I almost want tv again.
I don’t mean fucked up as in alcohol or meth or oxycontin or glue or gold spray paint. Not that kind of fucked up. But Fucked-Up Bowling, where you put the bumpers up so you can’t get gutter balls and try to score the lowest possible score.
Lowest score wins!
I was in a Fucked-Up Bowling league shortly after I went into college. We’d go in there, four dudes with too much time on our hands and no girlfriends (obviously) and request the bumpers. The guy behind the counter who stands in front of the wall of shoes would peer over his linoleum-covered barrier for small children, see none, and be confused.
"That’s right, mister," we’d say "Give us a lane with bumpers. We’re not children, well, not physically anyway….bumpers nonetheless!"
And what you do is roll the ball down reeeeeal slow and try to knock the fewest pins over. If your ball stopped on the way down the lane and you had to go get the guy, it was counted as a strike, which, in Fucked-Up Bowling is the worse possible thing.
Jesus, we had fun. We’d drink beers and talk about life and politics and music and how we weren’t getting laid, all the while trying to bowl as shittily as possible. This was in the days before most white males in their 20s were libertarians.
What do you call a Republican who smokes pot?
Anyway, the 90s were some pretty liberal times, even for white males in their 20s. I’d contend that the 90s were just the 60s standing on its head, but I’m probably wrong.
Man, I miss those days. I miss those guys. One’s an English teacher now, one went to Alaska to live in the woods, one works at a plant installing those little plastic tips on the ends of shoelaces, and one’s me.
Who says life makes more sense the older you get?
echo5charlie asked: Tough to find some no-bullshit-not-just-pretty-imagery-and-metaphors-that-make-no-sense writing around here. Good stuff, man. So, and this is important, why ARE you a vegetarian?
For a number of reasons: I don’t trust the American meat supply. It is swimming in hormones, antibiotics, genetic engineering and god knows what else. I think factory farms are cruel. I think a diet high in meat is bad for you. Eating lots of meat feels gluttonous to me. The factory farm system is horrible for the environment. I never have especially liked meat. Meat: it’s been done to death.
It was a pleasant evening together, comfortable and familiar, like an old shoe.
"Care for some tv, my dear?" I asked.
"I wouldn’t mind."
Taking the remote from the coffee table, I fired the beast up. Television: chewing gum for the mind.
"Did I mention," I said to her, "that I added Cinemax to our viewing package?"
"No, you didn’t mention it. What, indeed, is Cinemax?"
"Apparently, it’s some sort of movie channel."
"Oh, how delightful," said she. "Let us peruse it."
I clicked over to Cinemax and there before us, for all the world to see, were two beautiful people fucking. They were doing it in the position known, in the parlance of our times, as ‘doggy style’. The buff, tattooed stud gripped the cinnamon-skinned maiden by her wonderfully ample hips while generic jazz saxophone honked in the background.
Well… I don’t mind telling you we pushed our beds together that night!
— is not a sexy attitude at all.
"So how does one become a masseur?"
"It’s an 18 week program, normally. Not that difficult. It took me almost a year to complete it, though."
"I failed the Arousal Test."
"The Arousal Test?"
"Yeah, toward the end when you’re about to graduate and get your certificate, you have to pass an Arousal Test. If you don’t pass it, no graduation, no certificate."
"What’s the Arousal Test?"
"Well, they bring in a hot guy or girl, whatever you’re normally attracted to, and you have to oil them up and massage the hell out of them. To make things tough on you, they get virtually naked too."
"Yeah, and to tell if you’re getting aroused they put this little cuff on your penis. You know, like those cuffs that test your blood pressure? Only it’s small. They wrap it around your penis and you put your sweats back on and have to massage this oily, nearly naked goddess. The cuff is hooked up to a transmitter that goes to a buzzer and if you get wood BZZZ! you fail the Arousal Test."
"That’s fucking insane."
"Anyway, I failed twice. I even appealed, claiming the cuff was nice and snug and was the thing making me horny, not the oily, nearly naked goddess I was caressing. They didn’t buy it and I had to pay for all this counselling."
"How’d you finally beat it, no pun intended?"
"Yeah, I ate all this saltpeter before going in. It gives you a seriously flat dick. It’s like the reverse of ED medication."
"This has gotta be some of the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard."
"I know, right?"
"How do they test female masseurs?"
"You mean maseuses?"
"A vaginal pellet hooked to a little wire. It measures moistness."
"What the fuck?"
For some reason over the last few days/week, I have gotten dozens and dozens of new followers. I hope you enjoy!
— what my local city council renamed our speed bumps