Archive | February, 2012


29 二月


A little background.  Remember the未来的妻子?  I prayed to God that I meet my future wife at the Short Stop; that night a hot chick talked to me.  I  went out with her, and a) I wasn’t that into her and b) I kind of blew it.

More background:  last week I went out with a girl off OkCupid.  She was kind of (REDACTED), but a) really, really, really beautiful and b) turned out to be literally my next door neighbor.  Like, she told me a bunch of stories about my cat.  I (REDACTED), but God damn she was fucking gorgeous.  One of those girls— like, beauty is just the absence of ugly.  It’s impossible to describe a beautiful woman’s face.  For a guy, you can say “strong jaw,” “high cheekbones,” etc等,或“轮廓分明”的功能,但对于一个女孩,基本上 - 所有美丽的女人都有一个六岁的白人孩子的脸And she does.  And I took her home; it got physical我们没有操,但(删除)但这是一场胜利第二天我给她发了短信,据说周五过来吃了一些鸡肉。

Nothing back.  Nothing for days.  You start thinking– oh shit, did I blow it? Did I have no game, and should have waited, etc.  Well, fuck that.  Fuck “game.”  If you even have to think about game you have already lost.  I text girls when I want to see them.  Or when I think of a funny text.  I call them when I feel like talking to them.  Which is rarely.  The second you start communicating with a script and an agenda you are completely fucked; you are trapped in this counterintuitive, mercenary process, undermining yourself at every turn.


28 二月

当我80年代还是个孩子的时候,我们曾经去过芬威公园的球赛And when you had to piss, it was– there were no urinals.  There was one toilet and it always looked like a Dinty Moore™ beef stew grenade had exploded in it.  No– you had to piss in a long communal  cast-iron trough shaped like a bath tub with rusty, tetanus-y looking pipes feeding a trickle of water into it.  I was like 8, and you had to stand around this thing with no less than a dozen middle aged men, all drunk, with their schlongs all out right near 8 year old eye level.  And something about Boston– these were古老的世界schlongsThe ungroomed old country schlongs of rough and brutal men.  Somehow no man born of pure immigrant stock ever has anything less than a giant winking sea worm, ascending back into a tangle of salt and pepper pubes that have never once been trimmed.  Men of this time and place never fucked with their pubes once, in their entire lifetime.  Irish guys with flame orange thickets.  Swarthy, suspicious men, with Bin Laden dickbeards and brown snakey uncut sausage three shades darker than the rest of them.

I don’t know if you’ve seen a lot of underage wang, but the penis of an 8 year old white child is like a doll’s pinky finger, and beholding these veiny, hideous anacondas was terrifying.  I couldn’t pee.


27 二月

该死的我现在想要一个流行挞磨砂覆盆子他们再也没有了 - Pop Tart的架子上堆满了肉桂和软糖的可憎之物,还有闪闪发光的女王儿童的琐事,带着耸人听闻的荧光咕噜声通常唯一的水果味是Robitussin品尝樱桃。

What happened to our society, Roxanne? Frosted Raspberry was the BEST ONE! But our fat, hideous children prefer the WORST flavors and have destroyed the dignity of this pastry.


26 二月


受保护:Reader Mailbag:专业Dominatrices

25 二月



24 二月

你的整个生命就在你试图留下语音信箱的那一刻,你听到了我会用语气记录你的信息When you are finished, you may hang up, or press “pound” for further options.  To send a fax, press–and you’re like, OK, fuck this.  You press “1” to get straight to the beep.

But the voicemail woman cuts you off, and suddenly her tone is somehow much smarmier. I’m sorry: “1” is not a valid option.  I’ll record your message at the tone.  When you are finished, you may hang up…and it goes again, from the beginning, through this whole long litany of options you have, such as somehow implausibly sending a fax to someone’s mobile phone.  Because unbeknownst to you this is one of the approximately 40% of phones where pressing “1” will not get you straight to the beep.  Instead it will trigger a stern-sounding non-apology from this woman, where the voice actress completely nails the tone of someone ostensibly apologizing to you for some inconvenience, but who in her heart is only sorry that you are too retarded to know that pressing “1” will avail you of nothing.  It will only force her to patiently repeat the many options she has already taken the trouble to lay out for you very clearly and now has to waste her precious time explaining again.继续阅读


23 二月

Here’s what happened.  As you know, Nicole, I despair of ever finding a mate and hate & resent that you have a live-in boyfriend.  In fact I hate and resent anyone who can find a relationship.

Anyway, I was driving home Thursday night and despairing about this.  I actually resorted to prayer.  I said, please, God, let me meet my future wife.  And I had this kind of premonition that said: if you go to the Short Stop tonight, she will be there.

Normally I would dismiss this sort of thing, but it felt different, and realer than my other crazy thoughts.  Also, last time I actually prayed, it was “please, God, just let某物good happen to me tonight,” and I went to the Short Stop, and a hot girl was actually there, alone, and I took her home and boned her.  So God has come through for me at the Short Stop before, seriously.

So I went.  I was tired, and had shit to do, but I went, just in case God was sending my future wife there.  The idea was that if I sat down and had two drinks, I would meet her.  So as soon as I walk in I start scouting out the talent.  Fat Mexican chicks, ugly girls— one cute girl but clearly a Lesbian…nothing.  But as I’m ordering my second drink I see a可爱但是只是flawed enough that I might actually have a shot type chick, with a dude who is way better looking than me.  I assume this is her boyfriend.  But just as I’m getting down to the LAST SIP of my second drink this girl comes up and stands next to me, and asks me what I’m looking at on my blackberryShe needs to stay by the bar to give the dude, her室友,空间击中一只小鸡。