“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: April 22, 2007

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Awright! Jesus you fuckers, I said I'd post the good story tonight and I am. I'd have put it up this morning but I had to rewrite some of it because I felt it could be better.

Hear that people? More time spent on the post = BETTER POST.

And I'll likely be posting more often now as I've just found out that this is now my only avenue of therapy for the time being.

Yes, last time I went to see my shrink and went to schedule the follow up appointment they said they'd call me when the new schedule came in. Well I waited and waited and finally called them and she doesn't work there any more.

Just as well I guess. I'd already found out what I needed to know and that's that I don't fit the textbook definition of insanity. This either means that I'm sane, which I still think is unlikely, or that I'm some new form of insane, which I think we can all agree is at least plausible.

So Mike D came down a couple weeks ago and I got to take him to his first strip club. The same strip club, in fact, that I had attended with Mistress Victoria only a few weeks before (see the April 2nd post). The major difference this time was that Mike and I went on a Saturday night. If given a choice between a Tuesday night and a weekend, go with the weekend.

Not that I feel slighted at all by my trip with Victoria. Half of the point of going anywhere with V is going there with her. With her around it's pretty much impossible to not have fun. Granted, you have a higher chance of getting arrested, but you'll never have more fun getting pepper-sprayed in your life.

That having been said, there's more going on at the club on the weekend, but everything is more expensive. The cover charge goes from $5 to $10 and I can only imagine what happens to the drink prices. Fortunately, as last time, I wasn't spending my own money, but I made an effort, as last time, to keep it within reason and we had a blast.

Anyways though, Mike and I enter the establishment at around 11 PM and the place was already jumping. My midnight it was packed. One of the cool things about the weekends is they get pornstars on tour. We saw one miss Kiera Riley, who put on quite a show, at one point using red, white and blue body paint and rolling on t-shirts to make flag prints which she gave away to audience members.

Sadly, we didn't get any shirts, but it was still fun to watch.

Shortly after miss Riley's performance we picked our girls for our lap dances.

There were two this time that I really had an eye for. One had long, dark hair and was covered with tattoos, which sometimes I like and sometimes I don't, depends on the girl and on the tattoos. The other had short, dark hair and no tattoos, but I had a good feeling about her, so she was the lucky winner.

This time I took a moment to explain about the hernia and how she could get up on me (a privelige I'd deny very few women) she just had to be gentle about doing so. I ended up telling her the whole sorted story and I don't know if that's what did it or not, but she was very friendly. It didn't take too long to see that I'd made the right choice.

This time I was having the three song dance rather than the one song as last time and before you know it I had bare titties on my face again. I'm following the rules, got my arms over the back of the couch just like last time, next thing I know she's sucking on my left earlobe.

Ok, that's new. And fucking GREAT!

But in all too soon a time it was over. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and Mike and I went downstairs to compare notes. It seems that Mike didn't chose quite as wisely as I did. His girl didn't even take her top off.

You know, as immortalized in the movie Caddyshack, The Zen philosopher Basho once wrote, “A flute with no holes is not a flute and a doughnut with no hole is a danish”. I'd like to add to that sage wisdom that “a stripper who doesn't take her clothes off is not a stripper”. She's a sad commentary on our times is what she is.

I'm sure Basho would agree with me. Cause that's how he rolled.

Well I couldn't allow this to stand. It was a travesty of all I hold dear. Mike had to have another lap dance, a REAL lap dance. And of course I would have to have one too. It was essential to the process. I'm not sure how exactly, but it was absolutely essential I assure you.

Well Mikey isn't made of money so I had to dip into my own fundage for this go-around, but it was well worth it. I got the same girl the second time, because she was totally hot and because she wasn't real strict on the rules last time. Well the second time through pretty much all but the most cardinal stripper rule were suspended. The 'she can touch you, but you can't touch her' rule was completely out.

I'd made a comment the the effect of “You've got a gorgeous ass” cause I'm all smooth an shit, and without batting an eye she says “Well go ahead and slap it.”

Next thing I know I'm slapping ass in the strip club and that fucking ROCKS.

She explained before she turned around for me to do so though that she had to put her top back on so the people downstairs didn't see that she'd had it off. Apparently that is against the rules, but Mike had earlier selected the one girl in the place that didn't break that one.

Or maybe it's just my intense sexual magnetism.

Actually, yeah, that's probably it.

She turns back around, drops the top again, kisses me full on the lips and then, much to my surprise, her tongue is in my mouth. She's full on making out with me and I've got two hadfulls of ass. The lack of the 'no touch' rule allowed me to get to know her rather well.

I mention all this, not because it makes me look like the man (ok, not entirely because it makes me look like the man) but because it explains what I did next.

I gave a stripper my phone number.

Yeah, yeah, save the comments. I know she's not going to call. That wasn't the point.

The point was that I kinda realized that I've never been Mr. Suave when it comes to talking up women for the first time, especially since my body got all fucked up and is now twice as big as it was before, but in the club I was confident as hell. I further realized what you're really paying for in a strip club isn't the nudity. A confident guy can get a girl to do anything a stripper will do and more under the right circumstances. The elimination of rejection is what you're really paying for.

I mean, that's my only real fear is getting shot down and that fear has cost me a lot of opportunities. Despite that fear though, I do occasionally work up the sack to talk to a woman. For that to happen though I have to see an awful lot in her to make the attempt and risk getting shot down.

Those of you that have been reading this blog and paying attention know how well that ends up going...

Well I figured if I gave the stripper my number, even knowing full well that there's a 99.999% chance she'll not use it, then I'm taking the rejection-free situation and using it to say “Fuck you rejection!”

Of course, it's easy to tell rejection to go fuck itself after you've made out with the person you're worried about rejecting you, but let's not split goddamn hairs here...

Actually, I didn't just give her my number, I also invited her out to breakfast, but she said she had stuff she had to do and I've no reason to disbelieve her.

Oh yeah? I'll fucking show YOU delusional, motherfuckers!

But yeah, all in all it was a fun evening.

And NO, she hasn't called. Like I said, that wasn't the point. The point was that I'm getting some damn confidence back, due in no small part to the fact that I've lost around 75 lbs since I started on the weight loss drugs and my working out is starting to show real results. A few more months of this and I'm gonna be a real stud-monkey.

Well, more than I am already.

Anyhow, to ensure that Mike had a better time with his second dance he waited till I was done and went with the same girl. I don't know if he had as good a time as I did, but he damn sure had a better experience than the first time through.

I mean, a stripper that doesn't strip. What's the world fucking coming to, really?

I've got half a mind to write my fucking congressman...

By the way, I do realize that I never gave 'the stripper's' name. This is because I wouldn't want to get her fired over the stuff I wrote about, but if any of you in the area are planning on going to the club (which I'm also not naming in this post so no Google search results might lead to her firing either) email me and I'll recommend her highly.

That's it for now. One last thing before I go though. Remember, the more comments I get the sooner I post again. Bear that in mind.

Now here's part three of the Bill Hicks documentary.


Friday, April 27, 2007

Ok, it's catchin' up time.

First off, some random thoughts.

Number one: What the hell is the deal with Kate Beckinsale doing movies without her British accent? Yes, I know she's hot either way, but goddammit that's one sexy ass accent she's got. She can bring me to full attention just reading the goddamn phone book in that accent. I mean what the fuck?

It should be illegal for her to not use that accent. While I'm at it, there should also be a law against her wearing any clothing other than that skin-tight leather/rubber suit she had in the Underworld movies. I don't give a damn what movie she's in either. Snooty Victorian period epic? Goddamn rubber suit! Might actually make that merchant ivory crap watchable.

But that's my new rule. She MUST use that accent and she MUST wear that outfit. Unless, of course, she's naked. Actually, you know what? Fuck it, she should just be nude all the time. Or at least till gravity starts to take it's toll. Then she can put the rubber suit back on.

Of course, maybe it's just me. I've always been a sucker for women with accents. Pretty much any accent except south Jersey and really-really deep south. A little southern is Ok, but it's easy to get too much of that shit.

Oh yeah, I no longer like the German/Dutch accent now. In fact, thanks to my sister-in-law that accent now makes my colon clench. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that at least once out of every three times she speaks to me she begins her sentence with “Do joo kno vat jour problem esss?”

Well one of them appears to be lax immigration laws...

Number two: Have you seen the ads for the new Sony camera that recognize faces and focuses in on them automatically? Am I the only one that thinks this is a really BAD fucking idea?

I mean, we're making machines that can identify and target human faces and Arnold Schwartzenegger, the motherfucking TERMINATOR, is the governor of one of our larger chunks of land.

Am I really the only one that sees where this is leading?

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I mean crap, sometimes I think I'm the only sane person left on Earth and YES I do realize the gravity of that fucking statement...

Number three:

Grindhouse is one of the greatest movies ever made. If you don't go see it then you are not a man. It's that simple. If after seeing it you don't absolutely love it you should have your testicles reposessed as they're obviously not being used for anything. It has everything a red-blooded human male loves and as though that weren't enough it inspired this:

One quick note. If you're feeling a bit sensitive about gun violence you might not find this quite as funny as I do

I wanna see that goddamn movie! Too bad it's just a trailer made for the Grindhouse trailer contest (it won, by the way) and there is no complete movie, but if enough of you fuckers go see Grindhouse and/or buy it on DVD it might be part of Grindhouse 2. So go now!

No, wait, finish reading this first because I need the attention, THEN go see it. Hell see it twice.

But anyways, I promised you another strip club story...

I'll get to it later tonight. I've been up for more than 24 hours. Had a doctor's appointment this morning to get the veins in my legs mapped with a doppler system. This involved me lying on a table in my underwear while an attractive young blonde girl smeared cold lube all over my inner thighs for about 15 minutes.

Yes, it was as awesome as it sounds.

And just as with my lap dance story there was a reaction.

And just as before, this girl was impressed. Actually, I think she was more impressed due to my being in my underwear and laying flat on my back at the time

I'm starting to think that what's hindering my style is that I'm always wearing pants...

But after that somewhat happy ending I had to drive home with most of the lube still all over my inner thighs, which was somewhat less awesome than the application.

Actually, no, it was still pretty awesome.

Till about 15 minutes after I got home. Then I just got sleepy.

So it's nap time. Then I'll come back and do the new strip club story. Till then, here's part two of the Bill Hicks documentary.


Sunday, April 22, 2007

Ok, very soon I'll have an all new tale of titty-bar delight, but first I'd like to announce a rare public appearance.

Actually, I go out in public all the time. Couple times a week. Sometimes three. The rare part is that I'm announcing it this time.

See, as a way of coping with not having a job I have a collection of part time jobs that don't pay me anything. There's the comic strip, which you bastards better be reading (regardless of the fact that the new one still hasn't been posted even though it's been like a month, bitch at Mace, not me), there's the insane tasks that my Mother cooks up for me to do in an attempt to kill me (“Oh, I just need you to dig a three-foot ditch down a 45 degree angled hill...”) , there's the occasional drag racing and then there's this new thing.

About once a month I do the soundboards for a local indie pro-wrestling outfit called the WVWA. We've got a show tomorrow at the St Mary's Marina. 'Marina' being used loosely in this instance to describe the shack on the edge of the river in which we've been holding these things.

No, I'm not a wrestling fan. You've probably gathered that from the fact that I've spelled everything correctly and I've not yet used the term “Whoop-Ass”. I got into this as a favor to to one of the wrestlers named Ryan Spade, but he has a schedule conflict that's kept him out of the biz for a bit. Either a schedule conflict or he twisted his spine again, I don't fuckin' know. Anyhow, I kept doing it partially as a favor to the Emcee Adam Needef (featured in this movie trailer) and partially just because it's fun putting on the show even though I really have no interest in what's going on in the ring most of the time.

I say 'most of the time' because part of the time I'm trying to keep bloody, flying thumb-tacks and splintered wood and fucking barbed wire out of my fucking equipment.

I'm really only bringing this up to let you fuckers know I'm gonna be there and I'll be available for autographs for a modest fee (or in return for sexual favors as usual) and because some guy named Beautiful Bobby Eaton is going to be there. I've been told he was some kind of big deal or something. I don't know. I'm not a wrestling fan.

Funny thing is though, if you're sitting at a table next to a wrestling ring people assume you're a wrestling fan. They come up to me and do two things. They start talking to me about some wrestling match from the 80's, assuming that I have it memorized just like they do, and I just nod my head stupidly like I know what they're talking about and then they ask me for a pen.

It never fails. Every fucker in that goddamn glorified pole-barn of an arena asks me for a pen. I have to hide the one I did bring with me. It's either in my pants pocket or in my hand. If it goes on the table for even a second it's fucking gone.

Because of course I have pens for everybody! That's what the sound guy is for! To provide writing impliments for everyone! Hooray! The sound guy is here! Let's all write poetry!

That's why this time I'm bringing a .99 cent bag of pens with me. Whole big bag of cheap ass pens.

I'll be selling them for $1.00 each. Suck on that.

So come and buy a ticket, buy a pen, and come give me something to talk about other than wrestling for the love of god. I may even have a sketchbook with me, though I won't have time to use it till after the show.

Before the show and during the intermission I'll be pumpin' mad tunes, all of which were probably hits before you were fucking born.

That's April 22nd at the St Mary's 'Marina'(shack). Doors open at 5 PM, show's at 6 PM and if you happen to talk to anyone running the show why don't you mention how cool it would be if they gave the sound guy a few bucks for his effort?

Oh yeah, I promised a dick joke didn't I?

I started looking for a clip from Bill Hicks, the undisputed master of the dick joke, but oddly enough I couldn't find a clip of one. Bill Hicks is one of my personal heroes and one of the shapers of my philosophy that I went on about two posts ago. I even, without meaning to, pretty much wrote out some of it verbatim, so by way of apology to the great man, here's the first of many Bill Hicks clips I will be bringing to you unworthy bastards.