Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

It's really a "funny" story. It's a story about a guy who "interviewed" me to be his "personal assistant," and stop me if you think you've heard this one before, but maybe, really, indirectly, it's a story about the same day the previous year.

I was little red riding hood, and I was packing a suitcase, and there were clothes in it and makeup and shampoo, but there were other things too. Like the last remnants of any hopeful or optimistic feelings I had about other human beings, and also a drawing. One that I made in first grade. It was a bewildered kitten, surrounded by bubbles staring sadly out a window, blocked forever from the outside by a wrought iron cross. It was framed in a wallpaper sample and there was a poem underneath it about the "peculiar" kitten, and peculiar was spelled with a q, but I wanted you to have it because it was the closest anyone could ever get to "me." And I wanted to say, "I love you," and I wanted to touch the line that runs down your spine and do nothing except be REALLY nice to you for the rest of forever.

So, maybe, really it's a story about, "What a difference a year makes," or,really, how it makes no difference at all. Because I forgot how quickly it goes from saccharine declarations and teenage sentimentality to the sad, bored stare, looking up at you with your hands around my throat. Because it's really just different kinds of sleazy, morally bankrupt predators with metal teeth drawn to the neon sign above my face that flashes "CRUSH ME" at all times of the day and night. And really, I can't blame them, because there's just something about a frown that makes you want to "turn it upside down."

Or, maybe, it's about being a particular "type of girl," in the type of situation that seems "crucial," looking back, in that moment, in your bedroom, with the gun from your closet, cocked and held up to my temple, laughing hysterically, as I whisper, directly into your terrified face, "Give me one good reason not to do it."

But, don't let me get carried away because, REALLY, it's a "funny" story.

***

I see you sitting at the table outside, in between Starbucks and Two Dog Bakery. I know what you look like because you told me. You look like a regular guy approaching 60, except the kind of mustache that's never "ironic" and the aviator glasses you've probably had since the 80s scream, "Men in stained raincoats."

You're holding a shitty looking book, and I'm sure you brought it because you want to seem like "the kind of guy who reads."

"Hi," I say, and you look surprised. "I'm Raye."

"Wow," you say, and your face looks illuminated, "Can I get you something?"

"Sure. Coffee sounds good."

You get up and I follow you inside. The blonde guy at the counter looks really smiley. I order a regular coffee and you pay for it with a 20 from a wallet full up with cash.

"Are you cold or warm or?"

"We can sit outside," I say.

The blonde guy hands me the coffee and we walk outside back to your table. We sit down in silence for a while while you paw at your book.

"I got on this mythology kick," you say, "I was reading a lot about 'Jungian Philosophy' and it put me on this mythology thing."

I smile, and it seems like a vacant, naive sort of smile, but it's really just a veil for boredom and disgust.

"My brother died," you say, "I found this book in his stuff and it seemed interesting."

I start laughing before I can stop myself and you smile in an uncomfortable way.

"Sorry. That's not funny. I mean...I'm not laughing because your brother is dead. I just...I don't know. Why is he? Dead I mean."

You look surprised and smile in the same uncomfortable way.

"Am I not supposed to ask that? You brought it up, and I wanted to know why he's dead so I asked."

You smile, shaking your head. "Drinking, probably. He liked to have fun with his friends."

I start laughing again and put my hand up to my mouth until I can compose myself. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm laughing. Like, I'm genuinely sorry your brother is dead...I'm sorry."

You shake your head like you're trying to shake something off. "It's okay."

We sit in awkward forever seeming silence for a long time before you say, "So, do you read?"

"Ugh, I don't know. I guess."

"I read A LOT," you say, "I think about writing sometimes, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be any good. You know, I read Faulkner or Hemingway, and I don't think I could write like that."

I start laughing again.

"Whaaaat?" you ask, drawing out the word in a "playful" way. A quieter sort of voice. The kind of tone people only use when they want to sleep with you.

"I don't know."

"Whaaaat?" you ask again.

"I don't know, just, like, you don't read Faulkner, you know?"

You look surprised again, less playful.

"I don't mean that in a rude way, I just mean, like, no one 'reads Faulkner.' Can you even name a book by Faulkner?"

"Okay," you say, laughing, I don't read Faulkner. I think I read a short story by him once and it was boring. Hemingway is good though. I like Hemingway. He wrote that story about the father...and his son. That's a good story."

I laugh and do a sort of smile.

"Whaaat," you say.

"Nothing, it's just....It's called Fathers and Sons and like...your description...that's just...funny. I don't know."

You stare at me in a really creepy way, and I look down. "Sorry, I'm not very good at this."

"Good at what?"

"I don't know....talking."

"So," you say, after a while, "When we spoke before, you said you wanted to get out of here."

"Yeah."

"Do you have a specific goal, or a milestone in mind? A specific amount of money you need or?"

"I don't know. I don't really make plans. I get why people do, but I feel like plans are mostly about constant overwhelming disappointment."

You laugh and shake your head, "Well, let me tell you what I'm looking for.

I lean forward a little to give the appearance of being interested in what you're saying.

"I have a VERY demanding job. I have a weird schedule and I'm under a lot of stress so having an assistant keeps me motivated. I hate doing laundry and that kind of thing so there's that component. Doing stuff around the house. My place isn't disgusting, but it's a typical 'bachelor pad.' There's dishes sometimes and I have a lot of plants that need to be watered. Other times I might want you to do 'research' for me or run errands. And if you're into learning, I might have you build some things. Do you like working with your hands?" you ask, smiling, void of all subtlety.

"Ugh...."

A paraplegic woman, who looks otherwise like an attractive blonde soccer mom with a mean face glides over to the table in a motorized wheelchair.

"Did you see the person in the black Jetta?" she asks. You don't even acknowledge her, you're locked in on me in some kind of rape gaze.

"No," I say, and she looks disappointed, like yelling at people for being inconsiderate to handicapped people is the only cheap thrill left.

"It's okay," she says, "But that's not a parking space. Do you see those white lines?"

I nod to indicate that I do.

"That's where the ramp for my chair goes down."

I stare at her, blinking. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says, "It's just, that's not a parking space."

I stare at her for another few seconds until she glides over to a young, unassuming couple coming out of Starbucks.

You look thrilled that she's gone, there's a sort of twinkle in your eye when you say, "Depending on how 'open' you are to other 'chores,' you could make A LOT of money in a short amount of time."

I stare at you blinking and you smile, "What do you think?" you ask.

"What, like, you want to like, pay me to have sex with you or something?"

You laugh, "Well, it wouldn't be just sex. It would be different things. Sometimes I might want you to suck my dick. Sometimes I might wanna use 'toys.' Other times I might just want to 'slide' inside you."

"Oh my god." I put my hand up to my mouth to stop the torrent of vomit from pouring out of it. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." I swallow a little puke back, "That's like, the grossest thing I've ever heard."

You laugh in a "playful" satisfied kind of way, "Am I making you nervous?" you ask.

"Nervous really isn't the word I'd use."

"Is it the money?" you ask, "Because believe me, that's not an issue, just tell me how much you need."

I see a happy black lab trotting out of two dog bakery carrying a bag of treats for itself by the handle in its mouth and I feel like I'm disassociating.

"Look at it like this," you say, "There's something that you want and there's something that I want, it's good for both of us."

I sit in silence clicking the lid of the coffee cup.

"What if I just lick your pussy," you say, smiling, "I don't even have to take my clothes off.

"Jesus Christ," I say, looking at smiling families walk through the parking lot. "No, Jesus. Fuck."

You look at me smiling, your two toned mustache brushing against your aging, yellow teeth.

"Are you trying to make me throw up? I'm seriously like ten seconds from vomiting. Don't say things like that, like, ever. That's disgusting. Like....fucking disgusting."

You laugh again, "I like that I'm making you uncomfortable. Look, we don't have to have sex, but I'd have a lot of trouble keeping my hands to myself. If you were wearing a short little skirt, or you made a mistake, I might have to spank you."

"I can't really handle this," I say, staring at the ground.

"Well, the fact that you're still here, and the fact that you're so nervous means you're considering it."

I breath in and keep looking down, it's not a matter of consideration, and it's not that there isn't a "magic number," it's just that there isn't for YOU. Mortgaging your house wouldn't even begin to cover it. I don't want to look up, because I can't stand the hopeful expression on your ugly predator fucking face. The way your tongue runs across your decaying teeth sends a chill up my spine, and it makes me feel sick, and sad, and I want to start crying.

"Whaaaat?" you say.

"I'm just....I don't know."

"I would never make you do anything you didn't want. You could come work for me for a day and if you don't like it, you never have to come back."

"I don't know," I say, "I'll think about it," because for some perverse reason I can't accurately qualify, I don't want to hurt YOUR feelings. I feel sorry for people like you in a way that makes me feel sorry for people like me.

"I have to go," I say.

You shake your head. "Just think about your life."

"I'll think about it," I say, getting up, "At least you know what you want," I say, "And even if it's like a slut slave to blow you under your desk at the office, like, if you want that, I want that for you."

You laugh and stand up. You put your hand out in an awkward way between waving and shaking and I just say, "Bye," you say you're going to stay and read and I shake my head and wave.

I can feel your lech eyes on me the entire walk to the car, and it's probably 30 seconds, but it feels like half an hour.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Think about your life.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Untitled

A guy I used to sleep with, but don't anymore, AKA a "friend," texted me earlier and told me his girlfriend broke up with him, literally, because he wouldn't stop playing Tame Impala in the car.

#juststopreadingpitchfork

 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Today

"Talentless egotistical assholes exhibiting autistic social behavior who can't fuck and other cliches."

"Everything I need to murder you is available at the dollar store: Thank God!"

"C U Next Tuesday Shitheads."

So, my friend Andy, who's like 60 or something went on a houseboat to party with a bunch of other 60 something people, and like, he said they just talked about their prostates a lot and stuff, but there was this one guy was really weird, and super controlling with his wife, like ordering her around and stuff, and she went  out kayaking with some dude, like away from the group, and her creep ass husband got a pair of high powered binoculars and just watched her for like two hours, lol. Apparently, the reaction of every woman on the boat was, "That's so romantic," LOL.

 

Monday, October 22, 2012

I just wanna say like....

I'm really glad so many people like share their life with me or something. Whether it's like....talking about how "fucked" they feel, or like, what they did that day, or like, telling me a "nice" story, or letting me read their writing, or jacking off on a random object. I never get bored of you all. I just think you all are so good, and like, this is such a sentimental thing to say, but I don't care, I don't care if I sound like an x infinity rambling and idiotic and 12. I feel like the world makes you feel so stupid for like having "dreams" or like, believing in things, and I just hope you do it anyway no matter how mean shit gets. I just get so overwhelmed sometimes because I just wish I could like suck up everybody's sadness and hopelessness and make everything ok. It's like genuinely heartbreaking. Sometimes I go to websites like this http://www.ewishbox.com/  and I just make like 20 wishes in a row that people won't feel sad anymore, and that like good things will happen to them, and even though that's the most retarded thing I could possibly do, I can't think of anything else. I just want everyone to know that like they matter and that they are "good."

Also, I know I'm supposed to send everyone soap, and I will, but I wanted to send you all something else also, and I have to wait for it to come here from a cheap foreign country, and also, I had to make more soap because the other soap was too ugly and I was embarrassed.

precious moments

Someday somebody will love you the way you want them to, even if it doesn't seem like it, and then you will wonder if it's "worth it" to sleep with the same person over and over and over and over, and then something like this will happen:

"The other night I had a nightmare and jolted out of bed in the dark and [my girlfriend] was awake and was like, 'What's wrong?' I say, 'I had a nightmare.' and then she hugged me and in this loud demon voice went, 'Nightmare's not over bud.' It was scary at first and then fucking hilarious. It was one of the greatest things she's ever done."

LOL

Him: So wanna hear a funny story?

She: Yes.

Him: So you remember the other night when I was going to start the thread of cumming on random things and I said I got interrupted?

She: Yes.

Him: So I was looking around my room for something and found this empty can of duster. That will do. Turn on porn and start jerking it with this can of duster in my hand. Well N--- had come over to use my comp for pictures cause I have photoshop. Well out of nowhere he comes into my room as I'm jacking off to some girl getting drilled in the ass with a can of duster in my hand. Sucked.

She: lololol what did he do and what did you do?

Him: I pop up and put my junk away as quickly as possible. N----glances at me, the can of duster and the computer screen and walks out, and I can hear him say to Z---"Walked in at the wrong time there." I come out and tell Z----what happened and everyone has a laugh at my expense.

She: What did you say happened?

Him: I said I was trying to start a thread of people cumming on random things cause Rachel said she wanted pics of that and that the can of duster seemed like a good start.

They still don't believe me that it was empty.

She: Can't stop laughing. Like, fuck....

Him: I didn't tell you the story that night cause I was so embarrassed.

She: I don't even think that's embarrassing, I think it's like...amazing, but I also know the backstory. If I was N----I'd probably just be like WTF.

Him: The look on his face as he left my room was the epitome of WTF.

She: I feel like it would have been weird no matter what you were holding.

Him: Probably.

 

*ADDED NOTE* Every time I talk to someone they say, "DON'T POST THIS ON YOUR BLOG," lol. I ask for permission before EVERYTHING I post. Don't have a panic attack. I'm not gonna like post stories about things that happen between you and your dick. Unless you want it. I'm very responsible.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Personal Reminders

Try not to ruin your own life.

I don't even think you can comprehend the number of people waiting to take a piss on your feelings. There's like, a line that wraps around the entire world. And the person you're closest to now, and at every other point, the one who's supposed to take care of you, and "protect" you, and "love" you, that's the person dying for the opportunity the most. That's the person, given any excuse, the most minor infraction, they're fucking salivating thinking about all the power they'll have when they crush you. Because they can, and believe me, they will.

With a deck stacked like that, you don't need to hurt yourself. Choosing life is a constant agonizing emotional drain. You don't need to sabotage or slice yourself up. Like, life needs no assistance in your ruin.

Also, try not to be an asshole. After 20, 30, 40, 50 years of the shipwreck that is life, you might want to "lash out" at humanity. Like, you might think, "Everyone is a piece of shit, and I am like 'tired' of this," or something. Like, you might think like, "I'm going to treat everyone like garbage, because it doesn't matter," or like, "I'm just going to 'go off' on people, because god knows I do the best I can so fuck everything." Or like, "I'm just going to like get a gun and like kill as many people as I can," Like, "No one is innocent," (LOL). I don't know. You might think you're entitled to be a complete fuckhead, because like that's what people "deserve" or something, but like, you're not entitled to fucking anything, and like being a "good" person might be the only chance you have at novelty.

Like, or something.

 

The Twelve Steps

Step 8: Fuck being straight.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Life: A Fun Nightmare

Sometimes I stand in my backyard smoking cigarettes in a man tailored shirt with no pants, and I stare at my neighbor through the chain link fence and then I yawn and I think, "It's exhausting being a cunt," and then I think about jumping off the roof, and how it's not high enough to kill me, but weigh the odds about falling head first. Paraplegia: Brain leaking out of busted skull, and it seems like I don't know 700:1 or something, but I still think, "Maybe later."

And I think, there are a lot of people in this house, and none of them are alive, really, and I think about stabbing a butcher knife into my chest cavity a lot, but I think, I'm not strong enough, or like, the angle isn't right, and then I think of like, building some sort of "thing" where the knife handle is like stuck inside of the wall, and then I could just run into as fast as possible. I think about like going to Lowes and like  spending my last 40 bucks buying the materials to make some sort of "stab stand" and like, I think about taking several days to work on it, and I start laughing because it would be so much easier to just leave someone a note that says, "Sorry I borrowed your gun."

And then I think about just becoming someone's fuck animal or something, like, letting someone beat me and fuck me with objects, and like giving the kind of blow jobs where the goal is to get you to puke all over yourself for funzies with a leash and a sign around your neck that says "good time fun holes" and you have feeding times where you eat from a bowl on the floor and someone lets you outside to use the bathroom, and honestly, it seems like a small price to pay to relinquish yourself of all personal responsibility.

And there's a lot of narcotics and super hit incense and mascara tears, and there's a lot of Murakami quotes, and girls who look the same dressed in black leather clothes, and one of them is shoving something into the other one's throat and she's choking, and pictures of aborted fetuses and celebrity autopsies. Everyone is always talking about love, and someone is jacking off on a picture of jesus.

And sometimes I record myself singing, or asking siri questions about suicide, or take a hundred pictures of my sex face.

But mostly, I just lie back and think of England.

 

 

 

Sunday, October 14, 2012

SEXCAPADES (Because It Might As Well Be Wednesday When Everyday Is Exactly The Same)

Did you know that unripe kiwis taste exactly like cum? So does hydrogen peroxide. Exactly the same. If you were dying to find out "no homo" here's your opportunity. Wasn't that an "edgy" thing to say!
Without further ado...

Dear SexyVixen6969,

What is sex?

Sincerely,

Whereonthedolldidhetouchyou

Dear Whereonthedolldidhetouchyou,

Here's a lil something I've cooked up for you!

In recent years, important changes in public policies and attitudes have resulted in improved opportunities for people with physical and mental disabilities. Now, people living with disabilities assume their rightful place in society as the equals of non-disabled people. Unfortunately, societal attitudes have changed less in regard to sexuality and disability. Even today, many people refuse to acknowledge that all people have sexual feelings, needs, and desires, regardless of their physical and/or mental abilities. As a result, many young people who live with disabilities do not receive sex education, either in school or at home.

This summary addresses sex education for youth who live with physical and/or mental disabilities—including, but not limited to hearing, sight, and motor function impairments; Down syndrome; cerebral palsy; paraplegia and quadriplegia; developmental disorders; and mental health issues. Beginning with a few statistics on disability among American youth and an overview of common myths and facts about the sexuality of people living with disabilities, the document also provides general guidelines for parents of physically or mentally challenged children and youth and offers a select, annotated bibliography of sex education materials and resources.*

Are Disabilities Common among Children and Youth?

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, about 5.2 million American youth, ages five through 20 had some long-term physical, mental, or emotional disabling condition.[1]
In the United States, nearly one million youth, ages three through 17 are deaf or hard of hearing.[2]
Each year, about 5,000 infants and toddlers and up to 1,500 preschoolers are diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Experts also estimate that two of every 1,000 infants born in this country has cerebral palsy.[3]
In the United States, nearly 94,000 school age children are blind. Of these, nearly 11,000 are both deaf and blind.[4]
According to experts, about 7,800 Americans suffer spinal cord injuries each year—most (82 percent) occur among males and most frequently at age 19.[5]
Myths and Facts about Sexuality and Disability

Many people believe myths about the sexuality of people who live with disabilities. Common myths:

People with disabilities do not feel the desire to have sex.
People with developmental and physical abilities are child-like and dependent.
People with disabilities are oversexed and unable to control their sexual urges.[7]
Myth 1: People with disabilities are not sexual. All people—including young people—are sexual beings, regardless of whether or not they live with physical, mental, or emotional disabilities. And, all people need affection, love and intimacy, acceptance, and companionship.[6,7] At the same time, children and youth who live with disabilities may have some unique needs related to sex education. For example, children with developmental disabilities may learn at a slower rate than do their non-disabled peers; yet their physical maturation usually occurs at the same rate. As a result of normal physical maturation and slowed emotional and cognitive development, they may need sex education that builds skills for appropriate language and behavior in public. In another example, paraplegic youth may need reassurance that they can have satisfying sexual relationships and practical guidance on how to do so.[6,7,8,9]

Myth 2: People with disabilities are childlike and dependent. This idea may arise from a belief that a disabled person is somehow unable to participate equally in an intimate relationship. Societal discomfort—both with sexuality and also with the sexuality of people who live with disabilities—may mean that it is easier to view anyone who lives with disabilities as an ‘eternal child.’ This demeaning view ignores the need to acknowledge the young person’s sexuality and also denies her/his full humanity.[6,7,8,9]

Myth 3: People with disabilities cannot control their sexuality. This myth spins off the other two—if people with disabilities are neither asexual nor child-like, then they perhaps they are ‘oversexed’ and have ‘uncontrollable urges’. Belief in this myth can result in a reluctance to provide sex education for youth with disabilities. The reality is that education and training are key to promoting healthy and mutually respectful behavior, regardless of the young person’s abilities.[6,7,8,9]

To begin with, acknowledge that everyone, including your child, is sexual—and has sexuality related emotions and desires.
Before you start a conversation with your child, make sure you know your own values and beliefs. Be honest with yourself.
Be ready to assert your personal privacy boundaries. For example, say forthrightly, if asked, that you will not discuss your own private sexual behavior.
Start talking with your children about sexuality while they are very young. Do not wait until they reach puberty (or later) for these conversations!
Use accurate language for body parts and bodily functions. Research shows that when a child has accurate language for private body parts, she/he is more likely to report abuse, if it occurs, than when the child lacks appropriate language.[8]
Identify times to talk and communication strategies that work best for you and your child. For example, the best time might be Saturday morning on the way to a sports event or after school while you share a snack. Your best strategy might be to play word games. For someone else, other times and strategies might work best.
Avoid times and strategies that do not work well for your children and your situation. For example, you may be unable to carry on a coherent conversation while driving. Or word games may confuse your child.
Be clear when discussing relationships. For example, calling your spouse ‘Mommy’ or ‘Daddy’ can confuse a child and send confusing messages about family relationships and about sexuality; instead explain the relationship. “Your Mommy is my wife, so I call her Sarah, not Mommy.” Or you might say, “Your Uncle Leroy is my brother, like Jason is your brother. Leroy is your uncle, because he is my brother. When you have kids, Jason will be their uncle.”
Use photos, pictures, and other visual materials as often as possible. Showing family photos may help your child to understand different types of families and relationships.
Use ‘teachable moments’ that arise in daily life. For example, talk about a neighbor’s new pregnancy or a friend’s upcoming marriage, divorce, move, operation, or retirement.
Be honest when your child asks questions. If you don’t know the answer, say so. Say you will find the answer and then do so. Be sure to get back to your child with the answer to her/his question.
Always acknowledge and value your child’s feelings and experience. Offer praise and support. Remember that minimizing how he/she feels is not a good way to build trust when talking about sensitive subjects. For example, “That’s a good question, and it is one I have had in the past, too.” Or, “I’m glad you feel happy when we talk. I feel happy, too.”
Be willing to repeat information over time. Don’t be impatient or expect your child to remember everything you said or to have entirely understood it.
Use all the reliable sources of information available to you—other parents whom you trust, the public library, reliable Web sites, local bookstores, educators, and health care providers. Information may be particularly useful to you when it comes from reputable organizations that deal with disabilities and/or sexuality. Be wary of relying on material that is negative about sexuality as such materials can limit your ability to be your child’s primary sex educator.

Dear SexyVixen6969,

How do I stop queefing?

Sincerely,

HotAirMama

Dear HotAirMama,

I want to know how much you are queefing. A queef here and there is whatever, but if you are queefing more than twice during a slam session you might need it sewn up down there. Or else. A queef is really just the ghosts of past lovers trying to escape and attack new ones. When they seap out they scream, and your sex partners cock tries to perform an exorcism and push the queef ghost back inside of your hole to attack another lover at a later date. If you are queefing off tha' chain, then perhaps a shaman, a friend of your father, or an old school priest is in order to perform some sort of ritual. It sounds like you have a lot of ghosts up in there. What a whore.

Perhaps....

a. Try peanut butter?

Or....

b. OWN your queefs...it is not only your queef, but also belongs to the one slammin' that thang. I am occasionally a male, and queefing happens during anal sex too. You gotta slap your lover when that happens to distract for your collective queef, and then pull him in even harder. Just act crazier. You are crazier than your queef, remember that.

c.Tell you lover to slow down, but that's boring....I'd rely on the first two for best results.

Dear SexyVixen6969,

Why do aliens want my ass so bad?

Sincerely,

TheXXXFiles

Dear TheXXXFiles,

Have you ever heard a female alien abductee claim she was probed anally? I haven't. I am curious if you have. My theory is that heterosexual farmin' men really have repressed anal sex fantasies. They could never admit this, so obviously, they either manifest their anal fantasies into that of an alien abduction, or simply go out to rest stops and get anonomously get rammed in the ass by truckers. In an attempt to do some damage control on their guilt of such fantasies or actions, they claim they were abducted by aliens and probed in the ass. Think of it as a confession of sorts, but instead of being stoned to death in town for being a faggot, they become "celebrities" and no one judges them for their secret anal life.

Another theory I have is that aliens have developed far superior medical technology enabling them to live for hundreds of years. Imagine the ennui. They don't really look like aliens but dress like that because they are drunk and bored. They come here to fuck with people. Drunk, bored, and dressed in costumes, seeming terrifying, they decide to slide weird things in your ass - things like wine corks (their wine corks are far more developed than ours and resemble futuristic probes). When they wake up the next day, they see a fat redneck lying there with a cork in its ass and laugh, remembering that they were "wkd wasted" the previous night. They then throw the fat, confused redneck off of the ship into a field and go back to their planet hungover to watch netflix and eat ice cream.

Also, who doesn't want dat ass? Its universal, bitches.

Dear SexyVixen6969,

What are some small girl tall guy sex positions?

Thanks,

Pintsizepussy

Dear Pintsizepussy,

This question weirds me out so I got the answer from an old veteran on a message board. Hope it works for your aesthetically awkward "encounters," besos.

As a woman I knew once said, "we are all the same height in the horizontal" And I saw your question earlier, but don't actually see the problem.

Like any couple, there are limited ways that you can put item "a" into hole "b", and I don't see how a height difference would hinder any of them in any way.

For doggie, it is always a problem to line up the guys penis to the womans vagina for a good direct shot, this seems the same for you. But if you are on the floor, I doubt very much she is that short that she you could screw her without kneeling down. If she has to kneel, she can use a pillow to adjust someone's height.

For you on your back, with your legs in the air, I don't think height makes any difference. Certainly not if you have your knees by your ears.

Ok, 69 might not work, but it isn't that much fun anyway.

Spooning on your side would work no matter what the size. In the bath tub would be fine. On the floor would be fine. Sitting on his lap, impaled, and facing ( or awayfrom) him while he is on a chair doesn't make any difference in height.

Standing might be a problem, but if she were on a stool, it would work. And I found it easier if the woman wrapped her legs around me while I was standing. She is held up by a penis in the pussy, and hands under her ass, while she held on around my neck. I just don't see any height dependency.

You have a joint goal. Get his penis into your vagina. Where there is a will, there is a way.
xx

Dear SexyVixen6969,

Why do Asian guys have such small dicks?

Sincerely,

Pokemonpeepeez

Dear Pokemonpeepeez,

I guess calling them cocks isn't appropriate seeing as whoever asking this is racist enough to imply that they are small...so I will play along and call them, lil' sailors.
Personally, I only feel comfortable saying cock if it is a big one.
So, lets do this...
I am drinking coffee and listening to nasty music and contemplating whether race has anything to do with the size of lil' sailors. Thank god for the internet so that people with usernames like "fungus" can answer this on message boards contemplating the exact questions. Here is one response in regard to the race question:
by Fungus
Best Answer - Chosen by Voters

In most cases it is true.. You see in pornos..its like tiny.

Here are in order of largest penis.:

1. Native Americans
2. Africans
3.Caucasians
4. Hispanics
5. Asian/Indians
Also, I have questions as to how "fungus" obtained this info. Behind a dumpster? Craigslist m4m ads requesting a taste of all nationalities? Teachers?

You think that "Fungus" would go on to explain how he knows this, but instead concludes with this:
"Well i am asian/south american/russian but more asian genes and im approx 22cm when erect. So in this case it is not true but also cause i am mixed "

Good to know.

Kept searching the internet and found this from user "Gemini" :
"From what I have seen in men's changing room randomly, you can say yes and no.
Yes is for older asian men, like over 40 and 50 years old. They came from Asia after WWII due to server poor nutrition condition when they were growing up so their body types are much smaller than the new generation asian dudes. (my dad is 5'6", my mom is 5'2". I am almost 6'1" and I am 196 lbs).

The new generation asian dudes are pretty fine. Of course not like those crazy black hung over 27 inches but my cousin got a huge one.

Mine was measured by my ex girlfriend before we got it on and my size is 6.9 inches length and the girth is a little bit beyond average.

I am asian (minority Chinese) so I guess mine is OK. Average penis size around the world is around 5.6 inches - 6.2 inches."

Ok. Is it me or is that the most questionable answer?
"from what I've seen in the changing room"?
"my cousin got a huge one"?
lol

This doesn't really answer anything, except now I know the size of 2 internet folks lil' sailors.

So, I'll rephrase the questions a little..

Why do Asian people have smaller penis than others?

This was also a question from someone going by the username "Salt":

"Even not all of them are small. Is it because of the food they eat? Or because of the masturbation?"

Here is one of the responses:
by Sonnie
My penis is larger than yours and I'm Asian. You definitely are a stereotype and believe on everything you hear. The fact is, most people with a height of 5'4" and below have a small penis such as yours.

So then I found maybe the best thing ever. A message board that regards itself as "The Finest Azn Forum".
Long behold, they're talking about the same thing and have slightly more non questionable answers than the others.
Here is what they are saying at "The Finest Azn Forum":
AsiaticGlory
Nov 24 2011, 03:11 PM
People will flame me for saying this but I do believe that the "small penis" and the "small breasts" stereotypes have some truth among Asians. The reason is because us Asians don't produce as much hormones as other races. We are more likely to be androgynous. Our ancestors evolved in Siberia where the climate was very harsh. It's not a good idea to have kids too soon in such an environment.

Asians who seem more endowed tend to have Australoid mixture.

Note: I am only talking about Mongoloids like East Asians, Altaic nomads, Siberian natives, Eskimos, and some Southeast Asians. I am not talking about part-Australoids from Malaysia/Indonesia.
Mid-Night_Sun
Nov 24 2011, 03:43 PM
doubt theres any significant difference. the data i saw was done in asian countries during periods around world war 2 when everyone was starving.

you get an height of less than 5'6 and starvation prevalent and you are shocked the penis is also smaller? stupid. their whole avg bodies were smaller.

measured data for asians who grow up in the west say would be worth comparing. but group thing is pointless, you should know your own penis size. as vulgar as i think it is to talk about your own penis online, im a little bigger than average (which to me is 5 inches). the only time ive seen 3 or 4 inch from asians is japanese porn. and i heard they do it on purpose because they dont want the viewer to feel insecure that only large penises can have sex. which imo, is not something i would be surprised for japanese culture. makes sense to me theyd do something like that.
samnang
Nov 24 2011, 04:16 PM
i wish i had one of those monster cocks that frighten women. and if they try to tackle it, they end up sobbing in pain.

And then "Samnang" proceeded to post a picture of a Pringles can.

I this answers some questions:





SexyVixen6969 believes you should make love not war.  She is a renegade, zen, yoga teacher, vegan celebrity stalker. At the age of 62 she has revolutionized sexuality and has slept with the likes of Bono, Hillary Clinton and Dennis Rodman, making her qualified to answer your boring sex questions. She lives in a commune outside of Joshua Tree with a couple of goats and a special guest. She likes frisbee, golf, and Nesquick. She occasionally takes acid with Peruvian sherpas ritualistically and wakes up outside of an Anaheim Lane Bryant. She was incarcerated for stalking Paula Cole and made a politically charged album in the early 90s. 





Conversations With Boys 10/13

She: Tell me your favorite joke.

*LONG TIME PASSES*

She: HELL-O!!

Him: Hey.

She: Hi.

I asked you to tell me a joke D---and you were just all like, I'm gonna go head and ignore this fuckin' text.

Pshhh

Him: I don't know jokes.

She: So why didn't you just say, "I don't know jokes?"

Also, bitch, please.

Him: What's with all the'tude?'

She: I'm just encouraging you not to like...be lazy, you know? Like, this shit is lazy.

Him: When are you coming to New York?

She: I don't know, never.

Him: I'm having an early night. Goodnight.

She: BoringboringshitfuckboringvomitBye.

Him: I really wanna fuck again.

She: I'm having an early night. Bye.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She: Can you tell me a joke?

Him: Haha hi Rachel

She: Hi.

Him: I tell kids to tell me their funniest knock knock joke, and when they say knock knock I say come in.

She: Lolol.

That's "kooky"

That's so kooky of you.

Him: Kooky sounds like cookie

So, what's up are you famous yet?

She: Lol. Oh, I'm "getting there."

Are you famous yet?

Him: Naw, just rich.

She: Lol

Him: I bought a big breakfast this morning and paid for it.

She: "Baller."

Him: So what the fuck is New? I don't talk to anyone except C---

She: I talk to everyone.

Him: I talk to C---- other than that I pay student loans and think about A---- and kissing you hahahaha!

She: I'm just writing and being a "talented" tragic, dying bitch.

Him: That's not happy, at least you're a "writer" who gets the dick

?

Look on the bright side

She: Oh yes, very bright.

Him: Don't look too close.

She: What are you doing?

Him: Editing this feature.

She: Oooohhhh. Fancy.

Him: Hearing girls tell me I'm a "player" and being hated on.

She: Lol

Him: Sitting through their darkest secret stories.

She: That sounds amazing.

Him: It's mostly wet and sniffly. Not really shades of grey or anything.

She: I thought you had a girlfriend or something.

Him: She went bye bye, because that's where all the naughty girls go.

She: "I used to love her....but I had to kill her..."

Him: Naw, she was kind of a bad person.

She: Was she taking advantage of your sweet ass rich people breakfasts?

Him: Yeah she was poor as hell

She: What a bitch.

Him: Well, that was just one of the things that attracted me initially.

She: Why? So you could like own her/use her?

Him: No, so I could rescue her.

Sure. Own her/use her. Same difference.

She: Lol.

Him: I was pretty fucked up at the time.

She: Cute, cute.

Him: She was a mess and I felt really bad and she had an incredible body, so yeah.

She: That's so...you.

Him: One day disney will adapt it for an animated film I'm sure.

She: Are you happy? Are you dying?

Him: I'm doing good. I'm sorry to hear you're dying.

You should eat some ice cream or pray.

But it's also really amazing to hear from you.

I feel like if I open up to someone they would die, so I'm just gonna joke around instead.

She: Lol. Haven't I always been dying though? I mean, aren't I always sad and fucked? Isn't that the appeal?

I really miss you actually. I think about you a lot. Not to be serious or weird, I just do.

Him: Yeah, well, you should talk to me sometimes. I'm cool.

She: Yeah, that would be cool. It would be cool to talk to you sometimes.

Him: I shot some macro video of some ants eating an earthworm this morning. The earthworm was writhing around and the ants just took turns biting it until it was dead.

I had a dream last night that a guy was trying to kill me and I pushed my thumbs into his eyes. I didn't know I would go to that point, but I mean, I guess like, I went for it.

Have you ever considered meditation or just like...toning it down in general?

She: lolololololololol

Do you think I should? "Tone it down?"

Him: Naw. Punk rock forever.

Do what your "heart" tells you.

She: I just want to be a feral person and write a book and get choked out by sleazy dudes sometimes and die soon. All things considered, I think I'm on the right track.

Him: True life: I live like I'm a Chuck Palahniuk character.

Yeah...don't die.

She: I don't know, maybe. Like maybe I'll continue living because it's hilarious how much I love my own suffering.

Him: I worry about being old sometimes, but then I realize that I'm sitting around thinking about being old and that gets boring and then after a while I do something because I'll get used to being old over time anyway.

She: That's "solid" logic.

So like, you're basically just drinking wine while girls tell you about how their dad didn't love them? That sounds really good to me.

Him: We can do that sometime if you want, maybe. I don't really drink wine, but I remember drinking wine with you.

She: Okay, we can do that. I'll cry for you and you can take me out to breakfast.

Him: Yeah, breakfast is kind of a healer.

She: I love going out to breakfast.

Him: I love nothing. hahahahaha. Well now that that's out there, I feel better.

She: That's good. You shouldn't. Heart full of black 4evr. You should just like "rail" as many bitches as you can without condoms or whatever.

Him: Haha. I'm chilling out on love. I think I saw what it did to people who "went there." I keep having dreams about the last day of high school. Last day of high school dream...every night.

She: I don't know. When I think about people I supposedly "loved" it's a joke to me now. Not because love is a joke in general, but like...because it's a joke that I thought those people could love me.

Him: I get addicted to approval sometimes, but I'm aware of it, and I know it's bullshit, so I think it's okay.

She: I used to be afraid that people would be more "successful" than me, and that would make me really sad, but like, everyone just grows up to be a sad fuckhead in a graveyard of broken dreams no matter what. Once I realized everything is a joke, I became a different kind of insane person.

Him: Haha

Imma be a happy fuckhead

In a way, there's some healthy perspective there. Somewhere.

She: I just want you to be a rich creep with a nice wife and a cheap whore. Like I really want that for you. I want you to be a happy fuckhead filled with unrealistic delusions. Forever.

Him: Haha. You're so sweet.

She: Why are you not "out" right now?

Him: I was editing. Didn't feel like going out. Good question though. Nobody is as cool as me so...

Fuck. Now I miss you.

Why aren't you out?

She: I don't know this alcoholic war veteran with a brain tumor who goes to weird mountain sex parties invited me over, but like...do I really want to "go there?"

Fuck. You're right, maybe. Maybe I am a Palahniuk character. My psychiatrist said I remind him of Marla Singer.

Him: I wonder if heaven exists.

Maybe see everyone, you know?

She: I hope not. I'm gonna just try to see people while I'm "alive."

Him: Well, you're welcome to come here.

She: Thanks.

Him: Text me sometimes. I promise I'll get back to you.

She: I will. I'll talk to you sometimes. Have a good night. Like, sweet ass dreams of the last day of high school or whatever.

Him: Thanks rachel, I'll talk to you later.

She: Talk to you later m---.

Him: I had to backspace because I wanted your name to be in lowercase...bc...I just wanted it to.

Just FYI

She: I put your name in lowercase because you put my name in lowercase. FYI.

Him: I noticed that.

I know I said bye already, but I'm looking at JFK autopsy pictures and it's crazy.

She: We have to stop talking. If we don't stop talking it's gonna be like, that thing where you're talking to a boy/girl you like and you don't really want to go, but you have anxiety about the other person being bored of talking to you so you feel compelled to say bye first even though you don't really want to and then you just keep talking until each person feels like they got a chance to end the conversation like 30 times.

Him: Yeah, you're probably right.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Untitled

I'm fucking like...worried about everyone. It seems like everyone keeps expressing feelings about being at "an all time low" or something. What can I do? Like, what can I do for you all? Can I do something to make you guys feel better?

I mean, I'm a bulimic alcoholic with crippling depression and eight dollars in my bank account so be "realistic" about your expectations, but like...I want to help.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Multiple Choice

Why are you vomiting?

A) Eating disorder

B) Drugs

C) Pregnant

D) All of the above

Untitled

I just feel like...like...forcing people to make positive decisions with realistic threats of violence.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Assignments

So, I had to see a psychiatrist for a year, and I had a lot of "assignments." Like, every week I had to do an "assignment" to get "better."  I'm going to copy two of them here. Keep in mind, I wasn't 12. This was like 3 years ago.

Assignment: Write an essay that describes the way you feel about your father.

About Dad

FRANK'S FATHER DIDN'T LEAVE HIS HOUSE FOR THE LAST FIVE YEARS OF HIS LIFE. HE SAT ON A COUCH DRINKING FOR FIVE YEARS AND FORGOT TO GO OUTSIDE UNTIL HE DIED.

I TALKED TO FRANK TODAY. HIS FAMILY WENT TO AFRICA FOR A SAFARI AND TOOK ALL HIS CREDIT CARDS.

Assignment: Write a letter to someone who's important to you.

Dear Joe,

You are a sexy, sensitive, 90s badass.  I wrote this poem for you because I want you to know you are important to me:

Hey Joe.

Where you going with that gun in your hand

I want to be your man

But I'm a girl

Please don't hurl

When you read this

I heard you're an alcoholic

Me too

Love,

poop

 

I can't fucking believe that, lol. Like...talk about fucking bad baby,  lol. Joe is this guy that took breaks at work the same time I did, and we like, smoked cigarettes 1o feet away from each other going to excruciating length to avoid eye contact and "small talk."

Friday, October 5, 2012

Untitled

I think the tough lovin' "know it all" dad type is my least favorite personality type that exists.

When I had a Facebook, a "friend" of mine posted a statty update that was like, "Do you ever feel like you don't know why you get up in the morning?" or something. It wasn't even in a self pitying or maudlin way, it was just a sort of "off the cuff" observation, and some dude was like, "Maybe you wouldn't feel so shitty if you had a better attitude. People aren't going to like this, but you need to get over it. AIDS in Africa and shit." And a bunch of people "liked" that comment.

It's like, I like how in that person's world, there's no concept of scale, lol. There's like...no concept of consideration or difference. Like, unless you have AIDS, you better wake up with a fucking smile on your face and shut the fuck up, lol. Like, unless someone is dead, you better drink your tears motherfucker.

I feel like there's a subtype of that personality that's like, the self absorbed tough dad. It's the same personality, but it insists on like...constantly having a competition with everyone about how their life is worse. Like how their life is so much shittier than yours, and how they manage to stay collected and strong or something.

I feel like that's so fucking condescending and thoughtless, lol. Like...treating someone like they're a child who has no perspective.

The thing I don't understand is...people who do that obviously like learned it from somewhere, and it's REALLY hard for me to believe that when someone did that to them in the past, they responded really well to it. It's hard for me to believe that at some point, someone told that person like STFU and suffer in silence you little bitch, and they were like, Thank you, that was really helpful. Next time I see a sad person, that's how I'm gonna deal with them.

I don't know. I don't know.

 

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Untitled

If you think someone is really "going off the deep end" should you like...say something? Should you like...tell them, or should you just like...assume they wouldn't listen anyway and let them become a vietnam veteran with a
"will fuck for food" sign or whatever?

Just wondering.

Untitled

If you were wondering why I wake up at 630 in the morning, it's certainly not because I'm gainfully employed and have shit to do. It's because that's when the high school band starts every morning at a volume that can't be deterred by modern marvels like windows and walls. You're doing great guys. This is the beginning of your career. You're in the high school band now, but one day you'll be in a "real" band. The kind that goes nowhere and impresses no one. Your shows will be populated by between 10-50 people some of whom are your "friends" who feel sorry for you, and pretend they think your shit is really good/come to your shows because they are also in bands with an audience of 10-50 people and need your continued support. The remaining people are other sad drunk people who go to the bar no matter what's happening hoping someone will talk to them and/or fuck them. But don't worry, one day, some guy will give you a "write up" on a "relevant" blog. You know the guy. The one with a British accent that may or may not be real. The one who "writes for vice." On that day it will all be worth it. On that day, everyone will take you seriously because the internet is legitimate. What I'm saying is keep it up. You're doing a good job. Your hard works and early mornings will all pay off.

#lifeisgood

#gladtobealive

 

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

An Open Letter To A Potential Guest

So here's the next question, who is going to come stay with me in middle of nowhere Washington for some weeks in December? You don't really need any money, you just need to like...get there. It'd be good to go to Canada, like, it'd be good if you had a passport, I don't know, it seems like you could just like..."smuggle" someone in there. I don't know.

Basically I just wanna like...dress up in really fancy clothes and like drink heavily. Doesn't that sound good to you? Don't you want that for yourself?

Nick Heet?

Untitled

So I quit smoking, when I wrote about how I needed to quit smoking, I just quit smoking. I don't know when that was, like one...two weeks ago? It still feels horrible. Everyone is like...you just gotta get through the first 48 hours. Don't listen to those people. People tell me like...they still want to smoke after like 48 years.

It's not that I care about dying. I TOTALLY don't care about dying. At all, it's just that, genetically, I look like a zombie/vampyre already, and I feel like...that "look" like, that of a typical cancer patient/junkie, does not age well, lol. And I feel like it will age even worse with smokers wrinkles and a stoma, I don't know.

I don't know which instinct is more intense. Part of me is just like FUCK IT, I will just like get a face lift and smoke camel filters from the hole in my neck. I don't know. I have intense feelings of wanting to choke someone out. I feel "tense."

Monday, October 1, 2012

Untitled

Dear Austin,

Remember how the first time I ever gave "someone" a blowjob, you were "sleeping" on the floor? And remember how when I was done, he said, and I quote, "Thanks for doing that. That was really nice of you.*LONG PAUSE* "Good times."

And then remember how you just like gave me this look that was like, "Yeah, I just saw that, and yeah, I totally just heard that guy say, 'Good times' regarding a blowjob."

Remember how I think we also had a long talk about how you had to sleep on the floor because you just like constantly vomit at random?

You are my best friend forever, for real, lol. Grey Gardens, window waterslide.