I walked in the front door and to my right there was a one-way mirror. I slipped the piece of paper that the physician had given me into the slit at the bottom of the mirror and someone on the other side took it. After a few seconds a friendly-sounding voice asked, "Is this your first time here?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Come on in," it said.
I walked into a small lobby and down two flights of stairs to another door. On this second door someone had written the words "Welcome to Heaven". I rung a doorbell and was buzzed in. I stepped into a typical stoner lounge area, with couches and chairs and tables upon which rested several large glass bongs. I could hear reggae in the background. I walked up to the counter and was shown all of the merchandise, informed of the differences between indica and sativa, and given a free bottle of water.
It reminded me of the coffeeshops I've visited in Amsterdam. There are, however, a few differences between buying legal weed in San Francisco and buying legal weed in Amsterdam. One difference, which struck me as soon as I got to the counter, was the selection. There were many different kinds of weed, brands if you will, of varying degrees of potency, as well as all sorts of hash and baked goodies. But then there was also the hash oil and the hash honey and the hash ice cream and the hash oil lollipops and the hybrid plants for sale. And the kief. Sweet precious kief.
Although Europe has it's version of the pothead, it seems to me that Americans take their smoking to a higher level of indulgence (or ridiculousness, depending on your opinion). I think part of this is simply because WE LIKE BIG THINGS, and when we do things, WE LIKE TO DO THINGS BIG. And QUICK. Why waste time rolling a joint every time you wanna smoke pot when you can just pack the four-footer, take a rip, and get ten times higher? In America, it seems, the tendency among most stoners is to smoke until you trip the fuck out.
The second difference involves what you have to do to get legal weed. In Amsterdam, you walk into a coffeeshop and buy as much as you want. In San Francisco, it seems to be tied to the medical profession. To get a medical approval for cannabis, I went into the office of a doctor who specializes in medical marijuana evaluations and complained of ongoing shoulder pain from a motorcycle accident I was in five years ago. It really does still hurt, which I thought would justify me becoming righteously indignant if accused of trying to con my way into legal weed. Since I hadn't been seen by a doctor for my medical problem for over three years, I would only be getting a three-month card and a referral to a local chiropractor. After I saw the chiropractor I could come back and be "re-evaluated" for no additional fee.
Wait a minute here- Are the guys who run the medical profession a bit smarter than we think? Could they really have convinced big government to look the other way for the sake of making everyone A LOT OF MONEY?
And yet, despite this vast socio-political conundrum, pot dispensaries in SF are pretty sweet.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Hypocritical Pigs
"Hey baby. My names Corrine. I checked out your profile and you are SOOOOOOOO hawt. If you want you can check out my page. Or you can visit my website to see naughty pics that myspace won't let me post."
Anybody who has a Myspace account has received a message like the one above. Similarly, anybody who has an e-mail account has received porno-spam. Hell, even our e-mail account here at work harbors larger penis ads and whatnot. The point being: everyone is bombarded with this shit all the time.
Being completely comfortable with my piggery, I'm perfectly willing to admit that I surf my way over to these sites on occasion- just to check out the goods. Well, while I was staring at "Corrine's" ass and willing the lump in my pants not to stir too magnificently, I began to wonder, What Would Jesus Do? Seriously.
It's common knowledge that I'm supposed to believe some dude, who was also God, lived about 2000 years ago in the Middle East. He did a bunch of stuff and then got nailed to a cross because I'm an asshole- or something like that. All of that is a bit difficult for me to swallow. But what I find absolutely impossible to swallow is the idea that Jesus, a man-god, would not also appreciate Corrine's nice ass. I find it even more impossible to believe that Jesus' little followers do not gawk at Corrine's rounded rump. Oh! but they'll claim they don't.
It's no secret that most Christians are raised to hate and fear sex. Who else could create all those wonderfully painful and embarassing chastity devices from the Middle Ages on but devout Christians? Who else would blame the fall of the American Empire on short skirts and big tits but Christians? Who else but loving, forgiving Christians would have the audacity to suggest that the "sanctity of marriage" and the "future of the family" are in jeopardy because dudes who put it in each others' butts want to get married? And who do you think the majority of people furtively stroking their respective naughty bits to Corrine's junk and other porn are? My guess: Christians.
Yes, Jeezo-boy. I know you jack off. You know how I know you jack off? Because you're a strapping young male in the prime of your life. You're horny and virile. And since you've been trained to hate women and fear sex, you're only outlet is to spank it to BangBus. While I might be the epitome of everything you are trained to think of as evil, I do have at least one thing over you. I don't have to feel guilty when I spank the monkey. I like women. I find them quite attractive and stimulating in many ways. On occasion, I even talk to them as if they were my equals. Then I spank it to the thought of doing wonderfully horrible things to them in all sorts of exotic positions. Some of them have even let me live out my fantasies in the flesh.
My point being, don't try to suggest that I'm some sort of scum for touching my dick because of Corrine's beautiful booty. And don't think for a second that I believe you don't do the same thing. Live your life. I'll live mine. If you're right, I'll be judged accordingly. If I'm right, we both just die. But at least I had some fun along the way.
Anybody who has a Myspace account has received a message like the one above. Similarly, anybody who has an e-mail account has received porno-spam. Hell, even our e-mail account here at work harbors larger penis ads and whatnot. The point being: everyone is bombarded with this shit all the time.
Being completely comfortable with my piggery, I'm perfectly willing to admit that I surf my way over to these sites on occasion- just to check out the goods. Well, while I was staring at "Corrine's" ass and willing the lump in my pants not to stir too magnificently, I began to wonder, What Would Jesus Do? Seriously.
It's common knowledge that I'm supposed to believe some dude, who was also God, lived about 2000 years ago in the Middle East. He did a bunch of stuff and then got nailed to a cross because I'm an asshole- or something like that. All of that is a bit difficult for me to swallow. But what I find absolutely impossible to swallow is the idea that Jesus, a man-god, would not also appreciate Corrine's nice ass. I find it even more impossible to believe that Jesus' little followers do not gawk at Corrine's rounded rump. Oh! but they'll claim they don't.
It's no secret that most Christians are raised to hate and fear sex. Who else could create all those wonderfully painful and embarassing chastity devices from the Middle Ages on but devout Christians? Who else would blame the fall of the American Empire on short skirts and big tits but Christians? Who else but loving, forgiving Christians would have the audacity to suggest that the "sanctity of marriage" and the "future of the family" are in jeopardy because dudes who put it in each others' butts want to get married? And who do you think the majority of people furtively stroking their respective naughty bits to Corrine's junk and other porn are? My guess: Christians.
Yes, Jeezo-boy. I know you jack off. You know how I know you jack off? Because you're a strapping young male in the prime of your life. You're horny and virile. And since you've been trained to hate women and fear sex, you're only outlet is to spank it to BangBus. While I might be the epitome of everything you are trained to think of as evil, I do have at least one thing over you. I don't have to feel guilty when I spank the monkey. I like women. I find them quite attractive and stimulating in many ways. On occasion, I even talk to them as if they were my equals. Then I spank it to the thought of doing wonderfully horrible things to them in all sorts of exotic positions. Some of them have even let me live out my fantasies in the flesh.
My point being, don't try to suggest that I'm some sort of scum for touching my dick because of Corrine's beautiful booty. And don't think for a second that I believe you don't do the same thing. Live your life. I'll live mine. If you're right, I'll be judged accordingly. If I'm right, we both just die. But at least I had some fun along the way.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Prayin for the Lord
The other day I woke up, ate a bagel, got in the shower, kissed my girlfriend (who I think of as my wife) goodbye, and went to work at my office job. Am I going to start coming after thirty thrusts pretty soon? Chronic bad breath? Balding? I've already begun ripping those wet, old man froggy farts. My cock leaks sometimes after I piss. Dammit.
If I have to be stuck in this con, no matter what form in which it manifests itself- chasing animals around all day so I can kill them and eat them, or working in a goddamn office building in downtown San Francisco (actually one of the softer gigs I've ever had), it's good to take advantage of the situation as much as possible. Better to encounter a busload of scared, middle class drones with a fresh high going and Eric Dolphy piped into my ears. Maybe if I could play flute, alto sax, and bass clarinet I'd avoid the rat race too… only to die alone in Germany, the cops thinking I'm a junky because of the needles I use to shoot insulin.
These two black kids are talking so loud I hear them over my headphones. No one else on the bus says anything. "You're so retarded," says one of them, "That all you say is 'Duh…' You know how retarded people say that all the time? People ask you what time it is and all you say is 'Duh…'" She pauses. "You get it?"
Everyone on the bus groans and looks away. The kids are in their own world and all the adults wish they could be too. "Wait a minute," I say, "If you have to explain it, it's probably not that funny." They both look at me, surprised. "Just say it, you know?"
They look at each other sort of wide-eyed. Then the one who wasn't talking says, "Mister, you crazy."
"Maybe," I say, laughing, "Maybe." They can tell my laugh isn't mean and they laugh too.
In all seriousness, I'm not too worried about being a total tool. I just joined a band call Lord Nasty and the Seekers of Perversion and the first practice went very well. The singer, Lord Nasty, has been in the hospital for the past two weeks with double pneumonia, but he just had his breathing tube removed and we've got gigs scheduled for next month. Who'd have thought I'd ever be prayin for the Lord and really meaning it?
If I have to be stuck in this con, no matter what form in which it manifests itself- chasing animals around all day so I can kill them and eat them, or working in a goddamn office building in downtown San Francisco (actually one of the softer gigs I've ever had), it's good to take advantage of the situation as much as possible. Better to encounter a busload of scared, middle class drones with a fresh high going and Eric Dolphy piped into my ears. Maybe if I could play flute, alto sax, and bass clarinet I'd avoid the rat race too… only to die alone in Germany, the cops thinking I'm a junky because of the needles I use to shoot insulin.
These two black kids are talking so loud I hear them over my headphones. No one else on the bus says anything. "You're so retarded," says one of them, "That all you say is 'Duh…' You know how retarded people say that all the time? People ask you what time it is and all you say is 'Duh…'" She pauses. "You get it?"
Everyone on the bus groans and looks away. The kids are in their own world and all the adults wish they could be too. "Wait a minute," I say, "If you have to explain it, it's probably not that funny." They both look at me, surprised. "Just say it, you know?"
They look at each other sort of wide-eyed. Then the one who wasn't talking says, "Mister, you crazy."
"Maybe," I say, laughing, "Maybe." They can tell my laugh isn't mean and they laugh too.
In all seriousness, I'm not too worried about being a total tool. I just joined a band call Lord Nasty and the Seekers of Perversion and the first practice went very well. The singer, Lord Nasty, has been in the hospital for the past two weeks with double pneumonia, but he just had his breathing tube removed and we've got gigs scheduled for next month. Who'd have thought I'd ever be prayin for the Lord and really meaning it?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
The Chronicles of Phil
Egad! I have received word from the reverend! Here's what I came across in my mail the other day, faithfully transcribed and totally unedited.
HELP!
Wow, this is a lot of work, and I've only gone ten miles! It took me awhile to find the beginning of the trail, but once I latched onto the smell of fresh college grads who want to prove something with their lives, I knew I had it. I was on my way.
The beginning of the trail was peaceful and serene, just as it had always been in my dreams. My first night was also peaceful, except for the stupid animals I drove away with my latest acousti-metal guitar stylings. Yes, I have indeed brought my guitar, but I find it also comes in handy as a hatchet, more so now that I've filed the edge down with the bit of stubble I've grown over the past few weeks. My dream of the deforestation of the Appalachian trail is at hand.
The food is alright, as far as charred chipmunk and drinking my own urine goes. Speaking of food, the other day I met my first fellow hikers! I came upon their camp while they were sleeping, so I took the opportunity to raid their camp. I had all their spam and jerky snacks in my bag, and was just gaining the trust of the family dog when they woke up. Well, in times of danger, we must improvise, so I beat them to death with their own pet. I call him dillinger, and between him and my trusty axe, I always have a weapon at hand.
Well, back to the grind. I hope to make 100 miles by the end of June. How is Ray? Has he left the house yet? Say hi to Dominic for me. I think he was trying to mentally communicate with me, but he was probably just being a weirdo stoner and making shit up. Is Tom still in San Fran, or has he moved somewhere else in an effort to evade any sort of post college responsibility? Send my best.
I'm totally gay,
Phil
Wow. I'm amazed. Only 10 miles and already he seems to be having an amazing trip. Stay tuned, space piggies!
HELP!
Wow, this is a lot of work, and I've only gone ten miles! It took me awhile to find the beginning of the trail, but once I latched onto the smell of fresh college grads who want to prove something with their lives, I knew I had it. I was on my way.
The beginning of the trail was peaceful and serene, just as it had always been in my dreams. My first night was also peaceful, except for the stupid animals I drove away with my latest acousti-metal guitar stylings. Yes, I have indeed brought my guitar, but I find it also comes in handy as a hatchet, more so now that I've filed the edge down with the bit of stubble I've grown over the past few weeks. My dream of the deforestation of the Appalachian trail is at hand.
The food is alright, as far as charred chipmunk and drinking my own urine goes. Speaking of food, the other day I met my first fellow hikers! I came upon their camp while they were sleeping, so I took the opportunity to raid their camp. I had all their spam and jerky snacks in my bag, and was just gaining the trust of the family dog when they woke up. Well, in times of danger, we must improvise, so I beat them to death with their own pet. I call him dillinger, and between him and my trusty axe, I always have a weapon at hand.
Well, back to the grind. I hope to make 100 miles by the end of June. How is Ray? Has he left the house yet? Say hi to Dominic for me. I think he was trying to mentally communicate with me, but he was probably just being a weirdo stoner and making shit up. Is Tom still in San Fran, or has he moved somewhere else in an effort to evade any sort of post college responsibility? Send my best.
I'm totally gay,
Phil
Wow. I'm amazed. Only 10 miles and already he seems to be having an amazing trip. Stay tuned, space piggies!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Out of body or out of mind?
So today there was a watershed moment in my existance. I left my body or at least part of my mind did and I had control over "my"* movements including going through objects. While I was able to acieve this I decided to try to contact Ray. Well I may have and possibly saw out of his eyes as I saw him dial my phone number, put the phone to his ear then my phone rang. ESP or bullshit? I can't tell you what it was but I definitely experienced something. I'll try to be as detailed and I hope, as objective as possible.
I have been reading "Cosmic Trigger 1" by Robert Anton Wilson In which the topic of drug induced illumination and ESP are widely discussed. I am fully aware that after reading about this that I could have tricked myself into thinking I left my body. I gotta tell ya, I didn't think this up. I've never done or felt this.
It started with a gravity hit. Then I put in Samuel Barber's "Agnus Dei". I always feel something inexplicable (peace?) when I listen to this particular piece of music. I called Ray, and left a message for him to call me, listened to one version of the song then skipped to the choral version got on my couch, sat cross legged and closed my eyes. I got up and walked into the music room to tidy up figuring I wasn't going to hear from Ray anytime soon. As I got to my small hallway I stopped moving just as the choir peaked and just stood there immobile for a while and saw and felt light, both in weight and feeling its presence around me. Then "I" started to move unhindered around Me, through walls, the whole deal. "I" didn't percieve anything the way I would with my 5 sences, and I remember distinctly that I could not smell anything until my experience was over. The only sounds I heard was the music in my living room and it was obvious that I was still in contact with "I". The "I" experienced things as a visual signal but nothing like normal sight. It was more warm energy than sight. I can describe the way "I" saw as translucent light, like looking at information traveling through fiber optics with out the fibers. Seeing without the use of my eyes. Everything I would normally see was there but there were flashes of images going by that seemed translucent like luminous watercolors. (damn, the rest of the post got deleted at this point so I'm re typing now, damn spacetime...) "I" assumed that these were other conversations or entities passing by as they looked like what "I" was experiencing.
I decided "I" had to try to contact Ray. "I" went up, it was that easy. Just go there. I went up through the attic, looked at my car a bit and then went over the alleyway at a height of about 25 feet or so. "I" got to Ray's went in through his celing and looked at him while just to the left side of his monitor. "I" decided to see if I could inhabit the same space as Ray and I moved over and saw through his eyes. He was playing warcraft with his character Aylcebiedes (SP?) on a green and blue level (it turns out his charachter was underwater) and "I" concentrated on getting Ray to call me. So now "I" was looking out of Ray's eyes and he got up to walk to the phone. "I" left his space briefly and returned when he picked up the phone. "I" saw him dial my phone number in great detail then he put the phone to his left ear and voila, my phone rang. "I" snapped back to my body and I simply answered the phone "Ray?" even though I knew that he was the one calling. I told him about "my" experience and everything "I" saw him do checked out.
There were lingering effects for a while after the experience. Later on Ray came over to pick up his drumset. I noticed that not only did I not need to look at the drum as I manuvered it precicely through my narrow hallway but that the drum felt lighter. After getting all the drums loaded we agreed that it was time for a smoke. I quickly thought about Kate at a sunset (I'll try to confirm if that was where she was) and then my phone rang. "This is Kate," I said". It was and I was not expecting her to call at all.
I don't know what it was that I experienced. I am skeptical, but like I said I have never done or experienced this before. It was too real an experience for me to simply discount. Answers are out of my grasp. Will they ever be within reach?
* In an attempt to describe this event I noticed that I would have to have a way to define the physical me that is consious goes to work and poops and stuff as well as the non-physical "me" that appears to be able to travel with light. For what it is worth both me and "me" were in contact the whole time even though the physical me was unable to move. They were in contact but they were also independant of each other. People have defined what I described as "me" as a soul for millennia. I make no such assumptions. I don't think I can ever again.
I have been reading "Cosmic Trigger 1" by Robert Anton Wilson In which the topic of drug induced illumination and ESP are widely discussed. I am fully aware that after reading about this that I could have tricked myself into thinking I left my body. I gotta tell ya, I didn't think this up. I've never done or felt this.
It started with a gravity hit. Then I put in Samuel Barber's "Agnus Dei". I always feel something inexplicable (peace?) when I listen to this particular piece of music. I called Ray, and left a message for him to call me, listened to one version of the song then skipped to the choral version got on my couch, sat cross legged and closed my eyes. I got up and walked into the music room to tidy up figuring I wasn't going to hear from Ray anytime soon. As I got to my small hallway I stopped moving just as the choir peaked and just stood there immobile for a while and saw and felt light, both in weight and feeling its presence around me. Then "I" started to move unhindered around Me, through walls, the whole deal. "I" didn't percieve anything the way I would with my 5 sences, and I remember distinctly that I could not smell anything until my experience was over. The only sounds I heard was the music in my living room and it was obvious that I was still in contact with "I". The "I" experienced things as a visual signal but nothing like normal sight. It was more warm energy than sight. I can describe the way "I" saw as translucent light, like looking at information traveling through fiber optics with out the fibers. Seeing without the use of my eyes. Everything I would normally see was there but there were flashes of images going by that seemed translucent like luminous watercolors. (damn, the rest of the post got deleted at this point so I'm re typing now, damn spacetime...) "I" assumed that these were other conversations or entities passing by as they looked like what "I" was experiencing.
I decided "I" had to try to contact Ray. "I" went up, it was that easy. Just go there. I went up through the attic, looked at my car a bit and then went over the alleyway at a height of about 25 feet or so. "I" got to Ray's went in through his celing and looked at him while just to the left side of his monitor. "I" decided to see if I could inhabit the same space as Ray and I moved over and saw through his eyes. He was playing warcraft with his character Aylcebiedes (SP?) on a green and blue level (it turns out his charachter was underwater) and "I" concentrated on getting Ray to call me. So now "I" was looking out of Ray's eyes and he got up to walk to the phone. "I" left his space briefly and returned when he picked up the phone. "I" saw him dial my phone number in great detail then he put the phone to his left ear and voila, my phone rang. "I" snapped back to my body and I simply answered the phone "Ray?" even though I knew that he was the one calling. I told him about "my" experience and everything "I" saw him do checked out.
There were lingering effects for a while after the experience. Later on Ray came over to pick up his drumset. I noticed that not only did I not need to look at the drum as I manuvered it precicely through my narrow hallway but that the drum felt lighter. After getting all the drums loaded we agreed that it was time for a smoke. I quickly thought about Kate at a sunset (I'll try to confirm if that was where she was) and then my phone rang. "This is Kate," I said". It was and I was not expecting her to call at all.
I don't know what it was that I experienced. I am skeptical, but like I said I have never done or experienced this before. It was too real an experience for me to simply discount. Answers are out of my grasp. Will they ever be within reach?
* In an attempt to describe this event I noticed that I would have to have a way to define the physical me that is consious goes to work and poops and stuff as well as the non-physical "me" that appears to be able to travel with light. For what it is worth both me and "me" were in contact the whole time even though the physical me was unable to move. They were in contact but they were also independant of each other. People have defined what I described as "me" as a soul for millennia. I make no such assumptions. I don't think I can ever again.
Say I want a revolution
Sometimes I couldn't help but think that maybe most people liked things the way they were. They didn't mind the arrangement. What else could account for things being the way they were? If enough people were of the same opinion that life basically sucked for most people most of the time, why didn't we talk about it that way at parties? At work? At school?
Jesus, why the fuck are rebels so hot? Because they're alpha, that's why! They weren't born into wealth, but the doesn't stop them from aspiring to the uppermost echelons of the human socio-economic hierarchy. The nerve!
Jesus, why the fuck are rebels so hot? Because they're alpha, that's why! They weren't born into wealth, but the doesn't stop them from aspiring to the uppermost echelons of the human socio-economic hierarchy. The nerve!
Spitting on chicks during sex and the sacred feminine
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Thursday, May 18, 2006
A couple of ideas that need to be shot down
Hello there fellow porkers. After my sudden departure from my last place of employment (See "My Bosses Leave Town For a Week") I indicated that I intended to find a new job deep within the crusty bosom of a large, faceless corporation, eschewing the outright slavery that one is almost always subjugated to when working in a ma and pa shop for the glories of employee break rooms, downtown office buildings, and vending machines. Since I no longer have to spend my workday trying to appease a megalomaniacal CPA cum gym bitch or his fake-titted, thrice-married golddigger of a wife, I've had the excess brain power to turd out the following idears:
Captain Cochon's Piggyland!
How about a wonderful new theme park dedicated to all that is pig? Can you imagine what the attractions at this place would be like? Holy shit. Feel free to throw out some ideas in the comments section. And I know what you're thinking. This is basically what Las Vegas already is. Which leads me to...
The First Annual International Drunken Pig Convention
Of course Vegas is the perfect place for the First Annual International Drunken Pig Convention. I was thinking sometime in February. Anyone game? I'll make T-shirts...
Captain Cochon's Piggyland!
How about a wonderful new theme park dedicated to all that is pig? Can you imagine what the attractions at this place would be like? Holy shit. Feel free to throw out some ideas in the comments section. And I know what you're thinking. This is basically what Las Vegas already is. Which leads me to...
The First Annual International Drunken Pig Convention
Of course Vegas is the perfect place for the First Annual International Drunken Pig Convention. I was thinking sometime in February. Anyone game? I'll make T-shirts...
Monday, May 08, 2006
Cinco de Puerco
This last Friday, May the 5th, was the feast of Cinco de Mayo. Cinco de Mayo is an American holiday that centers around getting drunk from Hispanic-influenced alcoholic beverages and shitting all over the Mexican culture. There are a lot of misconceptions about the feast of Cinco de Mayo concerning its origin and meaning, so Von Puerco will take this opportunity to educate you, the teeming masses.
Many believe that Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day. This is a fallacy adhered to by elitist white assholes eager to spout significant dates from round the world in an attempt to further their dominant Aryan intellectual terrorism. Others believe it commemorates the defeat of the French by the Mexicans on May 5, 1862. This is a common but understandable mistake, as this event happens on the 5th of May and "Cinco de Mayo" is Spanish for "5th of May", but this is merely a coincidence.
Despite the obvious aforementioned implications, don't be fooled by this ethno-historical babble. Cinco de Mayo is a uniquely American holiday. Ancient texts dictate that Cinco de Mayo was established in 1972 by Frank Wisnieski, a sociology undergrad at San Diego State University class of '74. One day early in the spring semester, Frank was poring over the university's academic calender trying to decide which days to skip class so that he could stretch his Spring Break in Rosarito beyond the usual week to an unprecedented 13 days. He noticed that between the Monday and Friday surrounding Easter and the end of the semester in late May there were no officially-recognized holidays that would lend themselves to binge drinking for a cause. Frank made it his duty to find a day, official or otherwise, that would be a nationally recognized day of inebriation and belligerence after Easter but before finals.
It wasn't until Frank's journey to Rosarito that Spring Break that he finally found a day fitting for an impromptu holiday. On day 10 of his 13-day binge, Frank found himself passed out on a table in a low-rent taco shop. As he came to consciousness he found stuck to his face a plastic placemat. It seems the combination of salt, lime and cheap beer makes an excellent adhesive on the spot. After tearing the placemat and a patch of flesh from his face, Frank saw that this placemat was in fact a Spanish calender highlighting all the Mexican holidays for that year. There in bright red was the number 5. It fell on a Friday in the month of May, and was exactly 2 weeks before finals and the end of the semester. Next to the red 5 were the words "Batalla de Puebla" but at that point Frank could not be bothered with details, for he had found his holiday, Mexicans be damned.
And so before returning to the States to proclaim this nationally-observed day of alcoholism, Frank loaded his VW shaggin'-wagon with several cases of Cuervo and Tecate, a stack of sombreros and a few pinatas featuring the characters of Scooby Doo. Late in April, when the premonitory fears of finals began to gather among the students of SDSU, Frank began to distribute flyers proclaiming the newly-established feast of Cinco de Mayo. "Come one, come all!" the document proclaimed whilst it elicited images of beer bongs and wet t-shirt contests with a decidely Hispanic flair. And so, amidst watered-down margaritas, drunken white kids in semi-traditional Mexican garb, mariachi music and Spanish-influenced ravings a la Speedy Gonzales, the feast of Cinco de Mayo was born.
And now, over 3 decades since its genesis, Cinco de Mayo has become what every holiday aspires to be: a good excuse to get drunk. So it was written, so it has come to pass.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
It's about time I ripped one of these to shreds
I ran into this on a dirty joke website. I think it's about blowjobs. I've had shit like this forwarded to me too many times to count. This time, however, the thought of some sad, frigid little shrew taking the time to post this shit on a website made me want to respond.
1. First and foremost, we are not obligated to do it.
Of course you're not obligated to suck cock. If you feel obligated to do it, you're probably snorkeling the wrong sausage. Either your boyfriend is a variation on the meathead weightlifter asshole theme, or he's so disgustingly void of personality that you don't really even want to get near his penis.
2. Extension to rule #1 - So if you get one, be grateful.
I am always grateful when I get head. But if you weren't doing it, someone else would.
3. I don't care WHAT they did in the porn video you saw, it is not standard practice to come on someone's face.
Perhaps, but when you're consistently denied something, after a while you get fixated on it. I'm convinced this is the only reason why anyone eats Peeps.
4. Extension to rule #3 - No, I DON'T have to swallow.
Of course you don't HAVE to swallow. As I said earlier, you're not obligated to do anything. You can just lay there like a Mormon bride while I penetrate you with all the passion of a proctologist performing a colonoscopy.
5. My ears are NOT handles.
Again, you're probably blowing the wrong dude.
6. Extension to rule #5 - do not push on the top of my head. Last I heard, deep throat had been done. And additionally, do you really WANT puke on your dick?
Maybe sometimes I do want puke on my dick.
7. I don't care HOW relaxed you get, it is NEVER OK to fart.
Do you mean during a blowjob or in general? I agree, the thought of someone's ass gas forcefully shot into my nostrils is one of the most unappetizing things I can think of (that's not to say I look down on those of us that enjoy it, ahem, Bob), it's just one of those things that's probably going to happen sooner or later, and it's really not that big of a deal. See my post "Hot Beer Farts" for more on this.
8. Having my period does not mean that it's "hummer week" - get it through your head - I'm bloated and I feel like shit so no, I don't feel particularly obligated to blow you just because YOU can't have sex right now.
Wait, wait, wait, who said I can't have sex during period week? It's really easy; you just stick it in like you normally do. In my experience, it's the ladies who have the biggest problem with fucking during menstruation. But then again I'm one of those dirty fucks who doesn't mind going down on a woman during period week. See that little thing that's sitting WAY up above the hole where all the blood and stuffs coming out? That's the clit, and that's where all the action is. There probably isn't even any blood on it because she cleaned herself off beforehand. Now lick it. That tastes good, doesn't it?
9. Extension to #8 - "Blue Balls" might have worked on high school girls -if you're that desperate, go jerk off and leave me alone with my Midol.
How bout I jerk off on your tits, you pill-popping harpy?
10. If I have to pause to remove a pubic hair from my teeth, don't tell me I've just "wrecked it" for you.
Are you blowing a total wuss or what?
11. Leaving me in bed while you go play video games, smoke a cigarette,watch tv...ect.... immediately afterwards is highly inadvisable if you would like my behavior to be repeated in the future.
Oh shit, what do you want me to do? Cuddle? Talk to you? No you don't. You want me to wash your feet and lick your butthole clean. And that's okay. I want it too. But let's be honest about it.
12. If you like how we do it, it's probably best not to speculate about the origins of our talent. Just enjoy the moment and be happy that we're good at it. See also rule #2 about gratitude.
Hey honey, just because you do it doesn't mean you're good at it. Guys lie too.
13. No, it doesn't particularly taste good. And I don't care about the protein content.
I don't think it's designed to taste good. Kind of like how girl juice probably wasn't designed to taste good either.
14. No, I will NOT do it while you watch TV, smoke a cigarette, drink, ect....
Of course you wouldn't. That would make you as cool as my girlfriend.
15. When you hear your friends complain about how they don't get blow jobs often enough, keep your mouth shut. It is inappropriate to either sympathize or brag.
If you were good at it and didn't feel like a slut for doing it, you wouldn't mind me bragging about it.
16. Just because "it's awake" when you get up does not mean I have to "kiss it good morning."
So a I'm guessing a morning rimjob is out of the question?
1. First and foremost, we are not obligated to do it.
Of course you're not obligated to suck cock. If you feel obligated to do it, you're probably snorkeling the wrong sausage. Either your boyfriend is a variation on the meathead weightlifter asshole theme, or he's so disgustingly void of personality that you don't really even want to get near his penis.
2. Extension to rule #1 - So if you get one, be grateful.
I am always grateful when I get head. But if you weren't doing it, someone else would.
3. I don't care WHAT they did in the porn video you saw, it is not standard practice to come on someone's face.
Perhaps, but when you're consistently denied something, after a while you get fixated on it. I'm convinced this is the only reason why anyone eats Peeps.
4. Extension to rule #3 - No, I DON'T have to swallow.
Of course you don't HAVE to swallow. As I said earlier, you're not obligated to do anything. You can just lay there like a Mormon bride while I penetrate you with all the passion of a proctologist performing a colonoscopy.
5. My ears are NOT handles.
Again, you're probably blowing the wrong dude.
6. Extension to rule #5 - do not push on the top of my head. Last I heard, deep throat had been done. And additionally, do you really WANT puke on your dick?
Maybe sometimes I do want puke on my dick.
7. I don't care HOW relaxed you get, it is NEVER OK to fart.
Do you mean during a blowjob or in general? I agree, the thought of someone's ass gas forcefully shot into my nostrils is one of the most unappetizing things I can think of (that's not to say I look down on those of us that enjoy it, ahem, Bob), it's just one of those things that's probably going to happen sooner or later, and it's really not that big of a deal. See my post "Hot Beer Farts" for more on this.
8. Having my period does not mean that it's "hummer week" - get it through your head - I'm bloated and I feel like shit so no, I don't feel particularly obligated to blow you just because YOU can't have sex right now.
Wait, wait, wait, who said I can't have sex during period week? It's really easy; you just stick it in like you normally do. In my experience, it's the ladies who have the biggest problem with fucking during menstruation. But then again I'm one of those dirty fucks who doesn't mind going down on a woman during period week. See that little thing that's sitting WAY up above the hole where all the blood and stuffs coming out? That's the clit, and that's where all the action is. There probably isn't even any blood on it because she cleaned herself off beforehand. Now lick it. That tastes good, doesn't it?
9. Extension to #8 - "Blue Balls" might have worked on high school girls -if you're that desperate, go jerk off and leave me alone with my Midol.
How bout I jerk off on your tits, you pill-popping harpy?
10. If I have to pause to remove a pubic hair from my teeth, don't tell me I've just "wrecked it" for you.
Are you blowing a total wuss or what?
11. Leaving me in bed while you go play video games, smoke a cigarette,watch tv...ect.... immediately afterwards is highly inadvisable if you would like my behavior to be repeated in the future.
Oh shit, what do you want me to do? Cuddle? Talk to you? No you don't. You want me to wash your feet and lick your butthole clean. And that's okay. I want it too. But let's be honest about it.
12. If you like how we do it, it's probably best not to speculate about the origins of our talent. Just enjoy the moment and be happy that we're good at it. See also rule #2 about gratitude.
Hey honey, just because you do it doesn't mean you're good at it. Guys lie too.
13. No, it doesn't particularly taste good. And I don't care about the protein content.
I don't think it's designed to taste good. Kind of like how girl juice probably wasn't designed to taste good either.
14. No, I will NOT do it while you watch TV, smoke a cigarette, drink, ect....
Of course you wouldn't. That would make you as cool as my girlfriend.
15. When you hear your friends complain about how they don't get blow jobs often enough, keep your mouth shut. It is inappropriate to either sympathize or brag.
If you were good at it and didn't feel like a slut for doing it, you wouldn't mind me bragging about it.
16. Just because "it's awake" when you get up does not mean I have to "kiss it good morning."
So a I'm guessing a morning rimjob is out of the question?
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Flea sucks.
I am a big chili peppers fan. Love em to death. But I just read that the new album was leaked to the internet, and here is Flea's response:
if you down load it now off one of these file sharing sites
you will be getting a pale imitation of the record
it will be of the poor sound quality of the technique they used to
get it on there
What the fuck? The chili peppers have songs on both napster and i-tunes, and both of those use file formats that are not as "comprehensive" as a cd recording.
Whatever.
As much as I love the music of the chili peppers, they are corporate whores, charging $39.99 for their "gold" fan club membership(not a member). They seem to make every effort to make money off their fans, including a box set of their new album that comes with a bunch of useless crap.
Flea has forgotten why we make music.
if you down load it now off one of these file sharing sites
you will be getting a pale imitation of the record
it will be of the poor sound quality of the technique they used to
get it on there
What the fuck? The chili peppers have songs on both napster and i-tunes, and both of those use file formats that are not as "comprehensive" as a cd recording.
Whatever.
As much as I love the music of the chili peppers, they are corporate whores, charging $39.99 for their "gold" fan club membership(not a member). They seem to make every effort to make money off their fans, including a box set of their new album that comes with a bunch of useless crap.
Flea has forgotten why we make music.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Hear My Enthusiastic Piggy Squeal
It's Friday. The government finally gave me my money back. To celebrate I bought a bottle of good vodka. Now I plan to get sloppy drunk, chain smoke in the house, eat pepperoni, play video games, and touch myself incessantly to naked photographs of some poor bastard's daughter. Oink! Oink! Oink!
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Fuck Motivation
(Author's note: Typing this was very hard...) I have taken a brief creative hiatus. The music room is a shambles, stuffy from not being opened in ages and thusly smells like a community gym. Work has been quite stressfull as my company is merging. In times of upheaval and stress I can't sleep. I get to a point where the only way to survive is to just react and not get any deeper into it. Your day gets filled with dumb awkward moments without conversation like; step aside and let that lady at work who always gets your name wrong go by; duck, that cabinet door is open and type, type, sip coffee repeat until daily job requirements are done, then leave. I'm saving my mindpower to exploit later. I'm getting plenty high tonight and letting somebody else entertain me. For now I've got Pink Floyd talking about themselves and playing amongst the ruins of mankind's ignorance in Live at Pompeii. Agnus Dei is next on my playlist. I have been so absolutely focused on making music that I forget to just stop and apreciate it. I have to be alone with my mind and some great music for a while. Gotta go, I've got a lava lamp to stare at and LP's to accidentally scratch. If I have any revelations I'll let you know. Nighty night boys 'n girls.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
the new school!
t's time! the road to world domination starts with satisfying one simple "modern" need: to feel as if you a part of something bigger than you and that you have something to contribute. we need to start an institution however stupid that will meet this need and then people will fall in willfully. tom colege i'm your first graduate! audience participation bitches!!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Reverend's Eastern Crusade
Just last week, our good freind Phil(A.K.A Revered BustaPheara) left on a journey that we admire and envy. His quest is noble(maybe not as noble as making $100k by the time your 27, but not every one can reduce themselves to corporate prostitution in that short time). He has decided to walk the entire Appalachian trail, an arduous journey taking him through 14 states and over 2,000 miles. Why does he do it? Well, I don't really know. I was too drunk to remember to ask him the last time I saw him. Having known Phil for quite some time, I can only concede this: The birth of a new music.
Phil has always been known in our circle as quite the electric guitarist, performing lightning fast runs at the drop of a hat, with note for note perfection. I believe his quest, originating in Georgia and ending in Maine, will be a that of a musical sponge. The great Phil has finally found his limits with hardcore metal, and wishes to expand. He feels pity on those who know nothing else but folk, bluegrass, and other such arcane music styles. He will forge a new music, one of electricity softened by the woes of the country folk.
But, I must digress. Whatever the reason for phils daring, if not pointless journey, he has entrusted to me, Tony "the animal" Schmitt, the telling of the tale. Whenever and however he can, he shall send word of his adventures. I shall, without bias or editorial, recant his story to you.
until then, dear piglets, until then.
Phil has always been known in our circle as quite the electric guitarist, performing lightning fast runs at the drop of a hat, with note for note perfection. I believe his quest, originating in Georgia and ending in Maine, will be a that of a musical sponge. The great Phil has finally found his limits with hardcore metal, and wishes to expand. He feels pity on those who know nothing else but folk, bluegrass, and other such arcane music styles. He will forge a new music, one of electricity softened by the woes of the country folk.
But, I must digress. Whatever the reason for phils daring, if not pointless journey, he has entrusted to me, Tony "the animal" Schmitt, the telling of the tale. Whenever and however he can, he shall send word of his adventures. I shall, without bias or editorial, recant his story to you.
until then, dear piglets, until then.
Monday, March 20, 2006
My Bosses Leave Town For a Week
It is 8:32 a.m. on Monday morning. I am in San Francisco, very close to Ghirardelli Square. I am stoned out of my mind. Bobby Brown's "Roni" just came on my internet radio station. In the office kitchen I have a bagel waiting to be toasted. I have whipped chive-flavored cream cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, and alfafa sprouts to put on my bagel. While I am toasting it to perfection, I will cut up my vegetables with great care. On the bus this morning I was cured of the collective neurosis that afflicts all humanity. It has just begun to rain. I love the rain more than almost anything else in the world. Now Ella Fitzgerald is singing "Why Was I Born?" I am a master of the universe.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Judge me not by my actions, but by the curl of my piggy-tail.
It’s come to my attention that piggery, and indeed being a pig, has a negative connotation. Rightfully so, I suppose. The human conception of swine is that they are filthy animals that mill about in their own shit and gorge themselves on troughs full of spoiled scraps. Even the conception of a pig as portrayed on adrunkenpig.com can come off as negative, though it shouldn’t.
The term “chauvinist pig” has become commonplace in disparaging men who indulge in a rousing bachelor lifestyle, thanks in good part to that frigid ice-bitch Jessie from “Saved By The Bell”. How that insipid and venomous twig would scold Slater just because he was born a pussy magnet! Blasphemy!
It’s about time we brought the dignity back to being a pig, whether it be the actual animal or someone living a hedonistic lifestyle. Sure, swine exist in shit and decay, but I’ve often seen dogs, our beloved house pets, licking ass (their own and those of other dogs) and genitals, and eating fresh piles of crap off of the ground. Are they really better than pigs? No! So get off of Porky’s case, bigot! They’re no more disgusting than any other animal.
And as for pigs of the homo sapien influence, leave them alone too. They are revolutionaries, in a way. They are perpetually bringing about the demise of “moral” society, of this insidious worldwide superior/inferior witch-hunt, by living pleasurable, guilt-free lifestyles. They reject the indentured servitude endured by their fore-pigs by avoiding marriage and procreation, and indulging in self-reliance, responsible sexual gratification, and the pursuit of pleasure in all facets of life. There are men who start off with good intentions of piggery but end up as sexual perverts, drug addicts, sociopaths, criminals, etc…. these are not pigs. These are men who couldn’t conduct themselves responsibly and are shameful disgraces to true pigs. Let these pariahs be forever exempt from the realm of the pig. They are antisocial beasts, whereas the pig is a remarkably social animal. He has several close friends, he commands a good deal of attention wherever he is or whatever he happens to be doing, and he is successful in locating consenting women who also indulge in piggery.
Women, fear not the pig. The pig is not a predatory sociopath. He is merely a person in pursuit of happiness, supplementing his good fortune with casual encounters with the opposite sex from time to time. A pig probably won’t buy you a fancy dinner. A pig might not call you after he’s been with you (but that depends on you). A pig will enjoy spending time with you but won’t wanted to be in a committed relationship. A pig will always show you a good time, because your good time is conducive to his. A pig will understand if you choose not to associate with pigs, provided it’s for the right reasons. A pig is harmless and avoidable, but endlessly redeeming if you get to know and understand him. Pigs should be embraced and not shunned. Pigs are a vital part of our incestuous social ecosystem. Pigs are beautiful.
I am pig. Hear me squeal.
The term “chauvinist pig” has become commonplace in disparaging men who indulge in a rousing bachelor lifestyle, thanks in good part to that frigid ice-bitch Jessie from “Saved By The Bell”. How that insipid and venomous twig would scold Slater just because he was born a pussy magnet! Blasphemy!
It’s about time we brought the dignity back to being a pig, whether it be the actual animal or someone living a hedonistic lifestyle. Sure, swine exist in shit and decay, but I’ve often seen dogs, our beloved house pets, licking ass (their own and those of other dogs) and genitals, and eating fresh piles of crap off of the ground. Are they really better than pigs? No! So get off of Porky’s case, bigot! They’re no more disgusting than any other animal.
And as for pigs of the homo sapien influence, leave them alone too. They are revolutionaries, in a way. They are perpetually bringing about the demise of “moral” society, of this insidious worldwide superior/inferior witch-hunt, by living pleasurable, guilt-free lifestyles. They reject the indentured servitude endured by their fore-pigs by avoiding marriage and procreation, and indulging in self-reliance, responsible sexual gratification, and the pursuit of pleasure in all facets of life. There are men who start off with good intentions of piggery but end up as sexual perverts, drug addicts, sociopaths, criminals, etc…. these are not pigs. These are men who couldn’t conduct themselves responsibly and are shameful disgraces to true pigs. Let these pariahs be forever exempt from the realm of the pig. They are antisocial beasts, whereas the pig is a remarkably social animal. He has several close friends, he commands a good deal of attention wherever he is or whatever he happens to be doing, and he is successful in locating consenting women who also indulge in piggery.
Women, fear not the pig. The pig is not a predatory sociopath. He is merely a person in pursuit of happiness, supplementing his good fortune with casual encounters with the opposite sex from time to time. A pig probably won’t buy you a fancy dinner. A pig might not call you after he’s been with you (but that depends on you). A pig will enjoy spending time with you but won’t wanted to be in a committed relationship. A pig will always show you a good time, because your good time is conducive to his. A pig will understand if you choose not to associate with pigs, provided it’s for the right reasons. A pig is harmless and avoidable, but endlessly redeeming if you get to know and understand him. Pigs should be embraced and not shunned. Pigs are a vital part of our incestuous social ecosystem. Pigs are beautiful.
I am pig. Hear me squeal.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The Case for the Existence of God
Feel free to add to this in the comments.
Exhibit A: Old black couples
They dress well, they're mellow, they've probably had a ton of cool experiences, and they probably still fuck (ewww).
Exhibit B: Marijuana
Event the shitty stuff will temporarily turn down the volume on life's bullshit. The good stuff will turn you into a raging nine-foot boner humping everyone you'ver known in your life.
Exhibit C: Cool beautiful chicks who love you
Okay, never mind whatever sick emotional game is tying her to you; just run with it. Wear that thang out and take her to every party. After all, the only downside is that these women are about as rare as a virgin whore.
Exhibit A: Old black couples
They dress well, they're mellow, they've probably had a ton of cool experiences, and they probably still fuck (ewww).
Exhibit B: Marijuana
Event the shitty stuff will temporarily turn down the volume on life's bullshit. The good stuff will turn you into a raging nine-foot boner humping everyone you'ver known in your life.
Exhibit C: Cool beautiful chicks who love you
Okay, never mind whatever sick emotional game is tying her to you; just run with it. Wear that thang out and take her to every party. After all, the only downside is that these women are about as rare as a virgin whore.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Silly bitch, tricks are for pigs!
Von Puerco here, back from a brief hiatus of smoking tons of pot and finding things to be angry about. I've got a whole hatful of rants and I'm going to go on at length about each and everyone, even if it means absorbing all the bandwidth of this blog and forcing my co-contributers to defer their posts to myspace.
Low times in the world of Von Puerco. As often happens after a dozen or so unsatisfying rolls in the hay, I have lost yet another warm hole. This one was doomed from the beginning for sure, but I was disappointed that the sexual humilation levels were relatively low at the time of disbandment. I commend her for putting up with my piggery for so long, and as a tribute I will refer to her as Piglette in this post.
Piglette and I became acquainted via the World Wide Clusterfuck; I, an uninspired but extremely horny recent college grad, and she, a young and optimistic artsy-type female. I happened to catch Piglette at the tail end of her latest hetero relationship, and she was at that point where she'd been so exhausted by those maliciously endless break-up scream-fests that she wanted to sleep with someone else as a sort of "fuck you" to her recent ex. I, being an opportunist, was well aware of how advantageous this arrangement was and indeed went out of my way to facilitate the "fuck you". So our unholy coupling was consummated and continued for a couple of months without a problem.
After a while I came to notice that the gratification was becoming less and less instantaneous. I found I had to coerce Piglette for a good while before the wheels really got moving. I came to realize that the gravy train was about to run out, and I knew I had to plan an exit strategy that avoided any fallout or extraneous conversation about "the place I'm at right now.. how I'm feeling". The signs were clear, though: she had her fill of vengeance sex and slowly came to realize that I am a remorseless asshole on the neverending pursuit to satisfy my lurid primordial desires. That was all well and good, except that she seemed intent on preserving this illusion of "friendship" that was nonexistent as far as I was concerned. Honestly, I lost interest in her intellectually and emotionally the moment I saw her naked. I found the time that we were together and not getting busy nearly intolerable. So when the sex began to taper off you can imagine my indignation. Still, the 30% chance of sex was still enticing to me and I silently tolerated the situation.
Over time I saw less and less of Piglette, much to my delight, yet she was still insistent on maintaining contact and keeping this alleged "friendship" intact. She even went as far as to accompany me to a party, got flat drunk, and proceeded to tell me that she was going of her birth control and wouldn't be "active" for a while. Rest assured, friends, that was the last goddamn straw. I didn't call her, made no active attempt to contact her or acknowledge her existence for weeks.
She called me this last weekend and asked me to meet her for coffee. I figured and hoped this would be the "I can't see you anymore" confession, to which I would respond that I was only in it for the nookie and had no interest in the relationship otherwise. But no, I wasn't even given the dignity of being written off. Apparently this was the first installment of us hanging out as friends.. Like fucking hell. First I lamented the loss of $1.30 on crappy house coffee, then the loss of my time - a whopping 35 minutes on a Friday night. The whole point of showing up was that she would terminate the relationship and take the blame for it not working out, a few pleas for forgiveness, a little self-loathing... bada-bing bada-boom, it's done. Yet here I was, being barraged with boring personal accounts of the utmost frivolity. I slugged my crappy coffee with haste and excused myself. As I left the establishment she had a look on her face that seemed to acknowledge that I had decisively excised myself from her life for good. She looked a little relieved, and seeing that relief made me feel INCREDIBLY relieved. I think she knew what she was getting out of our relationship, which was nothing, and that I was destined to drop her as quickly as I picked her up. These are the ways of the pig. I have no control over it, nor can I feel guilty for things that are merely pig nature.
Fuck you. I'm a pig. Deal with it.
Low times in the world of Von Puerco. As often happens after a dozen or so unsatisfying rolls in the hay, I have lost yet another warm hole. This one was doomed from the beginning for sure, but I was disappointed that the sexual humilation levels were relatively low at the time of disbandment. I commend her for putting up with my piggery for so long, and as a tribute I will refer to her as Piglette in this post.
Piglette and I became acquainted via the World Wide Clusterfuck; I, an uninspired but extremely horny recent college grad, and she, a young and optimistic artsy-type female. I happened to catch Piglette at the tail end of her latest hetero relationship, and she was at that point where she'd been so exhausted by those maliciously endless break-up scream-fests that she wanted to sleep with someone else as a sort of "fuck you" to her recent ex. I, being an opportunist, was well aware of how advantageous this arrangement was and indeed went out of my way to facilitate the "fuck you". So our unholy coupling was consummated and continued for a couple of months without a problem.
After a while I came to notice that the gratification was becoming less and less instantaneous. I found I had to coerce Piglette for a good while before the wheels really got moving. I came to realize that the gravy train was about to run out, and I knew I had to plan an exit strategy that avoided any fallout or extraneous conversation about "the place I'm at right now.. how I'm feeling". The signs were clear, though: she had her fill of vengeance sex and slowly came to realize that I am a remorseless asshole on the neverending pursuit to satisfy my lurid primordial desires. That was all well and good, except that she seemed intent on preserving this illusion of "friendship" that was nonexistent as far as I was concerned. Honestly, I lost interest in her intellectually and emotionally the moment I saw her naked. I found the time that we were together and not getting busy nearly intolerable. So when the sex began to taper off you can imagine my indignation. Still, the 30% chance of sex was still enticing to me and I silently tolerated the situation.
Over time I saw less and less of Piglette, much to my delight, yet she was still insistent on maintaining contact and keeping this alleged "friendship" intact. She even went as far as to accompany me to a party, got flat drunk, and proceeded to tell me that she was going of her birth control and wouldn't be "active" for a while. Rest assured, friends, that was the last goddamn straw. I didn't call her, made no active attempt to contact her or acknowledge her existence for weeks.
She called me this last weekend and asked me to meet her for coffee. I figured and hoped this would be the "I can't see you anymore" confession, to which I would respond that I was only in it for the nookie and had no interest in the relationship otherwise. But no, I wasn't even given the dignity of being written off. Apparently this was the first installment of us hanging out as friends.. Like fucking hell. First I lamented the loss of $1.30 on crappy house coffee, then the loss of my time - a whopping 35 minutes on a Friday night. The whole point of showing up was that she would terminate the relationship and take the blame for it not working out, a few pleas for forgiveness, a little self-loathing... bada-bing bada-boom, it's done. Yet here I was, being barraged with boring personal accounts of the utmost frivolity. I slugged my crappy coffee with haste and excused myself. As I left the establishment she had a look on her face that seemed to acknowledge that I had decisively excised myself from her life for good. She looked a little relieved, and seeing that relief made me feel INCREDIBLY relieved. I think she knew what she was getting out of our relationship, which was nothing, and that I was destined to drop her as quickly as I picked her up. These are the ways of the pig. I have no control over it, nor can I feel guilty for things that are merely pig nature.
Fuck you. I'm a pig. Deal with it.
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