissed over every square inch of a slaughterhouse that was dipped in bleach. You could smell it as you crept up the stairs to get to his door like something lingering behind a corner waiting to jump out and get you. The minute you came into contact with that smell, your eyes would immediately start to water and your nose would say “Fuck this” and walk off of your face.

Jim HAD a litter box, but he never trained his fucking cat to use it. Apparently, whatever instinct the cat DID have in deference towards its sand trap, was wiped out when it realized Jim would never clean the fucking thing. There was a mountain of clumpy piss cakes and turds that reached almost 3 feet. It looked like the model of ‘Devil’s Peak’ that Richard Dreyfus built in his living room in ‘Close Encounters’. You could see piss stains on everything in his apartment including the fucking curtains. There were wet spots on the counter tops, on top of his TV, the couch pillows, the kitchen table, EVERY fucking where. The smell of Jim’s apartment followed him wherever he went. And now that I was there, I could see why. The cat had pissed on his clothes, on his coat, on his socks and in his shoes. When he put his shoes on? You could hear that squishy sound like his foot was stuck in mud. It was UNbelievably disgusting. His place looked like one of those shows on Animal Planet about the ‘Hoarders’. I saw one episode where this chick had like 70 cats that just tore up everything and pissed everywhere. It got to the point where she LITERALLY just started throwing raw hamburger meat at the walls for the cats to eat. Only Jim just had ONE fucking cat. His apartment smelled like FIFTY cats living in a homeless person’s asshole. After ONE night though…the ultimate thing happened. The thing that made me screech out of there like Tony Stewart squealing his tires at the beginning of a race.

The next morning, I awoke from the LEAST pissy corner of the apartments floor that I could find to sleep on and wiped the tears from my eyes because your eyes would even water in that smell while you slept. I made a pot of coffee and turned the heat up a tad. It was winter time and it was fucking cold in that place. Jim never turned the heat up too much because it would make the apartment smell even worse. Like dead bodies boiling in a vat of urine. After a few minutes, Jim came out of his bedroom and poured himself a cup of coffee. The cat followed after him with that ‘I’m better than you’ walk that cats have. As Jim sat down at the kitchen table, I noticed that he was incredibly sweaty. His hair was soaking wet, and he had sweat drops running down his face. I asked him if he had a bad dream or something. He said no and asked me why I would ask that. I told him it was because he was all sweaty. He went to look in the mirror in the bathroom, and when he came out he said: “that’s not sweat…its piss. The cat pissed on my head. I’m gonna take a shower”.

WHAT?!?! That’s it? You’re gonna take a shower? If an animal pissed ANY where on my body, I’d make a fucking steak out it. I told him he needed to get rid of the fucking thing, or at LEAST have it fixed. He’d had it for over a year at that point and ALL he had to do was pay 25 bucks down at the animal welfare to get its nuts tied down and he wouldn’t have this problem. That was enough for me; I started sleeping in my truck after that. If a homeless person would RATHER sleep in a fucking car than in your apartment DURING the winter…shouldn’t that TELL you something?

Soon after that I moved in with my friend John who had NO pets. While I was there, the breeder ended up having her farm foreclosed upon, and she gave Presley to a nice family in Indianapolis with a big back yard. I was happy that she went someplace nice, but I was devastated that I would never see her again.

I eventually got that ‘nicer’ apartment that I was looking for, and even though they didn’t allow dogs when I moved in, I convinced my landlord to let me get one after I was there for a year. I paid my rent on time during my first lease, and he could see that I kept my place clean whenever he came over. He jacked up my rent by 20 bucks and told me to ‘go nuts’. So nuts I went.

Instead of going to a breeder, I decided to rescue a dog at the animal welfare. This wasn’t an easy decision to make because I’ve had difficulties with them in the past. I’ve always viewed the animal welfare league as a pet mafia. They call what they do ‘rescuing’ animals, but it’s more like ‘ransoming’ animals. And much like kidnap victims, if you don’t pay the ransom, they kill the fucking dog. Their ‘pet adoption’ forms are filled with more unnecessary personal questions than a REAL adoption form. Sure not all people should have fucking pets, but why do they need to know if my belly button is an innie or an outie?

And the people who work there? Forget about it. The men are usually meth heads working off a community service sentence for domestic abuse, and the women are either old hags who got kicked out of a nursing home for biting someone’s grandkids, or angst ridden teenagers wearing headphones with their iPod’s turned up so loud that their teeth have vibrated out of their heads. You wouldn’t let ONE of these people work around human fucking beings, so why do we let them work with helpless animals?

My feud with the Animal Welfare League started at around the time my mother first went into the hospital. Princess had gotten off of her leash while I was walking her and apparently had run RIGHT into the arms of a patrolling Animal Mafia truck. After looking for her for all of five minutes, I called the Animal Welfare and gave them a description of Princess. Since she snaked out of her collar, she didn’t have her name tag on. They told me that one of their animal catchers had JUST brought a dog in fitting that description, so I got in my car and headed up to get her. By the time I got there, mind you, FIFTEEN minutes had passed since Princess escaped. FIFTEEN. I approached the crotchety old lady who looked like a Far Side drawing that Gary Larson had crumpled up and tossed into a garbage can, and told her that I was there to claim my dog.

Without looking up at me, she said in a cigarette stained voice: “That’ll be 75 dollars”. I stood there for a moment thinking about that and said apologetically “oh, no no no, that must be someone else. They just brought my dog in? I’m just here to pick her up. I just called a few minutes ago? She’s a poodle named Princess?” The woman behind the counter looked up at me with her old lady glasses at the end of her nose and said condescendingly: “yeah…that’ll be 75 dollars” and then she went back to looking at the papers on the desk.

“75 dollars for what?” I inquired. “For boarding and food” she said without looking up at me. “Boarding and food? Did you give her a fucking dry aged filet minon in the 4 minutes she’s been here? C’mon lady, gimme my fucking dog.” I said half laughing.

She looked up at me again, and like a school teacher scolding a student said “Sir, you can either pay the 75 dollars and leave with your dog, or I can call the cops and you can leave with them”

Now I was pissed. “So…what you’re telling me is that you’re holding my dog for ransom? She’s been here for 7 minutes now, and you’re trying to jack me for 75 bucks? Her name’s Princess NOT Lindberg. Fuck you lady, where’s my dog?”

At ‘Fuck you’ the old woman angrily picked up the phone and started dialing the police. I stormed through the double doors leading into the kennel. I could barely hear the shouts and protests of the volunteer workers over the deafening barks of frightened dogs. I walked up and down the rows of cages, and finally came to the one with my mother’s poodle in it. Princess was curled up in a ball on the floor and she was shivering furiously. She looked like a prisoner in a Nazi death camp. I opened the cage, picked her up, and headed back out the way I came. My head was held high and my chest was puffed out as I carried this poodle with a pink bandana in the crux of my arm, DARING someone to fuck with me.

I was going to make it. I would walk out carrying my dog like Richard Gere and Debra Winger at the end of ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’. Instead I walked outside into the waiting arms of a police officer. Luckily for us, he knew my mom and sent Princess and I on our way. But I never stepped foot in that Animal Welfare League building after that.

Until the afternoon that I met Blu. Howard Stern’s wife works for the North shore Animal League. You may have seen her on Good Morning America or The View, or some other non-sencical boring morning program talking about pet adoption. Well, her arguments regarding RESCUING a dog, rather buying a puppy from a Breeder swayed me. After all, I’d done the ‘breeder’ thing; maybe it was time that I tried doing something not completely selfish. Plus, who has time OR money to train a puppy at this age? (Still 30).

I wasn’t sure quite what to expect, but I figured there was no harm in looking around the kennel. I filled out their ‘pre-screening’ forms until I felt like I just had a fucking animal enema. I spent over an hour with these forms, and then another 30 minutes taking eye exams and having my nut sack checked for polyps. THAT was just to LOOK at the fucking dogs. I hadn’t even picked one out. It felt like I was going over Paul McCartney’s FUTURE pre-nup.

A volunteer led me into the kennel. When you go into this place, ALL of your senses are immediately attacked. Your ears start bleeding from the deafening sound of wailing dogs. Your nose crumples up against your face like a beer can being smashed on your forehead, from the smell of desperation, fear, and dog shit. Your eyes begin to water because there’s so much cat dander floating around that when you leave, you end up coughing up a fur ball and licking your nut sack with one leg sticking straight up in the air. And the place reeks so bad of piss that you can FEEL it on your skin.

I made it THIS far, so I figured I may as well look around. The room looked like the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. It stretched on for miles in every direction and was filled with rows upon rows of discarded or unwanted pets. I understand that SOME of the dogs are there because their owners died, or were evicted. But a lot of them were there because they were abused, or their owners decided that drugs were more important than loyalty. When I think of these people I want to line them all up and give them a collective Three Stooges slap while wearing Freddy Kruger’s mitt.

Most of the dogs there were Pit Bulls or Mutts. Everyone I saw barked furiously as I went past their cage…until I came across something unusual. In one cage, there sat a dog. She wasn’t barking, she wasn’t lying down; she was just sitting there watching as I walked by. Because I did a lot of research on hound dogs before I got Presley, I could tell right away that this dog was a Blue Tick Coon Hound. Now, from what I read, this was a rare breed that was mostly bred in the South for hunting. And I could tell from looking at her that she was pure bred. I walked 40 miles back to the front desk and inquired about her.

The lady told me that this dog WAS from the south. She was raised in a Kentucky Hunting Club. Unfortunatly, what happens in these hunting clubs is that IF a dog runs away, the club has so many others that they don’t bother looking for it. This dog was caught by the Animal Welfare in Kentucky, but because of overcrowding was shipped up north to a bigger facility. That’s how she ended up there.

That was enough for me. I paid for Blu right then. Hound dogs are my favorite, and finding a rare pure bred Kentucky Coon Hound at the Animal Welfare was too much like fate. Because she needed to be fixed, I had to wait a few days before I could pick her up. While I waited, I read everything I could about Coon hounds, and got all the necessary doggy equipment.

Much like Bloodhounds, Blue Ticks are hunting dogs. However there IS a difference. A Bloodhound is called a ‘trail dog’ because they chase an animal, or an inmate, by following the trail of their smell along the ground. A Blue Tick however, is called a ‘tree dog’. They follow an animal’s scent through the air, usually raccoons, and chase it up into a tree where the hunter will shoot it down. It didn’t take long for me to learn just how proficiently Blu had been trained to do this.

When she finally came home with me, she was perfect. You could tell that she was well trained to heel, sit, and the most important one? Whenever she had to go outside, she’d sit by the door and stare at the knob. PERFECT! Her only problem was that she was a bit lax in her manners. Whenever people would come over she’d jump about 6 feet in the air. She was like a doggy Michael Jordan. I never saw a dog jump so high. Not in a mean way, mind you, but in an ‘OHMYGOD, ITS ANOTHER FUCKIN’ HUMAN BEING’ excited kind of way. However, because she weighs almost 90 pounds, this can be a bit of an annoyance.

Blue has been with me for nearly two years now, and during that time, I’ve had to adjust myself to her quirks. I’ve had to make a list of rules, like in the movie ‘Gremlins’, for owning a Blu Tick Coon hound. Rule number one? Don’t take her outside after dark.

Because I live in a mostly wooded area, there are more fucking raccoons around here than people. These little bandit mother fuckers come out after sunset and immediately set up shop in the dumpster outside my building, on top of cars in my parking lot, and I shit you not…sometimes they’ll sit on your window ledge and peer into your living room to watch TV with you. Blue can smell them in the fucking air, and goes ape shit whenever there’s one within 100 feet of her.

Soon after she first came home with me, Blu got out of her collar and began a raccoon rampage through my neighborhood. My building is at the end of a dead end street, and just across from it is a 7 foot fence that separates my street from a trucking company. JUST on the other side of this fence is a clump of tree’s that I’ve dubbed Raccoon City. You can hear the mother fuckers in those trees day and night, and often when you walk past it, they’ll throw chicken bones and soda cans down on you.

When I took Blu for a walk that night, she saw a group of Raccoons on the garbage can and started going bonkers. She pulled and yanked at the end of her leash until she managed to pop her head out of her collar. She chased the raccoons to the fence line, and JUMPED up OVER a seven foot fence. I stopped screaming for her to come back because I was so dumbfounded at what I had just seen. I couldn’t climb that fucking fence, and Blu, in one fucking leap managed to get over it and into the truck yard. I had to go all the way around the block to get into the entrance of the yard, and then I walked back to where Blu had hopped the fence. It was like a horror movie back there. It was pitch black, and as I called out for Blu, all I could see was an occasional flash of white as she ran by in the distance, JUST out of eyesight, chasing a raccoon. After about 3 hours of searching for her, I called the cops and gave them a description of her just in case they happened to see her, and went back to my apartment.

20 minutes later there was a knock on my door. It was my neighbors. They had just returned home from a White Sox game and saw Blu sniffing around the dumpster outside. When they called out for her, she immediately jumped into their car and that’s where she was at the moment. Incredible. THIS means that Blu EITHER jumped the fence to get BACK to our place, OR she walked all the way around the truck yard. Either way, she was a smart mother fucker in finding her way back.

After that, I adopted rule number two: Blu wears a harness from now on. However, this proved to be just as useless as the collar. One day, while I was bending down to pick up Blu’s shit; I felt a tug on the leash. I jumped up and saw that Blu had backed up until the leash was pulled taught, stood up on her hind legs, dislocated her shoulders, and pulled backwards until she was out of the harness. Fuckin Houdini over here.

After Blu had been with me for a while, I decide that since she was older, and well trained, perhaps I could give her the run of the apartment while I was at work instead of locking her up. I realize the importance of ‘caging’ dogs, but I don’t really like it. After all, how would you like to sit in a fucking cage for 8 hours a day? Well, after ONE day, I adopted rule 3: NEVER give Blu the run of the house.

When I came home from work, I put my key in the door and turned the knob…the door wouldn’t open. There was something blocking it on the other side. I pushed as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. I went around to my walk up balcony and came into the back door. My first thought was that I had been robbed. Everything in my living room was knocked over. My wooden book case which held my gaming systems, stereo, blu ray movies, and cable equipment was lying on the floor and wedged against the front door. My 42 inch TV and the stand it was on were knocked over and the screen was shattered. There were shards of glass, paper from torn up books, and chewed toilet paper rolls lying all over the apartment. And RIGHT in the middle of it all? There was a big fucking steamy pile of dog turd. Aaaaand that was the end of Blu’s afternoon freedoms.

As in all doggy/master relationships, Blu and I have grown quite fond of one another. Don’t get me wrong here, I know that she only loves me because I put food in her dish and take her on long walks, but that’s the same reason that any woman I’ve dated has loved me. The only difference is that Blu is way more loyal than the women I’ve gone out with. So when I took her out to Lake Pleasant behind my apartment today and someone kicked her RIGHT the fuck in front of me? Brother, it was on like the break of fucking dawn.

When we first pulled into the parking lot at Lake Pleasant this morning, I noticed that there were several cars there this time. I was hoping that nobody else had brought a dog, because Blu still gets excited around other animals. We walked down the trail that led to the lake, and I could hear a muffled voice through the trees up in the distance. As we continued walking, we followed the path around a corner where we could see the entire lake stretched out in front of us. I could see a few people walking in various directions around the lake, but NOW I could hear that voice much more clearly.

On the other side of the lake, almost directly across from us, I could see someone holding their hand up against their ear. He was talking on his cell phone, and he was talking loud. I don’t know about you, but I fucking HATE people who talk on that phone as if the rest of the world wants to hear one side of their conversation. Even though he was on the other side of the lake, I could hear him quite clearly. He was one of these uneducated ass clowns who has the vocabulary of a 3rd grader, and because of this, every 3rd word out of his mouth is some variation of the word: fuck. “So I fuckin’ walked up to the fuckin store and this fuckin broad was fuckin hot. So I asked her if she fuckin wanted my fuckin tongue up her fuckin snatch”.

Look, I’m all about freedom of speech. And I’m old enough to know the score. There’s a plethora of assholes on this planet and you just have to deal with that. Until I become Czar of the United States and can initiate my program of mandatory I.Q. tests and marching death squads to deal with those who score below an 80, the assholes get a pass…for now.

The guy on his phone was walking south along the East side of the lake. Blu and I began walking south along the WEST side of the lake. As we continued on, it was hard to ignore this dickheads conversation. He was even more of misogynist than I am. Saying things like “Yeah, I was at this fuckin party and she was fuckin passed out, but she was fuckin askin for it before I found her in that fucking room”.

Ok, now he was basically saying that he raped some chick. He had to be joking with whoever he was talking to, right? Blu and I continued along the path and as we rounded a cluster of trees, we came upon a man hurrying along in the opposite direction with his 2 little girls. You didn’t have to be a genius to see that he was getting his girls the fuck out there because of this guy on his phone. Usually, I don’t give a fuck about kids, they’re YOUR problem, but in this instance I actually felt embarrassed for them. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up.

The guy on the other side of the lake had stopped and sat down on a bench. “Yeah, I fuckin had too. Who the fuck did he fuckin think he fuckin was?”

I came to the end of the lake and began to round it to the East side. This is where the marsh land is. There’s a long wooden bridge with no rails that snakes through a bunch of chest high weeds growing out of the water. It’s pretty fucking cool actually. As I got about halfway across the bridge, two nuns came walking from around the corner. I couldn’t see them before because of the tall weeds, but they were talking to one another and trying hard to ignore the asshole, which you could STILL here talking on his phone. I nodded my head to them and said good morning. They looked at me with pained expressions of shame on their faces and said ‘good morning’. In the distance: “Fuck that fucking cunt. I fuckin told her cunty fuck of a fuck to fuckin suck my fuckin cock”.

Look, I’m an atheist. But just because I don’t share these ladies beliefs, DON’T think that I don’t have a great deal of respect for them. They’ve chosen a tough path of piety and marriage to god. On a daily basis they devote themselves to helping others. To see that look on their face? It made my blood begin to boil.

As Blu and I came out on the other side of the marsh, we were now walking north along the East side of the lake. On this side, the path was on higher ground. There was a 4 foot drop down to a 10 foot wide embankment that ran the entire length of the lake. Along the embankment there were picnic tables and benches. The cell phone dick was now standing on the edge of the path about 200 feet ahead of us. Below him was that 4 foot drop. I could now see that he was waving his arms and making gregarious gestures as he was completely involved in his conversation. “My mom doesn’t know WHERE the fuck I fucking am let her fucking worry about me. Fuck her fuckin ass”

Blu and I kept walking towards him. I looked out over the lake and saw the nuns coming out of the marsh going north towards the parking lot. I could see the guy with his two girls coming towards the end of the lake to the path that would lead them to their car. ”fuck that fuckin bitch fuck”

As we approached numb nuts, I could see now that he was about 25. He wore a baseball cap and he made me think of ‘The Situation’ from The Jersey Shore…I fucking HATE ‘The Situation’ from The Jersey Shore. As Blu and I walked behind him, I called out: “hey, buddy. You mind keeping it down? There are other people here that don’t wanna hear your conversation”.

He turned his head and said condescendingly “yeah, I’ll keep it down”. And then he started talking louder. “NAW, SOME FUCK JUST TOLD ME TO KEEP IT DOWN” and then he started laughing into the phone. Just then, Blu started sniffing at the ground around this guys feet. She sniffs EVERYTHING when we go out for walks, and because I was standing about 5 feet from him, she wanted to see what was doin with those shoes I suppose. I pulled the leash tight, and just as she was coming back towards me, the guy on his cell phone turned his head, looked down at Blu, and kicked his foot back into her body. “HEY, keep that fuckin dog away from me”. Like Popeye, that’s all I could stand, and I can’t stands no more.

I closed the distance between us quickly and snatched the cell phone out of his hand, and before he knew what happened, I wound back and threw it in the lake with all my strength. Because I was facing the West side of the lake, I could SEE the guy with his kids AND the nuns stop to look at this exchange. The cell phone guy turned his entire body around now. His eyes furrowed into anger and as he said “WHAT THE FU…’ I put my hand on his chest, leaned in close to him, and pushed with everything I had. His feet went up into the air and his body went prone. He landed flat on his back at the bottom of the embankment. You could HEAR the wind rush out his lungs. He lay there gasping for air. “Don’t EVER…touch a man’s dog”.

As he tried sitting up, Blu began to growl at him. In the two years Blu has lived with me, I’ve never once heard her growl at anything in anger. I pulled out my wallet and took one of my business cards out. I threw it with two fingers down on him, and said: “I can get you a good deal on a new cell phone, come see me anytime you want…bitch”. I actually had TWO reasons for giving this douchebag my business card, ONE was as a threat and the other I’ll explain to you in a minute.

As I began to walk away, I could hear a noise coming from the other side of the lake. It was the guy AND his two little girls clapping. Then I heard another sound and looked over to see the NUNS joining in. It was the first time in a LONG time that I felt proud of myself. Blu and I continued our walk back to the car. I never looked behind me to see what this guy was doing. If he came after me? Blu would let me know.

After we got home, Blu and I ate and then lie down for a nappy poo. A few hours later, there was a knock on my front door. I looked through the peep hole and saw that it was the police. I opened the door and invited them in; after all, I had nothing to hide. I offered them a cup of coffee and asked them what I could do for them. They told me that they got a complaint from a gentleman saying that I assaulted him and threw his phone into the lake. Then they asked me if I’d been to Lake Pleasant earlier in the day.

I told them that my dog and I had indeed been to the lake, but I didn’t ‘assault’ anybody. They described the asshole in question. “OH YEAH, I did see that guy. He had dropped his phone in the water, and when I saw him pulling it out dripping wet; I gave him my card because I work for a cell phone company.”

The officers looked at each other and then back to me. “We’re sorry to have bothered you Mr. Hempen, but we have to follow up on these complaints. We figured that you wouldn’t give your business card to someone you just assaulted (THERE’S the second reason) and there were two nuns from the church next to the lake who said they saw you and your dog the entire time you were up there, and you didn’t assault this gentleman in any way. His mother is actually the one who called us. He was probably just lying to get out of trouble from ruining his phone.”

“Well, that’s kind of understandable, but I’m sorry he wasted your time with this.” I told them. “Yeah, we’ll have to teach him a lesson and bring him in for filing a false report, just to scare him”

“Don’t be TOO hard on him, he’s still a kid and his mom’s probably a bitch” I said laughing. The officers laughed with me, thanked me for my time, and left.

FIRST of all…how fucking awesome is it that TWO nuns lied to the police for me? Secondly, there’s a moral to ALL of these stories. A man can put up with a LOT from his dogs, but you have to respect that THEY put up with a lot from us too. Most people are more tolerant of their pets than they are of other human beings, and that’s fine because like I said at the beginning? Most of us are assholes anyway. As much as I like violence in film, I don’t condone it in real life. Mostly because I’m a huge pussy, but also because where does it get you? I’ve always been able to TALK my way out of most fights, so bullshitting has become a second language for me. I try to think 3 steps ahead of the other guy, which is why I gave that dipshit my business card. I knew he would call the cops. Guys like that can’t help but call in backup so they don’t have to deal with their inadequacies as human beings by themselves.

As for Blu and I? Well, I hope that she’ll be with me for a few more years. If you’ve noticed from reading these stories, I’ve had a lot of dogs, but I’ve never had one die while it was in my care. I’m not looking forward to going through that with Blu, but she’s 4 now and it’s gonna happen eventually. Dogs are great though, and they’ve given me a lot of love and material to write about. Even if these aren’t the kind of stories you’re likely to find at the Westminster Dog Show, animals can inspire us in many ways. Blu inspired the title for this article earlier this morning when she jumped up on my bed and sat down at the end of my leg prompting me to say 6 words that I never thought I would ever hear strung together in a sentence: “Blu, Getcher pussy off my foot”



Blu's Pussy