Armageddon Was A Good Movie

One of my few readers recently asked me a very important question. He had just finished wiping the sweat from his brow with the very same napkin he had just been using to wipe the fried zucchini grease from his hands when he inquired (across a table of 8, no less) the following:



"Why do you blog so much about masturbating?"



It's worth noting that not two hours before our dinner, this person had sent me a link to a free porn web-site with the email title "Greatest Site Ever." This person also used to hold Men-Only porn nights at college during which a dozen or so guys would crowd into his dorm room to watch high quality (and assumably heterosexual) pornography. There were theme nights:

• No Shirts


• Vest Night


• Dildo Night (his was named Daldy)


• Scented Lube Night

To be completely honest, I actually thought this was a decent idea and tried to get one started up at the University of Rochester. It didn't go over well. There's something about being in a small, poorly ventilated room with about a dozen other guys who are all fully engorged and sweating that's just flat out unappealing. Guys would always sheepishly leave early, faces flushed and hurry back to their rooms for a round of mini golf.

Besides, porn in dorm rooms had already caused my friends and I a little trouble. One of my high school friends had sent a video to me titled "Good Friends." At the time, I had a shitty little Mac and couldn't possibly process anything in color, more or less a video file, so I went down the hall to my buddy with a better computer. Unfortunately for my buddy, he had great speakers. Suddenly and rather unexpectedly, the air was saturated with the sounds of a young woman choking on the cock of a full grown adult horse. If you live in a dorm and you've ever wanted to have a dozen people come running into your room at once, find a video of a woman blowing a horse and turn the volume all the way up. Trust me. Needless to say, those dozen people all had friends who also wanted to see the video and it wasn't long before my buddy's name was changed from "Adam" to "Horse Blowjob Boy." Thankfully, it didn't stick. Past sophomore year. Of law school.

Back to the matter at hand (pun intended), my apparent infatuation with masturbation. My astonishment at my friend's accusation was two fold. First of all, this guy actually read my blog. Secondly, he of all people was shocked at my rather consistent mentioning of masturbation. It's definitely worth noting here that this same friend also judged a "Best Male Vagina Contest" at college. Sadly, the only participant was an all-too-willing mutual friend of ours, who while winning the contest, in fact, if you think about it, really lost. But who am I to judge, I once thought Armageddon was a good movie.

The reason for my frequent forays in the Art of Self Gratification is something of a mystery. My creative writing teacher at college always stressed that we should "write what you know," so that certainly explains part of it. For that reason alone my blog will probably never contain any tips on hygiene, professional advancement, friendship forging, technology, plumbing, art or catamaran sailing.

I went back and read some of my previous posts and now I feel that my friend's assessment was a bit exagerrated. But at the same time, while my posts don't start off about masturbating, some of them sure as hell end up there. And who knows why. Frankly, I think it's because I find jerking off to be an exeedingly funny topic of conversation. I mean, who doesn't enjoy new euphemisms for self satisfaction?

I have one friend who likes to refer to it as an act of violence. He always says he's going home to "whale on himself." He probably needs help. I don't have a go-to phrase in conversation. I always try to keep it fresh or change it up from time to time. If you want to a have a good laugh, just google the word "euphemism" and see what comes up. There's a lot of hard working individuals out there with nothing better to do. It pains me that I'm not one of them.

Of course it could also be that most of my blogs are written in the wee hours of the night when I'm the only awake and I'm sitting in front of the computer. Usually, in situations like that, I've just done something....

Douchebags A-plenty

So my readers have been clamoring for a report on my 10 year reunion. Okay, that's a lie. I meant "reader." And by "clamoring" I mean I got one email.

I did in fact attend the reunion. Though to be honest, it really wasn't much of a reunion. It was in the basement of a bar in the city. It was dark, crowded and if an attendee didn't want to mingle (as one of my friends did not) there was ample hiding space provided.

I think in my two hours or so down there, I spoke to maybe 10 people. I say maybe 10, because I don't necessarily remember all the details as clearly as I would have hoped, and in fact just a few days remembered that I'd spoken to one person that I had previously forgotten about entirely.

Was it a waste of time? Not really. I actually enjoyed talking to some people.
Was it what I expected? No, it was a little better, but mostly because it was loud.
Was I immediately recognized? By most people yes, but two people looked me right in the eye with a blank look. Of course they could have immediately recognized me and remembered that they didn't like me at all. Very possible, actually.
Am I glad I went? I guess, I mean drinks were free.

I was very disappointed in myself because there was one person there to whom I actually had soemething interesting to say. Her locker was next to mine for six years and yet we never really spoke. She then spent a year in London living with a girl that I knew from summer camp and even took to prom. However, for some reason, and I believe mostly my drunkeness, I said nothing to her. This bothers me.

Half the fucking guys there had button-down shirts on underneath sweaters. The quintessential winter douchebag look. (For informational purposes, the summer douchebag look is the polo shirt with upturned collar, plaid shorts and some type of sockless loafer. Not required: Sunglasses indoors.) I see people like this all the time and I just truly wonder what guys are thinking when they pop up the collar on their polo shirts. I mean seriously. Are they worried the back of their neck will burn? Does the wind chafe their skin? Do they realize that this simple fashion choice makes everybody who sees the immediately hate them? It's the social equivalent of wearing a swastika on the front of your shirt. The only difference is that some sick fucks will actually like the swastika. I really should ask one of these guys next time I see one. But I probably won't.