Tiny Explosions!

Alright so I’ve gotten into a relationship with this girl that is just a maniac in the sack. I’m talking a pack of condoms a week sorta gal, just the type I’ve always looked for and probably had found but was too married to do anything about it. Anyway, this lady is a freak and I love it.

So tonight I forget that my buddy Mike had scheduled an Xbox movie night, a fact I feel slightly bad about but that motherfucker has gone and left me twisting in the wind before to go see his fiancee so I think it’s pretty fair. Regardless, I went over to my girl’s and, naturally, after a nice dinner of a very large salad and a hBLeT (BLT, heavy B, easy T), we perform the act of copulation. For a few hours.

Now, we’re wrapping up, it’s getting late and I’m gonna have to go home soon, and I’m getting finished up with an excellent sloppy blowjob when she pulls her head up and requests that I decorate her visage with my expulsions. Not one to deny a woman a reasonable request, I oblige.

The first shot goes straight up her nose, causing a coughing, snorting fit to which I am both helpless to do anything and slightly unconcerned about in the moment of my euphoria. Also not a concern to me were the other stray rounds which landed with an audible thwack on the side table behind my lovely’s head. After sorting out her nasal issues, we turned on the light to see where my poor lost soldiers ended up to start the cleaning process.

As it happens, my body instinctively took over when I had proven myself a poor shot and aimed directly at the cover picture of Women In Buddhism/Buddhism in Women, featuring a young devotee in the middle of attaining serenity. To make matters worse, this was a book borrowed from a friend, which will cause my confidante the misfortune of having to return it with a straight face.

Every day a lesson is learned, and today that lesson is this: aim away from the nose.

Dream log!

I rarely have dreams, much less remember them, but I had one, and remember it, so here it is.

A group of guys enter this broken down building for some reason only to find it inhabited by ghosts! But not spooky ghosts, sexy women ghosts! So they pair off with these ghosts and start trying to find a way to escape the building or free the ghosts or something, the exact plot wasn’t entirely clear. What is clear is that there is a point where the ghosts become semi-corporeal and, naturally, everyone gets busy.

This is when things go weird. First off, the Brazilian guy is having sex with the ghost of his mother, then the Japanese guy can’t tell his spectral lover that he loves her and turns into some sort of hermitcrab-man, to her disgust and his embarrassment. Nothing of note happens to the white guy except we discover that his ghost was a secretary in the building back in the 50′s.

The ghost secretary helps discover that the world can be changed by force of will, and grows a giant tree with just one apple out in the distance, although I look the wrong way and believe she is talking about the big Disneyland tree they’re building in Africa or wherever.

Up until now my point of view had been from the third person and I was not in the story at all. Now that I was, it is apparently adventure time and I set off with these folks and we come across a symbol marked in a stone that the Japanese guy says means ‘shark’, although I am positive it doesn’t really because I don’t know the kanji for shark and it most certainly wasn’t one.

Anyway, the secretary slips into the rock and finds some strange monkey golem, who becomes my servant or something after I reveal my tattoo. He speaks Japanese but understands English fine, which is irrelevant as my alarm went off at that point.

Fashion, and why I never buy clothes.

Alright youse guys, lemme tell you a little something about fashion. It’s a fickle beast, changing without cause or reason and causing much trouble when it does. Say, for instance, you started wearing black jeans, oh, a decade ago. Levi Silvertab Loose Fit, to be exact.

So you start working these jobs that don’t let you wear jeans, you get married, put on some weight, and then get divorced, right? Time to break out those old jeans, move that butt for the ladies, but what’s this? You’ve outgrown your clothes that were slightly too big in high school! Now, you can muffintop it for a while, pretend like nothing is wrong, but sooner or later you’re going to need a couple new pairs of denim that don’t work as a laxative whenever you button them up.

No problem, right? Just head on down to the Levi’s outlet grab some new…wait, what the fuck is this? Skinny? Straight? Relaxed? 514? 527? 550? Assaulted by numbers and styles you’ve never heard of, you stumble around the store looking for something black, just to find some sort of tether in this raging ocean of cotton. Espying the darkly dyed cloth, you pick up a pair, only to find that black jeans are now only made in two cuts: skinny and cowboy.

So you try on every cut they have, find that Loose is still Loose, and go home with a color they call ‘tumbled rigid’.

It’s pretty much gray. Fuck fashion.

Excitement? Adventure? A Jedi craves not these things.

And that is why they suck and I’m awesome. Prepare to have your puny bug brains splattered against the windshield that houses the pure torrent of sweet bitchin’ that I am about to provide to you.