“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: February 25, 2007

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Ok, couple things.

First, I managed to get the archive to work, so now anyone who is so inclined can go back and read the last three years of crap that I've flung at the internet.

Second, I recieved my first Social Security Disability check yesterday. Just a few days short of THREE YEARS after I applied.

Fucking government.

It wasn't the big check, only a few hundred dollars, but at least it's finally getting here. So I'll have to wait till next month to go to the strip club, but you bet your ass I'm going. And I'm going to use the ATM in the damn strip club to get my fucking money so the goddamn government knows exactly where I am and where I'm stuffing the money they had to fork over.

Eat that ya bastards!

Of course, since I announced a few posts ago that I planned to go to the strip club several concerned readers (women) have voiced some concern. Most notable amongst them being the love of my life, or at least the crotchular region of my pants area, Mistress Victoria. Not that she's against strip clubs, quite the contrary, she just has a rather low opinion of the quality of anything in the Parkersburg area. You can hardly blame her though, she did live here for more than a few years and thereby she comes by it honestly.

So I put it to you simply, any woman reading this that doesn't like the thought of me celebrating no less than two major milestones on the road to getting my life back after five years of hospitals and surgery and waiting... well, you're welcome to come on over take your top off and dance around for me in the comfort of my very own home.

Just email me at Ford_Maverick@hotmail.com for directions and I'll be more than happy to stuff dollar bills in your panties if it makes you feel any better.

Oh, and lest anyone get the wrong idea, I'm not sniping at Victoria here. She made a pretty good argument that consisted of more than "Ew, that's skanky and gross" and I know that she really does have my best interests in mind. The clubs here are pretty skanky and gross, but more importantly, as my dear Mistress pointed out, they're a fantastic waste of money.

But one does what one must.

I'm also not trying to coerce her into coming down here and getting naked for me as she has good reason not to and we'll just leave it at that.

Oh, more than a few of you have asked about last week's lack of a comic strip. complications arising from visits to doctor's offices and such caused me to miss the dealine, but this week there will be one.

And speaking of the strip, it's come to my attention that there's lots of people reading my blog as of late. I do hope that if you're reading this you're reading the strip as well. I feel that it represents my best work.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

So like I said last post I've got a story for everyone.

It was the summer of either 1998 or 1999, so right before or right after I graduated. In any event Brian, my typical sidekick in the kids of escapades about to be described, was unavailable. Substituting for him was Nate, who is now my roommate, but was then living... I'm not really sure. Isn't really important to the story.

So we were hanging out at my cousin Eric's bike shop where I worked before I went back to school. He informed the both of us of a problem he and his biker friends were having. One of the members of their Harley Owners Group (HOG) some years ago went on a long ride somewhere, days long. When he got home he told his wife to close her eyes and put out her hand because he had a surprise for her. So she did and he did and she jumped back screaming.

She thought he'd put a mouse in her hand.

It had actually been his penis.

From that day forward, because guys are assholes, his name was Mouse.

Ain't that cute?

Anyways, I told you that story so that I could tell you this next story. See, it was getting close to Mouse's birthday and they had a gag gift they wanted to give him. They had a stuffed toy mouse, to which they wanted to attach a big rubber dick. Problem was, nobody wanted to be seen buying a big rubber dick, nor having everyone know that they even had bought a big rubber dick.

Who could they possibly get to do such a thing? If you don't know the answer then you don't know me too well.

I didn't give a shit. I took the money and was told to get the biggest one they had.

To this day I don't know why Nate went with me, but the closer we got to the Pioneer Bookstore the more embarrassed he was getting. After all, I may have been buying the massive dildo, but he was the guy walking out of the store with me. Kinda suggests that he's the bitch in the relationship you know.

But yeah, he was very embarrassed as I opened the door, so I decided to cure him of his embarrassment as one would attempt to cure someone of the hiccups, only instead of scaring him I'd shock him.

So with his best interests in mind I swing wide the porn-shop door and to the clerk behind the counter I exclaim loudly "Pardon me, my good man, but my friend and I would like to purchase a BIG RUBBER DICK!"

Big emphasis on the 'big rubber dick' part.

And it will forever bother me that I missed Nate's initial expression. I missed it because the clerk, without any hint of surprise, as though this happened every day, two guys walking into the porn store and buying lifelike plastic penises, looked at me and said "Is this for any particular occasion?"

That kinda threw me a bit.

I mean, I'd never been shopping for rubber dicks before (really, I hadn't). Could the occasion really have any impact on which penis to buy? did they have different sections like greeting cards? Like "Yes, could you show me to the anniversary cocks please?" or "Are the Christmas wangs out yet?"

Seriously, I was at a total loss for words.

Nate had gone beyond red and was now turning purple.

Good thing too, because one of us had to learn something from this trip and I didn't want it to be me.

So the guy leads me to the glass case full of dicks. And I'll be damned if there wasn't a Christmas dick, but that's not really important right now.

It was like a little statue of Santa Claus, but if he was squished into a cylinder shape...

You get the idea.

So I looked them over carefully. It's a big decision after all. It was my first dildo and the event deserved a bit of solemnity and decorum. I had to find the one that spoke to me.

And one of them DID speak to me. Had a microchip in it like those damn talking cards that are out now.

Sometimes at night I hear it's voice and awake in a cold sweat.

It took a while because I needed to get a big one, but at the same time if I got one too big I'd look like some kind of closet freak or something. Well after a lot of consideration and some invaluable (and uncomfortable) advice from the clerk I settled on this two-foot-long, double-headed, monstrosity. There was a bigger one, but it required batteries and did things that I'm not really comfortable thinking about.

I assure you though ladies that it does nothing that could replace horny guys in their early 30's that haven't dated in a long time.


If we ran out of gas it probably could have pulled the car home...

ANYWAY, I paid for the selected rubber dick and I got a small, wind-up, hopping pecker because it was funny and we exited the front of the porn store with a two-foot brown paper bag under my arm. Like the paper bag would fool anyone that had been in there before. I mean, they pretty much only had one thing in there that would require a bag of those particular dimensions. I wanted to take the shrink wrap off of it and walk out with about 12 inches of it hanging out of my zipper just to see how many phone numbers I'd get, but Nate seemed a little less than thrilled with the idea.

So we returned to the bike shop and I don't really know what happened after that so that's kinda where the story falls apart. I do recall Eric being a little surprised at the size of it, to which I pointed out that he could have went after it his damn self and that was that.

There. That oughtta hold you fuckers for a while. I'll be back with another weird story from the bits of my past that I can still remember. Hopefully it'll be less homoerotic than this one.

Not that there's anything wrong with homoeroticism, or homosexuals in general, It's just that I'm trying to meet chicks here. You know how it is.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Ok, Blogger is pissing me completely the fuck off.

A little while back I converted to the 'new' Blogger. I found the differences to be pretty much nonexistent.

Well thanks to the inquiries of a few of you I've discovered that my archives don't work anymore. If I want to make my archives work then I have to switch to a new goddamn Blogger template that I have no idea how to alter, which means no artwork or links or anything till I learn the new code.

This fucking blows.

The archives are still there. If I set the page to do so it'll display every post I've ever done, but since there's like 900 of them it'll take forever to load. It does prove that they still exist though. All I need is the URL to point the blog at. Blogger even tells me that. What it doesn't tell me though is WHAT THE BLEEDING FUCK MY ARCHIVE URL IS!!!

So if anyone has any idea how the incredibly bland and surprisingly unimaginitive and unmalleable new blogger templates work please help me out.

Now I have to go finish up my comic strip. When I come back I have a story that I was reminded of yesterday when Adam and I drove past the Pioneer Bookstore.

Stay tuned for "The Tale Of The Biker And The Big Rubber Dick" which probably won't be half as funny as the title suggests, but it is relevant.