It’s Funny Because They Don’t Even Have Boobs At All…

I was called a racist yesterday by someone who actually meant it.

It came as a surprise, to say the least. I mean, sure, I’m well known for believing (and saying) things that most people find a bit, well, off-putting, but, come on, can you really show me any concrete studies that say that darker people aren’t any less qualified than lighter skinned people?

Past experience has shown me that you can’t.

And you can’t fight inconclusive results. It’s just the way the world works.

And it’s not that I want to judge an entire group based my my run-ins with a few select members of one or two ethnic classes, but hey, I want to fit in.

So I go where the people are. (The white people, of course.)

I told this person that I’m a big fan of shock-humor, that sometimes I say things just to see what people’s reactions would be.

Then I pointed out her that her boobs were slightly lopsided.

I don’t think she got the joke.

Probably it’s ’cause she was Asian. Those people have no sense of humor when it comes to these things.

Leaving My Mark

A few months back I was attending a gathering at the home of a quite well-known personality in town; his house is immediately recognizable to most passers-by, and thankfully for us, he was, at the time, in an entirely different country.

So there we were, a moderately-sized number of us, drinking over-priced wine that wasn’t ours and putting our feet on furniture that had likely never been sat upon by such a motley crew.

After a few glasses of wine I headed off to find the bathroom (third door on the right, roughly a football field’s length from the kitchen). After doing what one normally does in a bathroom, I contemplated while washing my hands:

The chances of me ever being in this house – this house – ever again are a million to one. I have to do something to leave my mark.

I stood in front of the over-sized mirror as I held the Egyptian cotton hand towel like a crying baby. There must be something I could do to conquer this territory!

But nothing came to me.

I considered taking an extremely large shit (nothing doing).

Perhaps I could quickly strip down and jump in the filling bath tub. (nothing doing).

And then it came to me:

I need to masturbate in this house.

That was it. There was no better way to (not so) symbolically consecrate the space as my own. No other act, save perhaps for killing a man with my bare hands (too suspect) would bring me the kind of satisfaction I had been craving.

And you know what? Now, when I walk up that famous street, with its stately old mansions that have seen famous faces come and go – I can turn to whomever I’m with and simply say, “There’s a part of me inside that building. Forever.”

God Loves Horse Porn (or, maybe it’s just me)

Originally Posted September 1, 2005

So with the advent of my new life as the author of a big-boy blog comes the inevitable reading of the other blogs that are out there.My findings are two-fold: Either you’re a coherent, semi-witty person who, like me, has a little to say about everything (or everything to say about little), or you’re really, really into porn.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of porn. I think it has its magical qualities and holds its rightful place in our society.

It’s just that I’m lost by those among us who use their blogs to show the world the benefits of bestiality and necrophilia. I’m not a particularly big fan of either sex with animals or dead people (although I do wonder what animals having sex with dead people would look like).

I do, though, have an odd interest in the people that choose to post pictures of this nature. Are they getting a cheap thrill out of showing others what it looks like to watch their wives doin’ the deed with the neighbor’s dog? Are there really that many horses surfing the internet saying, “Man! I’m sick of all this vanilla horse-sex. Where all the white women at?”

The abundance of the woman-horse sex pictures leads me to believe that there are.

And they’re horny.

I’m just as intrigued by the porn that is posted on blogs with the various Asian languages. (My minor in Linguistics has given me the tools necessary to decipher the funny shapes and lines as Asian-style writing. That and my frequent trips to Cozy Noodles) It’s times like these I wish I was a master of Asian languages.

I’m sure that the captions under the pictures of the man bangin’ the dead chick are quite amusing. Sadly, though, it’s a joke that only those on the Eastern side of the planet will understand.

It’s not all that often that I’m on the outside of a joke that one half of the planet is able to laugh at. It seems, though, that with the way the population is growing that it’s something I’m going to need to get used to.

I suppose this is one of those times where an imagination would come in handy. I’m sure that if I thought long enough I could decipher what’s actually happening.

If that didn’t work, I could create quite the dialogue between the two characters. That would be an advantage – you might think that sex between one live and one dead person would be, in reality, a monologue, but if I’m making up the script, why can’t they both talk? Perhaps we could see the soul of the dead person talking with little word balloons coming from heaven?

Well, I know what I’m doing this afternoon.

This Isn’t The Beginning

Welcome (Back). 

It’s the dawn of a new era.

A new home, a new domain, a new chance to make people uncomfortable with my over-the-top and oddly enticing humor, commentary on the over-indulged and self-absorbed world of today’s twentysomething, cliches included.

Join in the fun, stop by once in a while – it’s just like the old home, only better. And flashier. But not.

I promise it’ll be fun.