Monday, February 23, 2009
Opps, my phones ringing. Let me just…..*Zip*
I think I speak for most males when I say “I have too much shit in my pockets.” Wallet, cell phone, keys, tissue, candy treats, Ipod, chap stick, gum. Etc etc etc. The modern male simply carries to many objects in his pockets, and with fashion progressing and leading us toward tighter, more form fitting jeans, pocket space is fleeting and becoming a hot commodity. I mean sure, some shirts have breast pockets. But reaching into a pocket on a shirt makes you seem nerdy and creepy. The only thing a man should store that close to his heart are cigarettes and wallet sized pictures of naked girls. Some hoodies have those weird kangaroo pouch things. But before you go stuffing your blackberry and ball points in there listen to this; Last semester I was running down Harrison to catch a bus. I was wearing a hoodie that I had my wallet in. During the run the contents of my man pouch got all jumbled up until it eventually fell out. My coins then feel to ground and rolled off in infinite directions like roaches scattering at the flick of a light. Anyone who has lived in Chicago for an hour knows that homeless people here can smell loose unclaimed change, and with in seconds the dollar and 67 cents I dropped had vanished. Stolen by bums, I even saw a pigeon swoop down and fly off with a few dimes in his talons. “So, if hoodies don’t work and if breast pockets look weird, then were am I to keep my valuables?” you may ask. Two Words, Two Hilarious Words. Fanny Pack. I know what you are thinking; “Adam, you’ve really out gayed yourself this time.” My advice to you is to grow up, and get with the times. The world is an ever evolving, constantly ascending place were norms and stereotypes are shattered and carried away with harsh winds everyday. Men, Fanny Packs are the future of modern fashion, modern comfort and the best tool of the modern man. Everything you could desire bundled up and protected by a little bitty zipper. The one stop shop for the man on the go. With a girl you like and things are getting heavy? Girl: Oh man, you’re so hot and powerful and tall. But do you have…protection? Simply unzip your waist companion, grab the contraceptive of your choice, and commence the humping. Talking to a friend but his breath is terrible? Look to comfy, convenient, carry case close to your cock for a stick of tasty double mint, teeth whiting joy, The Fanny Pack, for when pockets are to little but a briefcase is too much. The Fanny Pack, if a belt and a purse had a child, it would be this. The Fanny Pack, Because it draws attention away your crossed eyes and acne.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Darling, keep your mouth closed.
I enjoy the company of women.
Talking, kissing, hugging, boning and every act in between.
I love women like people love sports.
I wish they made fitted hats where the team logo was replaced with a picture of a vagina or a set of boobs or something, I'd rock a number 23 jersey if it had a girl spread eagle on the front.
I love women like bears loves salmon.
I love women like N.A.S.A loves space.
I love women like Amy Whinehouse loves cocaine.
I love women like white people love ranch dressing. (Seriously, I seen them put it on pizza.)
And of all the things you can do with a women my favorite by far is cuddling.
Cuddling after sex thou, I can't sleep comfortably with an erection, especially since I sleep on my stomach. It's like doing a cock push up by accident. Like a mustang driving straight into a brick wall.
Few feelings come close to laying in bed with a girl and knowing that for at least one night, you don't have to be lonely, that at least tonight someone is thinking about you.
Our beds are the most personal, intimate, safe place most of us have.
And to share that almost holy comfort zone is one of the greatest displays of affection and devotion you can show. (The second greatest is swallowing, the third is taking it in the booty hole.)Drunk or sober.
Love or Lust.
Best friend or some broad you met in the lobby of your building one night when you were piss drunk and half stoned. (Too personal?)Nothing matters in those fleeting moments of consciousness before you drift into the numbing yet divine blanket of sleep.
Everything becomes still and equal as you and your partner ( or partners) lay close and together.
In the quiet of the night, darkness crawls up the walls and the two of you are content until the morning.
Which brings me to the point of this entry, morning breath.I've been lucky enough to share the same bed with quite a few lovely ladies in my day.
From beautiful actresses to limber dancers.
And a few ladies I had to throw away my sheets afterwards.Women from all different spectrum's.
But no matter how unique the girl is one factor remains true in every case.
Women have terrible morning breath.
Putrid, vile, and rank
And it seems to be the prettier the face the more haggard the scent of her breath.
One time I awoke to several hot exhalations on the back off my neck, it felt like someone was pointing a blow dryer at me.
This other instance I rolled over to face her and was hit in the face with a moist gust that smelled like fungus.
One of the most attractive girls I've had the pleasure of bedding had the breath of a buffalo, an 83 year old half dead buffalo with halitosis.Breath as bitter has pickles and scents as rancid as dirty socks dipped in chitterlings water.
Shit smoothies.
Toe nails and Tootsie rolls.
Hot sauce on a hippo.
I'm sorry to tell you girls this but I think the feminine body releases some kind of chemical during sleep that makes your shit stink like you've been chewing on burnt hair.
Basically what I'm saying is set an early alarm for about 6:30 am whenever you share your bed.Use that time to get a hold of some Listerine, gargle, then hop back in.
Talking, kissing, hugging, boning and every act in between.
I love women like people love sports.
I wish they made fitted hats where the team logo was replaced with a picture of a vagina or a set of boobs or something, I'd rock a number 23 jersey if it had a girl spread eagle on the front.
I love women like bears loves salmon.
I love women like N.A.S.A loves space.
I love women like Amy Whinehouse loves cocaine.
I love women like white people love ranch dressing. (Seriously, I seen them put it on pizza.)
And of all the things you can do with a women my favorite by far is cuddling.
Cuddling after sex thou, I can't sleep comfortably with an erection, especially since I sleep on my stomach. It's like doing a cock push up by accident. Like a mustang driving straight into a brick wall.
Few feelings come close to laying in bed with a girl and knowing that for at least one night, you don't have to be lonely, that at least tonight someone is thinking about you.
Our beds are the most personal, intimate, safe place most of us have.
And to share that almost holy comfort zone is one of the greatest displays of affection and devotion you can show. (The second greatest is swallowing, the third is taking it in the booty hole.)Drunk or sober.
Love or Lust.
Best friend or some broad you met in the lobby of your building one night when you were piss drunk and half stoned. (Too personal?)Nothing matters in those fleeting moments of consciousness before you drift into the numbing yet divine blanket of sleep.
Everything becomes still and equal as you and your partner ( or partners) lay close and together.
In the quiet of the night, darkness crawls up the walls and the two of you are content until the morning.
Which brings me to the point of this entry, morning breath.I've been lucky enough to share the same bed with quite a few lovely ladies in my day.
From beautiful actresses to limber dancers.
And a few ladies I had to throw away my sheets afterwards.Women from all different spectrum's.
But no matter how unique the girl is one factor remains true in every case.
Women have terrible morning breath.
Putrid, vile, and rank
And it seems to be the prettier the face the more haggard the scent of her breath.
One time I awoke to several hot exhalations on the back off my neck, it felt like someone was pointing a blow dryer at me.
This other instance I rolled over to face her and was hit in the face with a moist gust that smelled like fungus.
One of the most attractive girls I've had the pleasure of bedding had the breath of a buffalo, an 83 year old half dead buffalo with halitosis.Breath as bitter has pickles and scents as rancid as dirty socks dipped in chitterlings water.
Shit smoothies.
Toe nails and Tootsie rolls.
Hot sauce on a hippo.
I'm sorry to tell you girls this but I think the feminine body releases some kind of chemical during sleep that makes your shit stink like you've been chewing on burnt hair.
Basically what I'm saying is set an early alarm for about 6:30 am whenever you share your bed.Use that time to get a hold of some Listerine, gargle, then hop back in.
Drilling for Plastic
Drilling for plastic…
I looked at the sky today.
I mean, extensively looked at the sky; not the inadvertent look we all do.
I mean, eyes fixed, head cocked back, in total silence and gazed at the unsettling vastness of the sky.
I thought about how everyone who has ever existed has looked at this exact same sky.
I thought about how, by some divine law I could never comprehend, this massive, blue, mystery blanket keeps us all alive.
I thought about thanking the sky on behalf of all earth; for all it’s done for us.
I thought about it saying, “You are welcome, Adam.”
I thought about what else the sky would say; deep, profound, philosophic shit I bet. Like, “this is all bigger than you,” or “you aren’t alone.”
I thought about how glad I was that the sky didn’t talk.
I mean, the sky has to see a lot of stuff, and for a scoundrel like me, an all-seeing, omnipotent blabber-mouth is the last thing I need. Besides, if the sky could talk, that means it would have a mouth. With a mouth comes all types of issues: bad breath, sneezing, snoring. Besides, what if the sky accidentally eats a plane?
American Airlines would sue.
After my neck developed a sharp pain and soreness I directed my attention to the busy bustling city street.
Men with briefcases, students, the poor and down touted. Each has 1000 stories and exist under the same sky.
I stared at a well endowed woman. She was wearing a low cut shirt that I’m pretty sure was to small.
She had amazing tits.
The sky is a lot like a nice set of breasts, and if the sky is a giant boob, then the sun is a nipple.
They both invoke this bizarre since of hope, and they both having this healing power that is indescribable; the sun feeding the earth with invisible rays, and nipples feeding babies and sexual deviants with organic calcium.
You can go blind gazing into the sun to long.
You can go to jail if you stare at boobs to long (and without permission).
I thought about how when I was a kid, I’d lay on my mom’s chest.
I thought about how it was the closest to nirvana I had ever been without smoking weed.
I thought about my head being like the earth and my mother’s chest being the sky.
I thought about the sun/nipple metaphor I made earlier which led me to think about my mother’s nipple, which grossed me right the fuck out.
I noticed the woman with the big tits noticed me mindlessly staring at her chest.
She probably thought I was a pervert or some type of peeping tom.
She wasn’t far off-base. I am somewhat of a pervert. What she didn’t know is that her magnificent tits helped me see things a little bit clearer. I had a boob-inspired epiphany.
I wanted to thank her, but it would only have freaked her out.
Especially since I had a boner…
I looked at the sky today.
I mean, extensively looked at the sky; not the inadvertent look we all do.
I mean, eyes fixed, head cocked back, in total silence and gazed at the unsettling vastness of the sky.
I thought about how everyone who has ever existed has looked at this exact same sky.
I thought about how, by some divine law I could never comprehend, this massive, blue, mystery blanket keeps us all alive.
I thought about thanking the sky on behalf of all earth; for all it’s done for us.
I thought about it saying, “You are welcome, Adam.”
I thought about what else the sky would say; deep, profound, philosophic shit I bet. Like, “this is all bigger than you,” or “you aren’t alone.”
I thought about how glad I was that the sky didn’t talk.
I mean, the sky has to see a lot of stuff, and for a scoundrel like me, an all-seeing, omnipotent blabber-mouth is the last thing I need. Besides, if the sky could talk, that means it would have a mouth. With a mouth comes all types of issues: bad breath, sneezing, snoring. Besides, what if the sky accidentally eats a plane?
American Airlines would sue.
After my neck developed a sharp pain and soreness I directed my attention to the busy bustling city street.
Men with briefcases, students, the poor and down touted. Each has 1000 stories and exist under the same sky.
I stared at a well endowed woman. She was wearing a low cut shirt that I’m pretty sure was to small.
She had amazing tits.
The sky is a lot like a nice set of breasts, and if the sky is a giant boob, then the sun is a nipple.
They both invoke this bizarre since of hope, and they both having this healing power that is indescribable; the sun feeding the earth with invisible rays, and nipples feeding babies and sexual deviants with organic calcium.
You can go blind gazing into the sun to long.
You can go to jail if you stare at boobs to long (and without permission).
I thought about how when I was a kid, I’d lay on my mom’s chest.
I thought about how it was the closest to nirvana I had ever been without smoking weed.
I thought about my head being like the earth and my mother’s chest being the sky.
I thought about the sun/nipple metaphor I made earlier which led me to think about my mother’s nipple, which grossed me right the fuck out.
I noticed the woman with the big tits noticed me mindlessly staring at her chest.
She probably thought I was a pervert or some type of peeping tom.
She wasn’t far off-base. I am somewhat of a pervert. What she didn’t know is that her magnificent tits helped me see things a little bit clearer. I had a boob-inspired epiphany.
I wanted to thank her, but it would only have freaked her out.
Especially since I had a boner…
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