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Reworked from the ground up because some folks cant seem to read whats plainly in front of their face.
We are a happily married couple, Im in the fetish lifestyle, shes asexual. Im looking for a partner for fun, shes ambivalent and fully aware of who I am and what I do. She helped me set up my dungeon for Christs sake.
We are mature, financially stable, and low drama.
I am looking for a long term relationship with a female someone who enjoys TPE for a live in situation if all things click. That means we would start out as friends first.
No, I will not invite a total stranger into our home to live.
No, she doesnt want to play. If she was into the lifestyle we wouldnt be looking.
No, we dont want a submissive man. You go to bulk and get deleted unread.
Yes, we are huge nerds who are reasonably fit, fun loving, and very laid back.
Yes, we are drug and disease free, and we expect the same in return.
Either youre looking for what we have to offer, or youre not interested. If this wasnt clear and concise enough for you, please move on to the next profile, those Ugandan scammers would be happy to meet you.
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The problem with oral sex is that it’s like writing. When done right, it’s amazing, but there are just so many ways it can go wrong, and when it goes wrong, it’s just not worth it. These are some of my funnier blow job stories.
Say it, Don’t Spray it
High school was the first time I realized that blow jobs would be a painful pleasure. I was dating a girl from another school in my area. Besides being one of the hottest girls I’ve ever known, she was also one of the very first girls to give me head. We were both new at it, and she liked me to courtesy tap. This was because I had convinced her that–I’m not making this up–it wasn’t “real” oral sex as long as I didn’t come in her mouth. Aren’t 18 year old girls funny?
The first few dozen times she went down on me I courtesy tapped just like she asked. One time we were in my car, parked right out front of her house because I was dropping her off after a date. Instead of a kiss goodnight, I suggested she blow me goodnight. She thought this was a brilliant idea.
I quickly got carried away with the risk and thrill of having her suck my dick twenty yards away from her house where her father, who I hated, was waiting for her to come home. I was lost in the sexual ecstasy of the dangerous youthful blowjob when I heard her let out a little yelp. She immediately sat up, her mouth half open, full of splooge, the excess dripping off her chin, and uttered a muffled,
“You asshole!”
Then she spit the come all over my face. Sprayed it all over me.
I was still recovering from getting my own jism spat into my own face as she jumped out of my car and sprinted into her house. I quickly drove off. I had no desire to face her rifle-wielding father with my face covered in her spit and my sperm.
Once I was out of imminent danger, I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I had no idea that this would only be the first in a long line of strange blowjob incidents.
Miss Chokesondick
One girl I was dating the summer after I graduated high school, “Jayne,” had never given head before she started seeing me. Now, my experience has taught me that whenever a girl tells me she “doesn’t normally give head,” she inevitably ends up giving me an incredible blow job. It’s the ones who say they never do it that do it the best. Jayne was the exception.
She was the absolute worst I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never even heard of girls worse at fellatio than Jayne. Her teeth were all over my dick, she had no rhythm, no enthusiasm, and had a mouth that mysteriously never got moist. It was awful.
It was a month of painstaking instruction before she finally got good enough that I didn’t just stop her after 5 minutes and tell her to jerk me off–she was that bad. After another month or so, she got good enough that she could at least come close to finishing me off by herself. Here’s the weirdest part: no matter how much she improved, she never moved her head. She kept her head still and I would have to move my hips. This was annoying, but I was patient with her because she was stunningly beautiful and I was still young enough to think I was in love (this was back when I thought I actually was capable of love).
One night she was doing a pretty good job and I got very enthused with my hip thrusts when I felt a warm, wet sensation on my crotch. I was laying on my back and I looked down and saw what looked like A LOT of splooge.
This confused me because even though I was close to coming, I didn’t think I had actually achieved orgasm. The come was chunky to the touch, very dark, and much more viscous than any semen that I’ve ever seen shoot out of my dick. My first though was that I she had given me some crazy hybrid VD that made my come all thick and chunky. I dismissed that, but my mind was still racing; I couldn’t figure out what could be wrong, so I said, “What did you do to my dick?”
She looked up at me. The expression on her face immediately gave it away:
“Oh my god–did you just throw up on my dick? Did you just VOMIT ON MY FUCKING DICK?”
Yes. Yes she did.
I ended up dating her for another two years (beauty does strange things to the male mind), but she stopped going down on me and we just focused on vaginal sex from that point forward.
Bull’s-eye
The next incident was a few years later, in college, right after I had discovered the art of coming on a girls face. Even before I made the term “dotting her eyes” famous, I was a fan of the facial.
As my climax approached, I moved her onto her back and pulled out just in time, covering her face with a solid 5-roper. Being the neophyte, I had no idea how to aim, and accidentally shot the first–and strongest–rope right in her eye. As I finished and collapsed, very happy with myself and proud of my prodigious paint job, I noticed the look of agony and pain on her face.
Me “Baby, are you OK? What’s wrong?”
Girl “I…I can’t see…Jesus, it hurts…it’s burning.”
I helped her scoop most of it out of her eye socket and, both of us still naked and sweaty, I led her into the bathroom where she washed her eye out for a good five minutes.
Apparently semen does not agree with the eye. I called her “Red Eye” for the next few hours, until she got mad and refused to ever give me head again. Then I apologized profusely. She forgave me until she realized that she had ejaculate in her hair and had to wash it twice to get it all out. Needless to say, there were no more facials for her. After that, she swallowed every bit of my seed like a nun taking communion.
The Phantom Menace
One time when I was visiting some friends and family in DC, I went out drinking and ended up going home with a girl. I’ll be honest: this girl was not attractive. But she was into me, and she was there, and perhaps most importantly–she just gave off a blowjob vibe. You know the type; they aren’t good looking or exceptional in any way, but they just give off a look that says “I suck dick like I made it up.’
I was pretty drunk when we got back to her place, but that didn’t seem to faze her. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom. She grabbed me right as we came in the door, undid my pants as she pushed me onto her white sofa and knelt on the ground in front of me, working me right there in her living room.
My god was I right: She blew me away, literally and figuratively. She must have spent at least 20 minutes fellating me, never once taking her mouth off my penis, slurping at the exact right moments in the exact right places. She was so good my ankles even started sweating. God bless whoever taught her.
As soon as she finished, she went to the bathroom to wash out her mouth (she’s one of those), and I stood up to rifle through my pants pocket and get a condom when I saw the sofa: there was a HUGE skid mark prominently displayed on her WHITE sofa.
I laughed at first. Then I remembered that she drove me to her place…and she lived a good 30 minutes away from where I was staying. As the thought of having to hitchhike 45 miles walked through my mind, she appeared out of the bathroom. Fuck.
Thinking fast, I put my pants on the sofa and romantically whisked her into her bedroom, where I had to fuck her at least 3 or 4 times to get to go to sleep. Once she was safely out, I snuck out of her room and flipped the cushion.
I wonder if she ever found that stain.
Blowjob Betty
Those incidents were from back when I was young and cared about things like feelings and emotions. As I grew older and my soul became jaded, I realized that I could be an asshole and get away with it, so I became more risky with my blowjob activities.
One time I was with a girl, we’ll call her “Betty.” She lived in a house with three other girls, but they were all out, so we hooked up in her living room. Betty was a master of her craft, and especially loved going down on me. She was hitting the crescendo of her well-conducted symphony of knob-slobbing, but right before I felt myself let loose into her mouth, the door to her house opened.
Her roommate was barely inside when she saw Betty on her knees sucking me off like she was auditioning for a porn movie. Betty, lips still wrapped firmly around my penis, hand wrapped around my shaft, heard the noise and looked up. Momentarily the eyes of the two roommates locked, one walking in the door, the other with my dick in her mouth. At that exact moment in time, two things happened simultaneously:
-I shot my load into Betty’s mouth.
-The roommate screamed and ran back out the door.
I had not come for about three days before this encounter (that is a whole other story), and thus I had a Peter North sized 8-roper waiting for her. This did not sit well with Betty, especially because she was not expecting it.
Betty tried to take the porn star load, but it was just too much. She was not ready and still trying to process the fact that her roommate saw her sucking dick, so she started choking. Not coughing or a slight choke–the bitch was turning red and dying right in front of me, with my seed as the instrument of death.
I was unsure what to do; I’d never seen a girl choke on dick before. I thought that only happened in rap songs.
After about five seconds of watching her retch, the words from the Too Short song “Blowjob Betty” rang through my head, “A young girl died just last night, she choked on sperm in her windpipe…,” so I did the only thing I could think of: I gave her the Heimlich Maneuver.
I grabbed her around her chest just below her breasts and pulled my fists into her ribcage with all my force. After about three times she heaved, coughed my splooge all over her couch and started yelling at me, “STOP IT! [cough] YOU’RE HURTING ME! [cough] STOP ASSHOLE!”
I ended up having to take her to the hospital. Not for asphyxiation–she wasn’t choking after all, the come just surprised her and got in her nose. Nope…in my enthusiasm to save her life, I had succeeded in breaking one of her ribs. The highlight of the night was at the ER when the doctor told me that I did a very good job with the Heimlich. Apparently, you’re actually supposed to break a rib if you do it right.
We never could get the old magic back after that night. It might have been because she couldn’t take a deep breath for two months.
A Satisfying Meal
My personal favorite blowjob story happened with a girl I hooked up with only once. I met her in some city, out at some bar, on some night–I barely even remember what she looked like (thank you, Dollar Beer Night). I am pretty sure she was engaged, but it wasn’t to any of my friends, so I didn’t care.
The girl did a pretty decent job sucking me off, especially considering how much I drank, and I finished in her mouth. Like a pro, she kept her lips wrapped around my dick till it was dry, but when she came up, there was a strange look on her face. She contorted her expression a little, opened her mouth like she was going to vomit, which of course made me pull back quickly, then all of the sudden:
“BUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP!”
The girl belched like a drunken sailor–OFF OF MY COME!
I couldn’t stop laughing. Easily the proudest moment of my life.
Friendly Fire
These are funny, but karma being the bitch that she is, my activities eventually caught up with me.
The summer before I started law school, I was seeing a girl in Miami named “Courtney.”
She was incredibly hot–one of those girls you have a physical reaction too as soon as you see her.
One time we were fucking doggy style, incredible sex, and right as I was about to come I pulled back too far and my dick came out. I didn’t realize it, and as I thrust forward again, instead of going back into her vagina my dick stuck in her ass crack (NOT into her asshole, but her crack, between her butt cheeks, like a hot dog…sort of).
I was leaning over her, my face right above the back of her head, and I looked down at my dick right as I hit climax…and shot nut INTO MY OWN EYE.
A direct hit, right into my wide-open eye. I didn’t even see it coming…literally.
Almost immediately, I developed a personal appreciation for how much come stings. That shit BURNED. It took me a minute to wash it out, but the sting, and the redness, stayed for a good 4 or 5 hours.
Fuck you karma. |
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Appendix A: Hilarity did not ensue.
This is the story of my ruptured appendix and the subsequent trips to the hospital to try and fix it.
On the Friday morning that MTV was in Chicago filming me, around 4am, my appendix ruptured. The pain was so intense it woke me from my sleep. It felt like my lower right abdomen had been stabbed with a rusty serrated kitchen knife and twisted around in my gut.
I’m not sure how many Motrin I took, but it was well above the recommended dosage. If by “well above” I mean “half the bottle.” For the rest of the time MTV filmed me, about 2 more days, I was in such incredible pain I nearly finished a bottle of Motrin. There are 100 to a bottle-kids, don’t try this at home.
At the behest of my friends, many of them doctors, I decided to go to the ER. This decision was sealed by my conversation with Andrew, a surgery resident, “Dude, you could be in real trouble. You shouldn’t play around with internal injuries. You need to go to the hospital. Like drop what you’re doing and go immediately.” That was at 11pm on Sunday night, and I went to ER right away.
I arrived at Cook County Hospital, parked my car and got in line to register at the desk. Right before the triage nurse got to me, a screaming ambulance pulled up and unloaded a bleeding gunshot victim. I am not sure how many times he was shot, but I saw at least three holes. They even had to call a janitor to come wash blood off the floor.
At this scene, the triage nurse didn’t even look up, and handed me my number. It is–I swear to god–187. I looked at my number, watched the paramedic disappear down the hallway with the low-rent Tupac, and walked right out the door. No fucking way. I don’t believe in the supernatural and I’m not even the least bit superstitious, but some signs should not be ignored.
I was in agony all day the next day. I was laying on my sofa at around 10pm when a tsunami of agony crashed over me. Nothing I’ve ever experienced prepared me for this pain. I have broken an arm, some ribs and a hand, torn a rotator cuff, hyper-extended both knees, severely sprained both ankles, popped an eardrum, torn off finger nails, stepped on carpenter nails, had a planar wart, etc, etc, so I thought I had experienced a wide and representative spectrum of pain. I was wrong.
It was so crippling it took every bit of courage I had to reach from the sofa to the table, pick up my phone, and call TheRoommate. He was in his bedroom.
Roommate “Why are you calling me from the living room?”
Me [barely audible whisper] “…hospital…”
Roommate “Oh shit! OK, OK, hold on!”
By the time we got to Cook County I was almost in shock the pain was so bad. A nurse rolled a wheel chair out to the car, brought me straight into the triage room and was about to take me back to the ER, when another nurse told her to instead take me to the nurses station to take my blood pressure and temperature.
On the way there she bumped me into every single chair, wall and assorted encumbrance along the way. I groaned in pain at every nudge, each rattling my appendix at what felt like an 8 on the Richter scale. We got to the nurses’ station where the nurse, who was Asian and spoke a sort of broken ghetto English, put me in line behind 6 people.
I gaze at these people, and none seem to have critical, life-threatening internal injuries. This infuriated me. A rush of adrenalin enabled me to muster a voice loud enough to completely silence the entire front of the Cook County Emergency Room:
Me “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WHY AM I HERE? MY FUCKING APPENDIX EXPLODED AND YOU WANT ME TO WAIT BEHIND SLAPPY AND HIS IN-GROWN TOENAIL?”
Nurse “You’re in pain?”
Me [This question inspires such utter disbelief I can only resort to my basest reaction] “ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?”
Nurse [Remember, this is in broken ghetto Asian] “HEY–You don got to be rude. I’n just try-ing to hep you. You don got to disrespect. How much it hurt?”
Me “MY APPENDIX EXPLODED–MY FUCKING STOMACH FEELS LIKE SOMEONE FUCKING STABBED ME. HOW WOULD LIKE IT IF SOMEONE STUCK A KNIFE IN YOUR STOMACH? YOU WOULDN’T BE IN A GOOD MOOD EITHER, MAMA-SON.”
Nurse “YOU GONNA STAB ME? [Turns to other nurses] “HEY SHANDA, HE TELL ME HE GONNA STAB ME!”
Nurse 2 [Comes over to investigate] “You say you gonna stab her?”
Me [I try to be calm about this] “I didn’t say I was going to stab her I was describing what my pain was like.”
Nurse “HE SAY HE GONNA STAB ME. HE SAY HE GONNA STICK KNIFE IN MY STOMACH.”
Me [And there goes my patience] “I DIDN’T FUCKING SAY I WAS GONNA STAB YOU. LEARN TO SPEAK ENGLISH GODDAMNIT! I WAS DESCRIBING MY PAIN YOU IDIOT!”
Nurse “HE CALL ME IDIOT TOO!”
Nurse2 “Sir, you need to be respectful or we are going to call the police, and you–”
This was my breaking point. I just turned and started rolling my wheel chair towards the ER. The pain was still intense but my adrenaline is so high I was able to manage it. I guess the nurses decide to go along because the ghetto Asian started pushing me towards the ER. She lectured me the whole way to the ER about respect, telling everyone she saw how I threatened to stab her.
We got to the actual ER area and she rolled me into one of the triage rooms and handed me off to an ER nurse.
ER Nurse “So what’s his problem?”
Nurse “He call me idiot and say he gonna stab me.”
ER Nurse [Turns to me] “Did you threaten to stab her?”
Me “What? My fucking appendix burst.”
Nurse “He say he gonna stick a knife in my stomach.”
ER Nurse “Did you say you were going to stick a knife in her stomach?”
Me [I am wincing in pain through this whole thing] “What? What is this? NO! She asked me what my pain felt like and I said it felt like I got stabbed. I’M THE ONE IN PAIN!”
They laid me on a gurney and instead of attending to me and my pain, continued discussing my abusive and threatening behavior. Honestly, does anything ever go normally for me?
Two doctors arrived almost immediately, a male attending and a female resident. They questioned me, poked my abdomen, etc, when the male doctor asked me to roll onto my side:
Me “Roll on my side? What for?”
Doctor “I need to check your prostate.”
Me “WHAT?????? WITH YOUR HAND??
Doctor “Yes.”
Me “IN MY BUTT??”
Doctor “I have to, you may have serious colon or prostate problems, and the only way to check those is by hand.”
Me “Well this is just FUCKING GREAT.”
As he put on a rubber glove, the female resident was snickering at my comments, even though I was not finding them very funny at the moment. He turned to her and pointed for her to go on the outside of the curtain. I interrupt:
Me “Actually, doctor, can she do it? If I’m going to have fingers up my ass, I’d rather have them be female. You know–they’re smaller, more petite…you know…less gay.
He was completely taken aback at this request. The shock was evident on his face, and for a second I even thought he would agree to it,
Doctor “No. Sorry.”
Me “Well, she can stay anyway. Fuck it. Might as well invite everyone to my party.”
I didn’t need this. I really didn’t fucking need this. I couldn’t stop thinking, especially as he wiggled two fingers into my anal cavity and pressed them against my prostate, about how I’ll have to change the part in The Most Disturbing Conversation Ever story about my anal virginity.
The ER doctors eventually decided that I had a burst appendix and needed to get prepped for surgery. Never could I have imagined that the words, “prep him for surgery” would have such horrific consequences.
A male Hispanic nurse began prepping me. He took off my clothes, put me in a hospital gown, took various measurements like blood pressure and what not, hooked me up to an IV needle that was only slightly smaller in diameter than PVC pipe, and refused to give me any painkillers, because he said that they might affect the anesthesia.
At this point, I thought it couldn’t get any worse. My appendix was absolutely killing me, I had no painkillers, there were numerous needles stuck in me, my ass was still greasy from some guy putting his KY covered fingers in my rectum, some guy was undressing me–really–what the fuck else could go wrong?
The nurse told me to pull my gown off my crotch and took out a long tube. It is called a Foley Catheter, and it is used to drain your bladder when it is not under your control, either because you are unconscious (for surgery) or cannot control it yourself (paralyzation). I measured it later, and it is exactly 16 inches long.
I took one look at that garden hose he was holding and my heart stopped. I’d rather get fucked in the ass with a telephone pole then take that thing up my urethra. I have heard absolute horror tales about what that thing feels like going up your dick.
Me “No, no, no-You aren’t putting that thing in my dick are you? Please god in heaven tell me no.”
Nurse “Yeah, man. Got to–It’s how you piss when you’re in surgery.”
I didn’t even have it in me to put up a fight. I was too scared. I just grabbed the side rails of the gurney and held the fuck on. This is an approximation of my reaction:
“AAAAAAAAAAAHRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA”
It went on like that for a few seconds. When the blaze of anguish stopped, I wiped the forming tears from my eyes and looked down, expecting to see a yellow tube sticking out from my penis.
Me “What the fuck? Hey man–where is it?”
Nurse “That one was too big, I’m gonna have to go with a 16 gauge instead of a 14.”
This did not please me, and I expressed my feelings with a string of furious profanity such as would make a longshoreman proud. He eventually got the second one into my urethra, and I wasn’t thinking about my abdominal pain anymore. I never really understood the phrase “pissing out razor blades” until this experience. The act of inserting that firehose into my penis was so horribly painful it made me forget what was, to that point, the worst pain of my life. Even writing this is making my dick hurt. Or maybe that’s the herpes. Who knows?
I laid there for another few hours, without painkillers, waiting to get a CatScan. Every time I moved the catheter shifted (it was taped to my leg) resulting in a whole new wave of pain and misery. The strangest thing about the catheter was that the collection bag was laying right there on the bed next to me. I watched it fill up with dark yellow urine, yet couldn’t control or feel the flow. It was weird. But it felt warm against my leg, which was nice.
Right before the CatScan, one of the nurses handed me a huge tube of liquid and told me to drink it. I had no idea what it was, but the label didn’t sound appetizing:
Me “Barium Sulfate?”
Nurse “It’s an imaging agent. It’s so the CatScan can get a map of your intestines.”
They might was well call it Cum in a Bottle. It was white, cloudy and viscous, with a disturbing salty taste. You know what it tasted like? You know when a girl goes down on you and swallows, and then comes up and wants to kiss you? You try to avoid the kiss but if she is persistent there is nothing you can do so you give her a little peck. You know that taste on your lips right after? Hello Barium Sulfate.
This was very nearly my breaking point, “This tastes like semen. Haven’t you people humiliated me enough? Should I just dump this on my face so you can get some Bukkake shots for the Cook County website. Would that make you happy?”
I eventually got the CatScan and waited another hour or so for the consult with the surgeon. She looked at the pics and decided they weren’t going to operate on me, because my appendix had not burst but rather had ruptured, and a leaking abscess had formed on it. This meant that there was a huge pocket of puss around that section of my colon and they couldn’t operate without having to do an entire colonectomy. The ensuing conversation was alarming, even to me:
Doctor “When did the pain start?”
Me “About a week ago.”
Doctor “A week! Why did you wait so long to come in?”
Me “I don’t know…MTV was filming me.”
Doctor “MTV was filming you?”
Me “It would take too long to explain.”
Doctor “So you just endured the pain?”
Me “Yeah, pretty much. Motrin helped. And lots of alcohol.”
Doctor “Hmph. Well, just so you know, you could very easily have died. As it stands, you are going to be fine, but you were about 2 days away from sepsis setting in and killing you. That was stupid of you to wait this long.”
Me “Yeah, I’m not very smart.”
The same male Hispanic nurse came in to de-prep me and get me ready for transport to my room. One of the de-prepping activities was too take out the catheter. The removal hurt, but nothing like the entry. After he pulled it out this nasty thick yellow discharge followed it out.
Me “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? DID YOU GIVE ME THE CLAP?
Nurse “Yeah, you got the clap from a sterile catheter. It’s just dehydrated urine. You’re fine.”
Me “Whatever. Dick. You ever have one of those in you?”
Nurse “No. But I’ll tell you what-I’ve inserted hundreds of those and I’ve never seen anyone scream like more of a bitch than you.”
Me “So now you’re the fucking comedian? Hey Paul Rodriguez-I swear to god, you better not be around when they discharge me. I’ll find you, and broke appendix or not, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”
Nurse “Whatever. You’ll just scream like a bitch.”
Had I been able to stand, I think he and I would have fought.
Right after this little spat, another nurse came in and shot like 15cc’s of morphine into my IV. WOW-I can see why that shit is addictive. I could literally feel the drug course through my veins and almost instantaneously a flowery opiate-induced calm came over me. I went from angry pain to ethereal joy in about 2 minutes. I even apologized to the Hispanic nurse the next time I saw him.
[Side note about morphine: Everyone who called me or saw me over the next two days when I was in the hospital can attest to the fact that I was the nicest they have ever heard me. If I could find a drug that gave me that feeling on a regular basis, I would be an addict, and happy about it. The funny thing was, I now know what it means when heroin users talk about “chasing the dragon.” In only a day the normal dosage of that stuff was not enough. I was asking for more and more, pushing that call button like it brought me a fat-titted hooker carrying a plate of juicy pork ribs, screaming at the nurses if they didn’t get it to me fast enough. They had to switch me to codeine, which is apparently easier to stop taking. I have what’s called an “addictive personality.”]
Once I was fully de-prepped, they wheeled me up to my room. I was put in a room with another person, but it was dark when I got there, and I was so flush with morphine I ignored my roommate and went to sleep.
I woke up to quite the scene. And smell. There were two large black nurses holding my roommate up while they cleaned shit out from under him and changed his sheets. They were not happy:
Nurse1 “Why you keep shitting like this?”
Nurse2 “It’s something he ate. What you eat?”
The guy pointed to some Fritos laying on the table.
Nurse2 “No, it ain’t no Fritos.”
He pointed to a Pepsi.
Nurse2 “No, it ain’t no goddamn Pepsi neither. It must be them damn carrots, because you straight up lettin’ out vegetation.”
They eventually got him cleaned up and left. I looked him over, and the sight was not pretty. He was black, anywhere from 40 to 50 years of age, Tracey Gold skinny, and had half of his head shaved. He didn’t seem to be able to use his right side, and did everything with his left hand. He saw me looking at him and nodded his head at me in a “what up” manner. I responded, and said, “What’s up man? Having a tough day?”
He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, each time letting out little grunts. Eventually, with much effort, he got a slurred, “Yeah” out. Shaved head, can’t talk, can only move his left side–he either had a stroke or a brain tumor.
He and I talked for awhile, and I eventually learned how to interpret at least some of his affected stroke speech. We were talking about something when a girl I know called my room. I told her where I was and she said she was coming over. My roommate was listening to the conversation and waved at me to get my attention, then pulled his sheet up over his crotch, tenting it, and clearly said, “Me…too” I laughed and told her to bring a friend for my crippled roommate.
Later that day his speech therapist came in, and she was pretty hot. She said, “Hello Randolph, how are you today?”
This cracked me up, “Your name is Randolph? RANDOPLH! Your nickname is Ray-Ray, isn’t it!?!” Ray-Ray started laughing along with me, and this thoroughly confused the speech therapist.
By this time I was fairly proficient in interpreting Ray-Ray’s stroke grunts, and I spent the half hour telling her what he was saying, hitting on her and making fun of her,
Me “You’re a speech therapist and you can’t understand your own patient? Did you get your degree in the mail? Is there a picture of Sally Struthers on your diploma?”
As she leaves, we have this exchange:
Me “So, you’re pretty hot, can I get your number?”
Therapist “Sorry, no-I wouldn’t give you my zip code.”
Me “Nice. That’s cool, because I’d rather be deaf than listen to you for another second.”
Ray-Ray was nearly in tears laughing at this scene. He eventually got this out, “We…we…we…make…a good team.”
Watching him eat his lunch really made me empathize with the poor guy. Every time he tried to eat, he would put the food in the left side of his mouth, and then half of it would spill out the right side. He had no feeling on that side of his face, or his entire right side, so he really had no idea what was happening.
On one level it was funny, because there was this guy dumping half his food out of his mouth without knowing it, but on another level it was very depressing, as he seemed like a really good guy that was suffering through a horrible fate.
He was so skinny, presumably from months of inactivity and confinement to his bed, that over the next few days I gave him all of my hospital meals. Granted, it was empathetic on some level, but believe me, it was no fucking loss for me. Every stereotype you’ve ever heard about hospital food is true. I would have rather eaten medical waste than the shit they served us. Though Ray-Ray loved it. I guess brain injuries make you hungry.
Later that night Stydie and Laura stopped by with, of all things, Harolds Chicken. I don’t think I have ever been so fucking happy to see Stydie, as Harold’s is nearly my favorite food on earth. That shit stunk up my entire wing of the hospital, but I devoured it without compunction.
After Stydie and Laura left another girl came to visit me. She brought me a Playboy, and I gave that to Ray-Ray to look at while she and I, well, did things I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I believe the term “medicinal head” should be added to the medical lexicon, because I know I felt better.
I heard Ray-Ray hit his nurse call button, and then a very familiar smell permeated the room. Though my curtain was pulled, I heard them clearly:
Nurse “Oh look–you done shit yourself again.”
Ray-Ray “I…I…”
Nurse “You eating Fritos in bed again? Why you eaten Fritos in da bed? Can’t you get none in your mouff?”
[The girl and I were laughing at this exchange, and we could hear her moving Ray-Ray to another gurney]
Nurse “Goddammit. I told you to stop eating that damn candy. Look at this bed.”
Ray-Ray “I…I…I want…”
Nurse “Shut up!”
The girl who came to see me left halfway through this because we were done, she had to get home to her boyfriend, and the smell was oppressive. After she left and the nurse got everything back to normal, Ray-Ray looked over at me and said:
Ray-Ray “I…I…I…ruined…your date.”
Me “No man, it’s cool, she was done anyway.”
Ray-Ray [He laughed for awhile before he got this out] “You…you…alright…man.”
The Playboy was a pretty good one (the one with the Latin TV stars), and I enjoyed it for our remaining day and a half together. When I was leaving I asked Ray-Ray if he wanted to keep the Playboy. He shook his head yes, and said,
“I…I…I gonna need it.” |
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There is nothing sadder than a fat chick with small tits. It's like you lost every draw of the genetic lotto. |
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Date Application
Your name:
Your email:
Your age:
Your sex: Female (This is non-negotiable. Sorry.)
Your occupation:
Where are you from?:
Where do you live now?:
Highest level of education completed/currently working towards:
- high school diploma
- high school equivalency (GED)
- associates degree
- bachelors degree
- master’s degree
- MBA/JD
- Ph.D./MD/DMD
- I go to the Vo-Tech, climb under a car, and sleep all day
- Jay Truck Driving School
- what’s edumacation?
- “When I grow up, I’m going to Bovine University!”
How did you find this page?:
- Accidentally
- Yahoo/Google
- A friend told me
- An enemy told me
- You told me about your stupid page
- I can smell your desperation from here
- A scorching case of herpes led me here
- God hates me
- Blind hogs eventually find acorns
- “I fell off the jungle gym and woke up in here.”
Why are you filling out this form?:
- I want to ask you out. HA!
- No, seriously, I really do want to ask you out
- I don’t want to go on a date with you, but I do want to buy you lots drinks and watch the train wreck develop
- I’m putting in fake info to fuck with you
- I’m horribly desperate for anything male, and you fit the bill
- This is the final stage in a destructive spiral of self-loathing and despair
- It’s either this or jail time
- This is helping me stop masturbating so much
- I hate your fucking guts
- “It says ‘I choo-choo-choose you,’ and it has a picture of a train.”
Why do you think you want to go out on a date with me?:
- Because I want to go on a date with you.
- Do I need a reason? Isn’t is axiomatic?
- I want to hitch my wagon to your star, and this is Step 1.
- You seem interesting
- I think you’d be fun to get drunk with
- I want to end up in one of your stories or future books
- I feel strangely attracted to you
- I hate myself
- I’m one of those people who can’t divert their eyes from accident scenes, and you have that same effect on me
- I think your caustic and sarcastic exterior belies a sweet and caring inner self
- I want to give my VD to someone else before I die
- No, really, I enjoy having guys use me and treat me like shit
- “Which one is oral?”
What is it that you find most attractive about me?:
- Your caustic wit and ambitious verve
- Your cute face and hot body
- Your caustic wit and ambitious verve
- Your constant use of foul, discourteous language
- The way you show no regard for the feelings of others
- The way your immense ego blocks out any real emotional depth
- You make me laugh
- Your single-minded obsession with all things Me
- I like how you never use deodorant. Your pheromones are too sexy to cover up
- I don’t like myself, and I’m hoping you’ll treat me like a used-up stripper
- Everything
- “You’re deceptive.”
When would you like to go out with me?:
- Whenever
- When you are available
- Hey, we’re on my schedule here, Date Boy
- When your heart stops
- As soon as I finish gnawing off my left leg
- When I get over my herpes and pink eye
- After I suck off a Great Dane
- How about never? Is never good for you?
- “This is my sandbox, but I’m not allowed to go in the deep end.”
How would you rate yourself in terms of your physical attractiveness?:
- I’m not very attractive
- I’m cute
- I’m cute enough for you, assface
- I’m hot
- If you like morbidly obese, cross-eyed fat girls, you’ll LOVE me
- I’m a butter face
- I’m a Chicago girl (it means you have a hot face and a fat ass…and don’t email me pissed about this. You don’t think that 80% of cute women in Chicago fit this deion? Ask any guy you know living in Chicago. If he’s honest, he’ll tell you the same thing. I blame the long winters. Why work out if bikini weather is only 4 months?)
- The kids at school used to call out “Baaaby Ruuth” when I would walk by
- No, really, I don’t think you understand: I am UG-LY
- “Daddy says I’m ‘this close’ to living in the yard!”
How would you rate yourself in terms of your intelligence?:
- I can read enough to answer this
- I’m average
- I’m smart enough to get your stupid jokes
- I’m a fucking genius
- I can bend things with my mind
- I’m dumber than week-old bat shit
- Who are you to question the intelligence of anyone else? Have you seen your webpage, idiot?
- I like to use lots of exclamation points in my emails!!!! Yippee!!!
- “Me fail English? That’s unpossible.”
How would you rate yourself in terms of your emotional maturity and stability?:
- I’m about average
- I’m pretty sane, but have some minor insecurities and peculiarities, just like everyone
- I’m very emotionally stable
- I am a rock
- I’m loonier than a shit-house rat
- I claw at my eyes, trying to get the demons out
- The doctor says he can’t increase my preions anymore or he’d get in trouble
- Sometimes, the restraints chafe my wrists. Then the festering starts
- Why do you ask?!? Do you know something!?!? Who have you been talking too?!?
- They mostly come at night. Mostly
- “That’s where I saw the Leprechaun. He tells me to burn things.”
What is your most defining feature or characteristic?:
- My beautiful eyes
- My sharp wit
- My compassionate nature
- My incredible intelligence
- My huge breasts
- I have the ass of a 12 year-old girl
- My cottage cheese thighs
- My sphincter can break a beer bottle
- My matted pubic hair
- My charming autism
- My colostomy bag
- My willingness to use sex to get what I want
- My perfect landing strip
- “The tar fumes are making me dizzy.”
What would you expect me to bring?:
- Cheap flowers
- Expensive champagne
- Your A game
- I like shiny things
- A unquenchable libido
- Astroglide
- A shoehorn
- Amniotic dysentery
- A small, hairless Asian boy
- Your enema bag collection
- “And I want a bike and a monkey and a friend for the monkey.”
What will I do when I see you?:
- smile
- drool
- start jumping up and down yelling “UH, UH, UH”
- pretend I’m someone else
- feign epilepsy
- vomit uncontrollably
- curse the anonymity of the Internet
- run like a track star
- run like a crack fiend
- “I can’t breathe good and it’s making me sleepy.”
What will my friends say when they see you?:
- “Wow, He’s really lucky. I wish I was him.”
- “Another tall, hot blonde with no self-esteem–he’s getting laid tonight.”
- “She’s the hottest thing since nuclear fusion.”
- “Tonight’s forecast calls for scattered clothes, with a significant chance of intense, passionate humping.”
- “My Lord–she smells like the fish market.”
- “Well, she’s too ugly for him to date…$10 says he sleeps with her anyway.”
- “I wouldn’t call her fat, but he’s gonna need the Jaws of Life to get out of this.”
- “Oh shit…somebody call 911.”
- “She’s just an expensive escort. I wonder how much money she cost him.”
- “She’s just a cheap hooker. I wonder how much smack she cost him.”
- “Should have been a blow job.”
- “Her shade of lipstick looks like the color you’d find at the base of a penis.”
- “Look at her…did she just get released from a methadone clinic?”
- “Her face looks like it caught on fire and someone beat it out with a rake.”
- Do your friends control your love life, you pussy?
- “Daddy, I’m scared, too scared to even wet my pants.”
What should I wear?:
- Something that says “derelict frat boy,” like khakis, a button down and a ratty hat
- Something that says “I’m a rich, arrogant lawyer”, like a navy Hugo Boss suit and Hermes tie
- Something that says “I’m Euro-trash, but at least I look good,” like black Armani pants and a tight Zegna shirt
- Something that says “I ain’t got me no money,” like a burlap sack
- Something that says “I’ve been on Cops,” like boxer shorts and a stained wife-beater
- Something that says “ethnic,” like a dashiki and a fez
- Something that says “I really don’t care”, like flip-flops, old jeans and logo t-shirt
- Something that says “ghetto fabulous,” like a Fubu jersey and Karl Kani jeans
- Something that says “retro Miami Vice,” like a peach colored polo shirt and white suit
- Something that says “I shop at thrift stores,” like Dickie’s and a mechanic’s shirt
- Something that says “1993 Jodeci video”, like a hot pink tank top and spandex shorts
- Something that says “hip Militia Man”, like a Patagonia fleece over Kevlar body armor
- Whatever you have that’s clean
- Surprise me
- Nothing at all
- “Daddy, these rubber pants are hot.”
What will we do on our first date?:
- Go to dinner and a movie
- Mock those less fortunate than us
- Argue, yell and possibly even fight
- Fuck. What else would we do?
- Try to cripple children
- Go to a gentlemen’s club and try and pick up a stripper
- Get absolutely shit-housed, fucked-in-half, retarded drunk
- Go to a gun range
- Get absolutely shit-housed, fucked-in-half, retarded drunk and go to a gun range with a stripper we picked up at a gentlemen’s club (…my personal choice)
- Felch each other (…decidedly not my choice)
- All of the above
- None of the above
- Some strange combination of the above
- “Will you cook my dinner for me? My parents aren’t around and I’m not allowed to turn on the stove.”
What type of food will we eat, assuming we go to dinner?:
- Italian
- Chinese
- American
- Southwestern
- Vegan (yeah…have fun eating alone)
- Light post-coital snack
- Chick-fil-a
- Who needs to eat if liquor is available?
- I don’t eat–I’m a smack addict
- Whatever we find in the dumpster
- Nothing, I’m already too fat as it is
- “My cat’s breath smells like cat food.”
What will we drink? (we will be drinking…or at least I’ll be drinking):
- champagne
- beer
- liquor
- fine malt liquor
- wine
- wine in a box
- fine apple wine
- whatever is cheapest
- whatever we can steal from homeless people
- whatever we can make in your bathtub
- I prefer hard drugs, thank you
- “They taste like…burning!”
How much does it take to get you drunk?:
- The smell of alcohol
- A few beers
- A few glasses of wine
- A six-pack
- A six-pack of Ripple
- I can out drink a Wahoo
- I can out drink an Irish Catholic
- Ever heard of Motley Crue? I taught them how to party.
- “My parent’s won’t let me use scissors.”
What will we talk about on our date?:
- Me
- You
- Sex
- Sex in public places
- Butt sex
- The sexual foibles of ex’s
- The etiquette of group sex
- What that slut at the next table is wearing
- How our parents fucked us up beyond all repair
- How much everyone around us sucks
- The epistemological and metaphysical implications of superstring theory
- The epistemological and metaphysical implications of us having sex
- The Iron Chef
- Whether or not Scooby Doo is in fact a metaphor for hallucinogenic drug use
- This web site
- Flannery O’Connor’s use of symbolism
- Herman Melville’s use of metaphor
- Ron Jeremy’s use of irony
- Lots of different things
- “Then, the doctor told me that BOTH my eyes were lazy! And that’s why it was the best summer ever.”
I should compliment you by saying:
- “You have incredible eyes.”
- “That is the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.”
- “You are a very cool person.”
- “Are you gonna finish that? Cause if not…”
- “You’re ugly, but you intrigue me.”
- “If you didn’t have such fat legs, you could be a model.”
- “You know, they can fix your cleft lip. Modern medicine has come a long way from the days of just throwing people like you in with the livestock.”
- “Good lord…was anyone else hurt in the accident?”
- “That tumor on your forehead really brings out the brown in your eyes.”
- “That’s the same perfume they put on my grandmother at her wake.”
- “Did you fart? You farted, didn’t you?”
- “I’d club a baby seal to get a second date with you.”
- “I had no idea a woman could have such a large ass paired with such small breasts.”
- “Can I pee on you?”
- “You don’t sweat much for a fattie.”
- “You should be on TV. They use plain looking women too.”
- “Your toys are fun to touch. Mine are all sticky.”
Finish this sentence: “I like a man that…
- respects me.”
- worships me.”
- deifies me.”
- likes me more than a sharp stick in the eye.”
- treats me like shit.” (be honest…)
- likes to hurt small animals.”
- has spent a healthy amount of time in a maximum-security federal prison.”
- is uglier than me.”
- is uglier than Lyle Lovett.”
- is dumber than me.”
- is dumber than Dan Quayle.”
- makes toy cars out of his poop.”
- won’t make fun of my club foot.”
- “You look like my mommy after she drinks her box of wine.”
What will we do after dinner?:
- Have coffee and dessert
- Run out on the bill
- Go dancing
- Go to hell
- Have a long and meaningful conversation
- Throw the dishes on the floor and fuck on the table
- Go somewhere to be alone, but just cuddle
- Point out each others shortcomings (my personal choice)
- Groping and pawing
- Why do I have to make all the decisions? I thought you were a fucking man!
- “Help! She’s touching my special area!”
How will the date end?:
- Unpleasantly
- An awkward silence
- A noncommital hug
- A sweet, tender kiss
- Passionate, unbridled, hanging from the chandelier, sex
- Us planning for another date
- Me pouring my heart out to you while you record it to put on your website
- Me cursing you abusively from the safety of my porch
- Me calling the cops to get you out of my house
- You throwing flaming bags of dog poop at my porch
- A nonspecific burning sensation
- One of us waking up in jail without our shoe laces
- “Oh boy sleep! That’s where I’m a Viking!”
If you made it this far, I’m sure you have something to say. If you want me to email you back, you need to write something here. Preferably something funny, intelligent, witty, etc.:
BONUS QUESTION:
The last option in every category is a quote from a famous television character. Name this character, and you will receive the fame and adoration of the people.
His name:
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| Age: 28 |
| Utrecht,
Netherlands |
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