I haven't really felt like blogging much but I feel this pull to do it anyway.
I don't have one particular topic I feel like I can bear down on and discuss but lots of random things just swimming around in my head are bursting to get out.
I'm super excited about the Astros right now. They've won 9 in a row and are looking pretty strong.
They play the Braves tonight in the first of a 3-game series. They Braves are like 18.5 or so behind, however, they beat the crap out of the Mets the other night.
You have to like our chances but I don't want to jinx anything.
At this point, anything can happen!
The Cardinals are my second favorite team, so I hate to see them blow things the way they have, yet, it's really good for us so I have to be excited to see St. Louis lose!
Really, all this wildcard crap confuses the hell out of me. I'll just wait for someone to tell me if I can celebrate or cry.
The internet is a wonderful thing.
A few years ago, I blogged about an artist that I had been looking for at various art shows. I have several of his originals and was hoping to see him again someday.
The other day, I received an email from this man's son. He's still around and will be doing an art show here next month.
Apparently, he googled his dad and found my blog. How handy!
So, recently, I have reconnected with a friend that I had shoved out of my life, leaving a foot print on his ass.
I'm not sure why we have these connections with some but not others.
I've never had a problem erasing a person from my life but there are some that hang on to that invisible cord tying us together.
I'm not sure if it's good or bad that we're communicating again.
It just is.
the first thing you do is lose the company credit card.
I'm usually pretty good about keeping up with things but I somehow got back to my desk without the card.
I told my boss right away and surprisingly she didn't fire me.
Then there's just a bunch of little annoyances all through the day that make me wish I had stayed in bed.
I'm having a better day than someone like Terrell Owens.
Apparently, T.O. botched a suicide attempt and is now claiming he had a bad reaction to pain meds and supplements.
Right.
The Astros are having a better day than all of us.
I certainly don't want to get my hopes up but it's getting very exciting right now!
Astros have won 7 in a row now, trailing St. Louis by 1.5.
St. Louis is my second favorite team so it's hard to be happy that they've been losing against the Padres these last two nights but I'm hoping the Padres can do it again tonight!
rant
I told myself not to go into that grocery store.
I hate that place. It's filthy, crowded and patronized by mostly mutants.
I allowed laziness and hurriedness to cloud my judgement and I went into this cursed place.
My purchase totalled $9.42 but my debit card wouldn't work. After a few tries, the snaggletoothed cashier informed me that my bank's debit card won't work due to their computer system and accounting and something else.
I didn't hear everything because I was trying to figure out WHY I had left my purse in the car. I never do that but tonight I figured it would be quicker if I just stuck my card in my pocket.
"I'll hold your transaction if you want to go get cash."
When I came back with my purse and a credit card, the manager had yet to void my transaction so the poor lady behind me was still waiting.
They were surprised I was back so fast and let me go ahead and finish my sale.
I politely apologized to the lady behind me and my half-witted cashier told the lady, "Oh I bet you want to just kill her right now, don't you?"
I stopped in mid-swipe and said "Excuse me?"
The cashier said, "Well she looks tired and has been waiting behind you for a long time."
"Ooook," I said, "and whose fault is that? Because it's certainly not mine!"
"Well..uh..yeah...I...uhhh..." the inbred employee was flustered because I was pissed.
"So, I am humiliated here in your store through no fault of my own and you try to incite the people behind me? How is that fair?"
I suppose I used too many words because snaggletooth was silent.
Seriously, I will fucking drive an hour out of my way to never have to shop in that store again.
I've said it before but this time I mean it; I'm going with my gut.
/rant
Okay. Ladies. This should be a short post.
First of all, if you want to shave, please make sure you are not uncovering an unholy beast that has hair on it for a reason. If you shave or wax your cooch, please check with a mirror the first time to be sure it doesn't look like some sort of alien bug mouth from Starship Troopers. If you've got purple danglies, keep that shit covered.
Second, if you're not going to shave, at least trim or something, so your pussy doesn't look like the back of my head. I'm not Crocodile Dundee, I don't want to spend a week in the jungle. I just want pussy. Thanks.
After Facial, the glorious ho that allowed me to video tape a man chowder deposit to her face, I dated a girl I have nicknamed Bobblehead. This is because the ratio of cranium to body was far, far off balance. It's also because she irritates the crap out of me and deserves a bad nickname.
I am, at heart, a romantic and a Southern gentleman. People who know me in real life would be shocked to see some of the crap I say online. I'm polite, a little quiet, and I have exquisite mannders. I don't think I'm that bad online, I just rant a lot. Anyway, BH saw both the ranty and the romantic/polite.
When I'm with a girl, that's it. All other women cease to exist in a sexual way to me. I don't look at tits, I don't look at asses, and I don't look at porn. It's not that I obsess over the girl I'm with, I just stop caring about other women. If I'm having sex with a girl that's pretty damn good and I don't need anything else.
I like hips a lot, and I like to rest my hands on hips. It's not even sexual, just habit. I did it all the time with Facial. Bobblehead had an issue with this, and kissing, because they were "too sexual." If she wasn't in the mood for something, then anything that even remotely implied I had an innie and she had an outie was just out of the question.
The girl is fucking weird.
This isn't to say she didn't like the attention. She did. When she was horny. Any other time, touching her was off limits. She thought that I was "too sexual" and that's one of the reasons we broke up. This is further evidence as to why I think women are all fucking crazy -- Facial, who made webcam videos of herself fucking a brush handle -- would try and make me feel guilty about sex... after we had sex. Before and during, she was all for it. As soon as she came (and she always did, every single time), though, she'd do whatever to get me off, then the guilt would start.
Ladies. Prove me wrong. Someone fuck my brains out and not be bitchy after. Kthx.
but I'm also a realist.
The Astros swept the Cardinals over the weekend keeping the hope of more baseball in October alive.
They played really really good baseball against the Cards. Can we keep it up against the Phillies tonight?
My guess: No.
Can we beat the Pirates?
My guess: Yes
After that we have a series with the Braves and I'm feeling pretty good about that but I hate to jinx anything
The Astros are unpredictable. I don't know what to expect but it'll be fun to watch.
Last night's game was on ESPN and I can't STAND Joe Morgan and Jon Miller and their vapid, useless banter.
At one point, they started talking about Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans and totally ignoring the ball game. Finally, I screamed at the TV, "SHUT UP YOU STUPID ASSHOLES!".
I seriously HATE it when the games are on ESPN.
I'd rather listen to two drunk idiots in a bar cover a baseball game than these two over-inflated geezers.
Every so often, I like to read a "fluff" book. This is one of those mainstream novels that are churned out on an assembly line.
They are fast, easy, escapist reads. I just have to be in the mood for it.
The other day I noticed Nora Roberts had a new suspense novel out. I scooped it up and took it home. I started reading it that night and it was entertaining.
The next day I went to get my oil changed and brought the book with me. Sitting there reading, I came upon a section that had me closing the book permanently.
It's just following the same formula that all her books and books of that type follow; boy meets girl, girl and boy both have mysterious pasts, suddenly there is a mystery to solve and they solve it together but not before having weird random sex while girl pretends she doesn't want it but deep inside she has hungered for him since she first laid eyes on him 2 days ago.....etc..
I'm just bored with it.
I recently read a book by Haruki Murakami called Norweigan Wood. It was lovely and different.
I want more books like that.
I don't want books that treat me like an 12 yr old with short term memory loss. I want a book that respects my intelligence and maybe challenges it a little.
Not TOO much, though...
I'm a man -- I just checked, sure enough, them are man parts down there -- and I cannot stand stupid women. That is the problem. I just can't stand stupidity in others. So I definitely don't want a stupid woman.
I just want a woman who isn't a cheating bitch.
I don't ask for a whole lot. Cute, healthy ("no stds," doesn't smoke -- I don't want herpes and I don't want lung cancer), smart. Finds me funny (considering everyone I know thinks I'm funny*, this isn't so hard), and supports my writing. Not like, monetarily supports, just, likes it. Everyone who has seen it does, so again, no big deal. Someone I can talk to.
Cute -- I don't require DD tits, or even Ds, just, please, something. I don't want a stick thin bitch, and I don't want a cow. A face I can look at. Height is irrelevant. Just, attractive, y'know? Someone I can fuck without needing brown paper bags.
Healthy -- too damn fat and too damn skinny fit here, too. Because both are bad for you. Sucking on a cigarette is unhealthy, throwing your genitals to anyone who asks is unhealthy, herpes is unhealthy, and voting Democrat is unhealthy. People who are unhealthy don't love themselves and if they don't, why should I?
Smart -- the purpose of this post. A stupid girl, I can't talk to. I can't deal with someone who is stupid. I've dated stupid women, and it's no fun for either of us. I don't want a submissive little thing that just goes "okay" or "whatever you want." Stupid girls tend to lack confidence OR be sluts. Smart, please.
Finds me funny -- I love making people laugh. Especially women. Not much else to say here. *Bobblehead is the one exception,she never thought I was funny, but that's okay, her skull ruined her parents' sex life.
Supports my writing -- I want feedback. I want someone to tell me what they like and don't, but I want them to like more than they don't. This is, of course, a matter of taste, but writing is a huge part of my life.
I'm not asking a lot, and I'm not posting a Jackie Paisley list, either. I'm attractive, intelligent, plan on having money (hence college), and I know how to find the clitoris and enjoy making a woman orgasm, and I have an adequately long and nicely thick man part. I'm fiercely loyal and do not cheat -- physically or emotionally. I'm confident and funny. So I'm basically what I hear all these women say they want.
I've been single for three years, going on four. So I've convinced myself that pretty much all women are stupid. I need a paypal button on my own blog that says "Buy me a RealDoll." Because women are either stupid, or liars, or both, because you ought to be lined up by my bed.
Is it possible that all a man wants is a dumb woman?
Do guys feel it necessary to be smarter than the woman they are with?
Case in point:
I pulled into the gas station the other day at the same time as a man in a truck. We chose the same pump; me on one side, he on the other.
We made eye contact across the top of the pump and he smiled and said "How are you today?" I smiled back and said "I'm fine. You?"
We made small talk for a few seconds and I happened to look up and notice the gas prices.
"Wow," I said, "The gas prices sure have gone down fast."
He agreed, telling me a story about going to another town and their prices were even lower the weekend before.
He told me he thought they'd drop even more, "Kids are in school now and with winter coming, fewer people will be taking long trips. So, there will be less demand."
So on that same note I told him that I had heard that there are different blends for different times of the year. The winter blend has less additives so it's cheaper to make and costs less for the consumer.
I spoke with confidence because I remembered this interesting tidbit and was surprised I had the opportunity to use it in a conversation.
When I was done, his smile became forced, his eyes glazed over and he nodded hesitantly.
Our conversation was over.
I stood there for an awkward moment, wondering what to say next but luckily, the nozzle popped, alerting me that my tank was full.
I slammed the handle back into it's place, screwed the gas cap closed and shut the tiny door.
"Have a good evening."
"You too."
Is this why I'm single? Am I required to twirl my hair, smack my gum and giggle just to snag a man?
Please, I've never wanted anything -man or penis- bad enough to pretend to be stupid.
I have the whole package, boys. Great rack...brains...amazing in bed.
What more could an intelligent man ask for?
Oh...sorry...for a moment there, I thought I was this chick.
Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Jingleheimershmidt believes she's better than most of us.
She might be right.
This story of her blog entry is old but I couldn't help but think of it after my gas station encounter.
Sure, I might be slightly intelligent but that's about the only good thing I can say about myself.
I could never do one of those online dating things because I can give you a million reasons why you SHOULDN'T date me but I can only come up with a couple of reasons why you would want to.
Someone needs to come up with an anti-dating service.
"Don't Find the Love of Your Life Here"
"We have tons of women you shouldn't go out with."
I think I might be on to something here.
And I cannot lie
I've discussed my almost obsessive compulsive urges regarding breasts of all sizes, colors, and religions, but I left hanging the detail of the second most important thing about women. That is, their rumpage.
This one, it's easier to look at. God knew when he created women that they would get annoyed about us not looking them in the eyes ("women have faces?") and so he gave us something to look at when they are otherwise occupied. You will notice that there is a similarity between the boo-tay and the breasts. Both tend to be round and mostly made up of hopes and dreams. The butt doesn't have nipples, but that's okay.
It has a tight hole, and if there's anything we like more than nipples, it's a tight hole.
Now, one major difference between the apples and the ass is that women don't wear clothes that push their ass up, revealing a huge amount off crack, and they do that for breasts. So we have to think about the ass a little longer, which is just great since women don't have eyes in the backs of their heads. At least not the kind of women I have sex with. I make no promises about Arab women.
I love asses. I only write about things I love or hate, and generally when I hate something I end up in a long rant, raving and frothing. When thinking about asses, I just drool. Asses are wonderful.
If they're shaped right. This Paris Hilton scrawny no-ass stuff going around? I can so do without, ladies. Eat a hamburger for your ass. Trust me, it's good. I'm not saying I like fat asses, I just like round asses. Plump, even. Something I can grip onto.
Now it's time for a teacher story.
My current math teacher, nicknames Mrs. Mathy, isn't young but she's not old. She's pretty spry and attractive for a college teacher. Not as hot as Mrs. Bendy, who has an ass you can see the future in, but I'll take what I can get. She's pretty excited about life, and I love girls like that. She also wears those weird pants women wear that don't go all the way down. Don't tell me the name -- I won't remember tomorrow anyway.
She has an ass -- ah! It's just, how am I supposed to concentrate on math? The only numbers I'm thinking about are one and two, with each number representing a cheek. When she's writing on the board it's like, wow, I hate to do math but I love to see you write on the board.
Today I noticed a panty line. Now, I'm on the record as being against thongs. I just don't like them, or the look of them, and I get irritated when I see a fat girl's thong right below her tramp stamp and when she turns around I'm treated to the moldy underside of her stomach hanging out. Ladies! No no! Learn to sew if you have to.
I also dislike thongs because no panty lines plus actually wearing underwear is FALSE ADVERTISEMENT, like padded bras. Just don't. That's like marrying me then gaining a hundred pounds, cutting your hair, and no longer having sex. How would you like it if I stopped being funny and treating you nice? Yeah. So just don't wear thongs. They're false advertisement. No panties? Hot. Thong? LIE.
Anyway, so I watched the panty line. And she's moving around a lot, writing, erasing, explaining, mathing. And it's moving with her. Towards the center. And it eventually finds comfortable rest where I would like to deposit some baby batter. She knew, I knew, but I don't think she knew I knew because I am so skilled I was correcting her mistakes as she wrote. Actually I just noticed one but still.
Fortunately for her, the dry-erase marker ran out, and she had to go get another one. When she came back, the panty line had resumed it's place on her cheek, and she taught away. Then it slooowly crawled back, creeping up on her crack like a rapist in the night. I wondered how she would pick it this time.
Well, it was fifteen till, so she just let us out early.
She's good.
Tuesday means Physics lab. Which means lots of work. First, the requisite background.
One of my lab partners is... well, she's not all there mentally. I don't want to say she's retarded, because that's not true, but it's the only word that I can think of. She's not like actually retarded, she's just so quiet and withdrawn, and she seems kind of like... emotionally under-developed. She talks kind of like a child sometimes. It's hard to explain. She's just not right.
But she's kind of cute. Which is why this is going to be the wrongest post I have ever made to a blog, ever, and I've said some twisted stuff.
One of the things we did today in lab involved two of us using stopwatches while another two did something else and we timed the reaction. Pretty much: Two of us standing out of the way and two of us working, while our fifth partner wrote. So we did that. I was standing back, Girl was working.
I did not have to actually watch them, but rather listen for the "start" and "stop" (or "go" "when" and "thirty"). Girl was wearing like tight cotton pants, like the kind you might work out in. I noticed that I had a nice view of her behind. Which was nice. So the nice view of the nice butt was nice. And because of the angle I was to her, I could look at her ass, and no one could tell I wasn't looking at the work.
So I spent basically an hour staring at her ass. It was a thing of beauty. And she's like mentally retarded. This brings a Firefly quote to mind.
"Oh, I'm going to the special hell."
I don't really have a lot of interesting things to say when I'm not being a complete and utter asshole, and so I decided I'd retell a story I alluded to in an earlier post. I had a girlfriend who I gave the nickname Facial for all blog mention. This is kind of silly because she wasn't particularly fond of the act for which she is named, but I have it on tape, and so that's what came to mind.
Heh. Came.
Anyway, her parents hated me from day one. Just, the instant they knew I existed, they hated my guts. Even before I was decorating her face, even before I was defiling her and she was moaning my name and clenching her toes. The feeling was mutual.
Her parents split up, but didn't get divorced, about six months before we broke up. Her dad decided he was going to move in with his mom (!) who lived across the nation. For a variety of reasons, things were rocky between us, so things ended between us pretty smoothly.
I visited her when they were packing to leave. Her dad went to get either the trailer that they were going to put his car on, or the actual U-Haul. I don't really remember -- it isn't relevant -- but he wasn't there when I arrived. We were talking in her room, and because she was leaving, possibly forever, a little naughty touching started in her room.
But an idea occurred to me. Because I HATED that bastard. I lured her into the living room, and sat in HIS FAVORITE CHAIR. Oh yes. This is going there. She straddled me and the touching and such continued, and before long, her shirt was off, then her bra, then she stood up and everything was off and my jeans mysteriously came unzipped.
Long story less wordy, I fucked her in his chair. Or rather, she rode me until her toes curled up and her thighs twitched.
Twice.
So every time a situation reminds me of her, I think of that chair, and her asshole father who hated me, and I think: I hope he's sitting there RIGHT NOW.
How lucky I am to have such a friend as Adam. Who else would boob up my blog the way he has?
Oh right....pretty much any other horny 23 year old.
Thanks anyway Adam.
No, really. I'm thankful that he was here to fill in for me. I'm going to continue to ask for his help while I try to claw myself out of this pit of despair. (ooo how dramatic)
I would love to blog about what happened to my sister but her incident has become major news. It was featured in newspapers and newscasts.
I don't want some family friend or anyone else googling certain keywords and landing here.
Let's just say that through no fault of her own, she was savagely injured. She was in the hospital for a few days and is now at home, trying to deal with the unimaginable pain and emotional aftermath.
When I got the call, I raced to the hospital from work, not knowing if she would live or die. I kept thinking to myself that if she died, after everything we've been through as a family in the last two years, we'd all have to have one big Jim Jones kool-aid party.
How could we survive another death?
Thankfully, she will be ok and none of her injuries were life-threatening.
I wish I could blog about the anger we all feel, about how unfair the system is towards victims of this kind of attack and how people will lie to save their own ass at the expense of someone else.
It makes you hate humans...really.
On top of all of this....Crash's remains were ready to pick up this week. I went in on Saturday and I was handed this small, cube-shaped cardboard box. There was one simple white label with "Crash" and my misspelled last name on the top.
The box weighed a lot less than I imagined. It's hard to believe that my baby is a featherlight clump of ashes in the bottom of a small box.
Soon, I'll transfer the contents of the box to an urn.
Ironically, the urn costs more than his cremation did.
I've just been deluged with homework and such, and I can't really think of anything to say that doesn't pertain to politics or video games -- not exactly the kind of thing that De usually bogs about. (Actually, I'm not sure what De usually blogs about, because I only read my own blog because THE WORLD REVOLVES AROUND ME. I don't even know who De IS!)
Only part of the above is true. If you can't figure out which, you're probably Danny Fratina.
I thought about trying to make a post about De, since, it's all about De, but I've not seen her tits and I've most certainly not sprayed my baby butter on her face. This isn't to say I wouldn't. The two go hand in hand. Considering how long it has been since your humble (ha!) guest blogger has made the beast with two backs, even SEEING live boobs would probably cause an American Pie moment.
And no, I don't mean the scene where he fucks an apple pie.
I could probably talk about labia, too. But I beat the hell out of that topic before. And I don't know what De's labia look like.
Also, I don't have any friends like Skankerella.
Though I do have some funny stories about my ex -- Facial -- that involve semen in places it doesn't belong, including hair, her belly button, and her dad's favorite chair. He always hated me. I hated him, too.
I hope he's sitting in that chair right now.
After that rant about women, I felt the need to point something out. Also, I want to respond to the troll comment I got. I usually don't talk about the stupid things men do for two reasons: I don't date men, and men don't have tits. Therefore, I am able to mostly ignore them (unless they are in front of me on the interstate driving 15 under the speed limit because they are eighty years old).
Now. College campus. Therefore, college age men. Therefore, annoyance factor high.
Most of them are the jock-type Abercrombie thugs. They wear shirts worth more than their annual dental care, they think they're tough. They get drunk a lot, they fight, they have sex a lot (they get herpes...), and worst of all, they talk about it. And they talk about it like it somehow makes them cool.
But mostly it's just that they talk about it. "Really. You hit him in the face? Like, with your fist? THAT IS SO ORIGINAL. I haven't heard this kind of story eight hundred times this semester already!"
Also, nine times out of ten, when someone is playing their (awful) music very loud in their car, it's a guy. Usually a guy who spent more on his sound system than he's ever spent in his life on books. The thing is, I could make fun of guys all day long, but I don't date them, I date women, and therefore I leave trashing guys up to... drumroll! People who date them.
Plus the reaction of a guy when you talk shit on guys isn't nearly as funny as what happens to a feminist's face when you say something like:
Q. What do you tell a woman with two black eyes?
A. Nothing. You already told the bitch twice.
Seriously. Tell that joke to a stuffy bitch, and watch her face. The joke itself isn't funny. The reaction is. "Men are stupid and horny" doesn't get much reaction, because guys know better. We're all horny and most of us are idiots.
Now, the troll comment. I actually deleted all of it because I have two rules. One, no all caps conversation in my presence. Two, I will not suffer stupidity. This is part of the comment:
De informs me he is an AOL user, which explains his logic. I like to look at breasts, and I masturbate because breasts arouse me... so I'm a homosexual.
So, wait. Run this by me again. Looking at women gets my motor going... and that makes me a homosexual, which by definition is being attracted to the same sex.
You voted for John Kerry, didn't you?
SO FUCK YOU YOU STUPID ASS FAGGOT AND STOP BEING SUCH A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT BY POSTING THIS SHITTY BLOG AS A CRAPPY ATTEMPT AT TRYING TO JUSTIFY YOUR SEXIST OBJECTIFICATION OF WOMEN!
Okay. Let's take this by the thought process, and translate it a bit. "Fuck you, you stupid as faggot." All right, he's mad. I never would have figured this out had he not said that, because I'm stupid ass. Right. "Stop being such a useless piece of shit." Well, if you insist. I'll stop blogging and start leaving comments linking to lemonparty.com (it used to be a shock site, now it's a domain holder -- but I guess he thought I was too stupid to know that). "Posting this shitty blog." Halt. That was not a blog. That was a blog post.
"...a crappy attempt at trying to justify your sexist objectification of women."
Okay, I wasn't trying to objectify anything. Let's play word of the day:
hu-mor
n.
1. The quality that makes something laughable or amusing; funniness: could not see the humor of the situation.
2. That which is intended to induce laughter or amusement: a writer skilled at crafting humor.
3. The ability to perceive, enjoy, or express what is amusing, comical, incongruous, or absurd.
4. Something Danny Fratina lacks. His IP address is 207.200.116.135
I could be really funny and post his home address, phone number, and satellite pictures of his house. I'm a computer science major. We're funny like that.
I don't need to justify anything. One, I'm a blogger, and we're all crazy. Two, I'm a man, and I like women, and I like their bodies. So I look at nice looking women. Duh? And: Objectifying women is, by default, sexist. Duh?
Now, technically, I don't objectify women, because I don't just view women as sex objects. That's the definition. I've honestly loved women before. There are women I would knock a guy's teeth in for so much as hurting the feelings of. Some of them I've even drooled over and stared at their boobs.
But some women, yeah, they might as well just be tits. Tits with legs, actually, so they can run and jiggle.
I told De, when she asked me to guest blog, that "I'll probably just blog about tits and facials."
Now to fulfill the first part of that promise slash threat (depending on your viewpoint, I guess). I just finished a Physics lab, so I may throw some math in here, but I doubt it, because I've not weighed any breasts lately, nor can I remember how to find out the volume in cm3 of boobies.
As I said, Physics lab. I am in college. Not only that, I am in college in the south. We don't have four seasons like the rest of the world, and the seasons we have don't match up with the rest of the world. We can swim in December and not be cold. January and February are generally the only cold months. Sometimes December and March, but usually just those two. As it stands, I see short shorts and cleavage pretty much ten months out of the year.
This does things to my brain that ten years of internet porn surfing have yet to rival. I see lots of boobs. Lots. All kinds. Little boobs, big boobs, medium boobs, happy boobs, and unfortunately, sad boobs. Sad boobs, for those of you keeping score, point at the floor. Generally a girl with sad boobs doesn't need a bra so long as she wears shorts with side pockets.
Despite what the internet says, most girls are not D cups or better. There are a healthy number of girls here with small breasts. I'd say half but I honestly don't keep count. Math and boobs don't mix. As long as there are an even number, that's cool with me. That's as far as the math has to go. But those girls with smaller boobs are a different post, and so we'll discard them from the pile for right now. They're like a pair of twos in Poker. They just can't beat a pair of Queens.
This requires a bit of story telling so bear with me.
Now, as I said, I have an older woman fixation at the moment. This started my first semester in college when, contrary to all logic, I had a hot teacher. I was floored. I thought she was a student at first. I've never worked so hard on grades before -- I had like a 106 average in the class -- because I was all puppy dog over her. Note for future hilarity, that once she was sitting on her desk with a skirt and I thought I could see up it, and she caught me looking. Then I find out she's married, but that's okay, I have a shovel and four acres of land in Florida. Then I find out she's recently pregnant.
Shit.
I swore off swooning for teachers at that point. And then...
Second fall semester. Another "is she a student?" moment with a teacher. A teacher who bends over. A lot. With her ass in my direction. I won't retype the history of it, but I spent the first half of the semester convinced she was hitting on me. Touching my shoulders, head (the top one, perv), leaning over my desk (and going out of her way to do so), all that. She was obviously proud of her body -- she had a pair of Queens, and an ass you could see the future in. She was, of course, married. But that's okay. I still have the shovel and four acres.
Then near the end of the semester, I find out she's recently pregnant.
Shit!
(I did the math, by the way, and it lined up about with conception occuring during the Katrina power outs. Told you there'd be math.)
Now, I'm not sure if you women are aware of this, because you can barely seem to figure out where your feet are, but when you get pregnant your breasts get bigger. It's proof that God has a sense of humor. As I said, second hot teacher liked showing off her body. She wore what I call "titty shirts" -- those beautiful, wonderful white cotton shirts that show off almost all of the breast, stopping only a few inches shy of nipplage. I don't know who designed them, but I want to have his babies (and I KNOW it was a man -- the last heterosexual fashion designer, probably).
The two combined made the next semester interesting. I didn't have her in any classes, but I did talk to her a lot. I once talked to her for two hours straight in her office, just about nothing, and I was standing up the whole time. And this was on a day when the Queens were covered. However, when she was, I don't know, maybe seven months pregnant, she was wearing said shirt. Okay, the woman was a natural D cup. And she's at the height of the swelling. And she's wearing one of those shirts. I usually glance, quickly, and look away, and usually when a woman is looking at something else.
Not that day. Oh no. Adam was focused that day. This would be the second time I was caught by a teacher looking in an inappropriate spot. She didn't make issue of it, or try and cover up or anything. Now, this teacher isn't that much older than me, so it's sort of understandable. And after that I was still considering, y'know, shovel, four acres.
The average age of my Physics lab group is brought up by a woman in the group with a son my age. She is a natural double D. She wore one of those shirts today. In fact, I think she wore the same size as the teacher did, and she had on some serious support.
And she expected me to focus on Physics? I don't think so.
At least she wasn't a teacher. (the hot teachers story doesn't end there, but the relation to boobs does)
Now, after all that, this is not the point of the post.
You women are nuts. You will wear something like that, and if I look, you will get offended. That's stupid! If I walked out with 60% of my scrote hanging out, and you looked, and I yelled at you maybe you'd see how stupid that is. If you show them off or wear a shirt with words on your tits, I am going to look. If you get mad, not only will I look, but I will masturbate thinking about you later and it will involve you taking a semen shot in each eye. Probably after being nailed in the ass, or more appropriately, being tit-fucked.
See, I fulfilled both ends of my threat.
Er, I guess guestblogging works sort of like AA meetings.
Hello, my name is Adam, and I am a complete and total misogynist. I'm also a Republican, and white, so we're like, three for three here. All I need are some white robes and a burning cross. Actually, that's not really fair, because I hate men, too. And children, and minorities, and majorities. I pretty much hate everyone, and everything, and I pretty much hate everything about everyone.
Except boobs.
Which, I guess, is why De asked me to guest blog. I like boobs. Small boobs, big boobs... mostly big boobs. Big, happy boobs. I generally blog about politics, people who irritate me, women, tennis, and of course, boobs at my home blog, My Side of the Couch. I'll leave pretty much everything else off and see how sexed up I can make De's blog before she revokes my access.
Don't worry, no penis pictures though. I don't have a wide enough lense for my camera to capture it in all of its glory. For a mental image, think of the flag painted on the NASA building in Florida. They modeled the red stripes after me.
I also have a thing for older women, which is weird because I'm generally old fashioned and want a woman who is shorter/younger/poorer than me because otherwise I'll feel inferior and my male ego will cry and be crushed. But my older women thing has really started to kick up over the last two years, which also may have something to do with De asking me to blog for her. She's not much older than me... just enough.
So hold onto your panties ladies. Otherwise you may end up like Lindsay Lohan with your meat curtains spread all over the internet.
Hey Kids.
I've been really down lately and haven't felt like blogging.
My sister was hurt really bad yesterday but I'll blog more about that later.
I just can't seem to wrap my brain around blogging right now so....I have asked my lil pedo crush, Adam, to fill in for me.
This kid is super prolific and a riot. If you're not reading his blog, you should.
I'll be back later.
