Archive for October, 2014

An Erotic Story I Wish Were True

October 28th, 2014

Here’s a story I’ve never told anyone, mostly because it never happened. This story, which I made up, took place around 2001/2002. Or it would have, had it actually happened. I stress the fiction part of this because it involves a celebrity. I’m afraid my writing will be so good that you’ll believe that this obviously fake story were true. Now you’ll know that it isn’t, but you’ll wish it were. I certainly do.

 

I moved to Los Angeles a few days before 9/11/2001. I only knew one guy in the whole town. Any one I meant in L.A. at first I met through my one friend. I was really nervous to meet anyone, especially girls. Part of is was culture shock, me being a Kentucky would-be hipster. Another part of it was after 9/11, I felt less social and began to withdraw from social situations.

 

I realize now that I blame 9/11 in part for my inability to talk to women. Let’s move on.

 

In spite of my lack of social skills with the fairer sex, I managed to score the occasional piece of ass. The first (of few) was an older woman who I kept seeing around my apartment complex. I finally spoke to her while going to get the mail. She was sitting on the landlord’s stoop. She looked like she wanted to look like the model Jerry Hall but couldn’t quite pull it off.  I would reckon she was in her early 50’s. I was twenty-three in 2001. Normally, I wouldn’t have sex with a woman over twice my age but 9/11 really did a number on the country and we all had to try to get back to normal whatever way we could.

 

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She had platinum blonde hair, had on sunglasses, and wore a low-cut top showing off her cleavage. Every time I saw her, she had dressed shabby. Like maybe she was a good twenty years past the glory days but she wouldn’t let go and put on adult clothes. On my way to and back from the mailbox, I did not attempt to hide my gawking at it. I was really not subtle about it.

 

“Take a picture, honey. It’ll last longer,” she barked at me.

 

I apologized. Stammered something about not seeing something like that every day.

 

“What are you, fresh off the turnip truck?”

“Naw, they don’t grow a lotta turnips in Kentucky.”

For some reason, she softened up on me. It must have been the Kentucky thing. She asked me where in Kentucky I was from, and we talked Kentucky stuff for a bit. She told me her name was Joan. We talked a bit more then she invited me into her apartment. Actually, it wasn’t her apartment, it was her son’s. Her son was the property manager of the building and he has his own apartment but he wasn’t home at the moment. This is very important to remember later.

 

So we had a nice chat and Joan brought me a cold pop from the fridge to be nice. I swear this all sounds like Penthouse Forum kinda of stuff but I was sincerely checking her out the whole time. Only this time I was trying to be more subtle about it. What I was not subtle about was wondering how old she was, because I asked her straight up.

 

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I. . .uh, um afraid to say. I’m afraid I might get it wrong.”

“You’re not going to offend me.”

 

It would have been impossible to guess. Her teeth were pearly white like in a commercial. She seemed to have had some work done but I couldn’t be sure how far it had gone. I decided to miss by a mile rather than a yard.

 

“If I had to guess, I’d say. . . thirty-two?”

 

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She laughed hard at that one, “you are funny”, and then leaned in and kissed me a little. Then she pulled back, then she leaned again and kissed me some more. Then she pulled back again one more time.

 

“You were staring at my tits, weren’t you?”

“Uhh. . .”

“Oh come on, you’ve been staring at them the whole time.”

“Yeah. I have.”

“Bet you think I’ve had implants, don’t you?”

 

I would not have been surprised. They were very large breasts, and her top was doing time-and-a-half keeping them in. At least they were until she pulled it up to reveal her giant hangers. “You see any surgical scars on these? Go on, take your time. Have a look.” I looked. I looked for a long time. She let me feel them to make sure. They were natural titties of an indeterminate age, at least to me. Obviously, she knew how old she was but she wouldn’t tell me. A gentleman never asks, they say. I’m not a gentleman, or at least I wasn’t at twenty-three.

 

I tried a weak joke, “Hold on, I’m giving you a mammogram.” It was then that she decided to check me over the pants for testicular cancer. She found nothing.

 

Let me rephrase that. She found no signs of testicular cancer over my pants.

 

We fooled around a little bit but before I could get her to touch my dick under the pants, she panicked. “We can’t do this here. Can we go back to your apartment?” I grunted that we could, so we composed ourselves. I told her what apartment I lived in and she would knock on the door a few minutes after I left, to avoid any suspicious looks from any nosey neighbors in the complex.

 

I told you that this woman turned out to be the property manager’s son. I did not know this at the time. I did not know her relationship to the property manager. Relative, girlfriend, what have you, had no clue. I would never have guessed “mother”. Back to the story.

 

She came over and I took her into my room. No one was home. My friend was at work and I didn’t have a job yet. We shared a room, or I slept in my friend’s room in a cot on the floor. The few minutes I had before she came over, I stashed the cot out of sight just so I wouldn’t look like a drifter. I took her into the bedroom and laid her in my friend’s bed.

 

She wouldn’t give me a blowjob because she had just had her teeth cleaned and didn’t want to ruin it with dickmouth. Not exactly how she said it, but I’m the one telling the story here. She offered to give me a titty-fuck instead, which I took happily. I’d never had one before, not even for April Fool’s Day (April 1st is less commonly known as World Tittay Fuck Day). It was pretty cool. Better than a handjob, although not as good as a blowjob. Rimjob continues to be unranked.

 

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I had sex with her after that. I won’t describe that. Have you ever had sex? It was like that. I’ve already written too much as it is. I know that this woman was a good twenty years older than me, perhaps even more so. But we had a nice time. We laid back after it was over. Kept talking. She laid in my arms. Two boats meeting in the harbor. She started telling me about Rock Hudson. At first I thought it was a story, but it turned out to be an anecdote and she was in the tale. I perked up.

 

“You knew Rock Hudson?”

“Knew him? Oh, I knew him. Dated him. Made love to him, too.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” I knew that Hudson had died in 1985 from AIDS.

“I sure did. You remind me a little bit of him, how jittery you are. How eager you were to get to the end. It’s sex. You should enjoy it!”

I sat up and groaned. Now I had to go get an HIV test. “Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you upset? Oh, I did it with Rock years ago. They didn’t even have AIDS back then. This was in the fifties, you know.”

I looked at her. “How fucking old are you, really?”

“How old do you think I am?

“I thought you were in your early fifties but now I don’t know.”

Joan smiled. “I’m older than that, dear.”

“How old?”

 

It was then that my friend came home from work and walked into the bedroom and saw me and Joan in his bed. Before he could say anything, I looked at him and yelled, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”

 

Later on, after the dressing up and the goodbyes and the leaving and the putting of my friend’s bed sheets into the washer and apologizing, he actually congratulated me. Then again, my friend would have fucked Barbara Bush just for the hell of it. W’s mom, the former First Lady.

 

I ended up fucking Joan one more time. It was not as good the second time, and still no blowjob. Oh well.

 

Me and my friend got evicted from the building because I fucked Joan. One day the property manager came over and wanted to talk to me. He gave me the third degree.

 

“Do you know who you had sex with? Don’t act like you don’t know? You had sex with my mother!” I freaked out. Mother?

 

“My mother has dated some of the biggest stars in Hollywood! Steve McQueen! Elvis Presley! Bob Evans! Who the fuck are you?”

“I don’t know what. . . what you mean.”

“You are not a star. My mother dates stars. You are a piece of shit. YOU DIMINISH THE VALUE OF MY MOTHER EVERY TIME YOU FUCK HER!” Ah, he thought his mom was slumming it. I thought we both were.

 

After we moved into a new place, we looked Mamie Van Doren on the Internet. As it turns out, “Joan” was her birth name. She had in fact had affairs with Steve McQueen as well as Tom Jones, Joe Namath, Robert Evans, Elvis, and Howard Hughes. Howard Hughes. I fucked a woman who fucked Howard Hughes.

 

And she was seventy years old when I had sex with her. I had guess her age too conservatively. She is still alive at the age of eighty-three. You can look at pictures of her on her website, and she has turned out well for an elderly woman. She doesn’t look eighty-three years old. I would have guessed at least twenty years younger, but that’s why I don’t work at the carnival.

 

When we found out how old she was, my friend began mocking me. Bastard.

 

Taylor Swift & Aphex Twin (Finally!)

October 26th, 2014

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I am enjoying the Taylor/Aphex mashup “APHEX SWIFT”. Maybe it should have been called “Tayphex”, but that’s not even a quibble. “APHEX SWIFT” is the work of David Rees (from Get Your War On, the comic strip), who has posted this along with a blog detailing two theories.

 

Theory 1: Aphex Twin is as big a romantic cornball as Taylor Swift

Theory 2: Taylor Swift is as scary as Aphex Twin.

 

I’ll add my own theory to the mix. A lot of music snobs may respect Aphex Twin, but have a hard time actually listening to him. Like he’s Captain Beefheart with sequencers. At the same time, those same people may turn down their nose at Taylor Swift but listen to her music and it is obvious how well she’s handled the art of pop formula music. In fact, more people probably listen to her than will take credit/shame for it. A lesser mind would call her music “guilty pleasure” but in 2014 how can enjoying music be guilt-inducing, even if the singer has her own line of Barbie-doll knockoffs.

 

Fact: I once attempted a bit of social engineering by buying my cousin’s daughter a Taylor Swift doll instead of the Barbie one would normally ask for. I did this because the Taylor doll had a guitar, which I considered a better accessory than Barbie’s fancy handbag.

 

Before you ask, no the clothes do not come off the Taylor Swift doll. I didn’t try, I swear. I think John Mayer tweeted about it.

 

I guess I can junk this mashup I was working on. The Orb and Katy Perry. The jokes wrote themselves. I was beat to the punch by a superior effort.

It’s Hard (Free)

October 24th, 2014

I dream an impossible dream.

 

Life is hard.

 

Love is strange.

 

Try not to hold back when you need to sob. How else will you get the poison out?

 

Since I started counting, I have received 9 mailers from pro-Alison Grimes sources. I have received 19 mailers from pro-McConnell sources. I guess that means McConnell is winning. You’d think a guy with thirty years in Senate wouldn’t need to spend so much money and send out so many fliers to counter a relatively unproven State Secretary. But I guess he’s turned a lot of people against him. You wouldn’t think he’d be in a virtual dead heat but this is where we are. Now half of Kentucky can see the rot. The other half see it and blame it on Obama and the death of the coal industry.

 

This has to be part of the Democrat strategy. Give up on Grimes, and let the outside money funnel in for McConnell’s campaign. Money spent on McConnell can’t be spent on other Republican candidates in other states. This means that McConnell could squeak out another term but the Dems would be able to keep control of the Senate and therefore McConnell would not be able to replace Harry Reid as Senate Majority Leader. Disappointing for Kentucky Democrats, though. We’d still have to live with six more years of McConnell and that’s more than enough.

 

I went three days without heat this week. My furnace went out. I spent the majority of Wednesday and Thursday under heavy blankets in bed. The gas gauge in my car wouldn’t work. I didn’t know how many inconveniences it took to take down a man, but having no heat for mid-October nights is more than inconvenient.

 

There is no complaints department. And yet here we are.

Gamergate, Unexplained

October 22nd, 2014

I don’t understand video games anymore. I gave up consoles after the PS2 and now don’t play anything on the laptop more difficult than 2048 variants or a Sporcle quiz.

 

Sometimes I go on reddit, and boy are some of those people mad at a woman named Zoe Quinn. Why? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. But apparently they are so mad at here, they are sharing nude pictures of Quinn that she shot in 2007.
I looked at the pictures (because I like looking at these sorts of things). They were Suicide Girls-esque nude pictures that she took, meaning that she knew that they were made for public consumption. Which means that she’s probably not totally ashamed of them and attempts to use them to try to shame her because you hate her is probably a stupid idea. Wait, it totally is a stupid idea.

 

I don’t understand how all the fun things in life get ruined. Video games, sports, music, radio, pro wrestling, you name it. Why is everyone in a hurry to make everything as shitty as politics? Some guys see Zoe Quinn and “think there’s the woman who will ruin video games”. I see Zoe Quinn (at least in these 2007 pictures) and think “hey, nice body on this woman who has no effect on my life whatsoever”. I don’t understand how you can call yourself a civilized person and threaten rape and murder against another human being. Sometimes women take their clothes off for picture time, and you want to use that against them? This is America, isn’t it?

 

 

Good Days

October 19th, 2014

I can pinpoint to you the exact location of my last good day. September 21, 2014. Every other day since then has been bad or meh.
I have probably had about three good days in 2014. I wish this weren’t the case. Alas, this seems to be the deal now. I don’t see the point of going outside unless I need to get something. I am making my world smaller.

 

Emotional triage. Send it in. All hands across the table.

No Complaints Department

October 15th, 2014

“There is no complaints department/it’s only up to you”

 

I’ve been getting into new old music. Old music because it is old music. New because it I have never heard it before. Such is the case for “No Complaints Department”, a song by The Sensational Alex Harvey Band recorded in 1978.

 

 

What a sad song. Alex Harvey lays it all out. “My best friend was killed in a plane crash/my brother was killed on the stage” and that shit actually happened. His brother Les was in a band called Stone The Crows and was electrocuted onstage in 1972 after touching a microphone that wasn’t grounded. His manager and friend Bill Fehilly was killed in a plane crash four years later.

 

This song is just one big “it is what it is”. Lay it all out there. There is no complaints department for life. It’s only up to us to get through. If we sit around and compare our problems, it’s just gonna turn into a pissing contest. “Oh your brother died? I wish I had a brother. I can’t even afford to feed my family.” “Oh I wish I had a family to feed. My dog has a malignant tumor in his belly.” “Oh I would dream of my dog having a tumor in his belly. Would be a sweet fantasy compared to what I’ve got going on. The doctor wants to amputate my legs.” If we’re not careful, we’ll turn into an unfunny version of that “Four Yorkeshiremen” sketch from Monty Python At The Hollywood Bowl.

 

As for Alex Harvey, things picked up for him. The Sensational Band broke up after recording this song and he died from a massive heart attack four years later.

 

He’d probably get a laugh at that line, I hope.

 

 

 

 

How To Cope With Election Day

October 9th, 2014

Dear friends and fellow Kentuckians,

 

We need to talk. I don’t need to tell you about the upcoming Senate race between incumbent Mitch McConnell and opponent Alison Grimes. By now, you’ve drowned in a tsunami of mailers about the race trying to convince you who to vote for. I have a giant pile of mailers in the passenger seat of my car, all waiting to be returned to sender at some point in the near future. Maybe the week before Election Day.

 

I have a good many friends who are Democrats. I have a good many friends who are tired of Mitch McConnell as US Senator. There are times when a political adversary becomes like a mortal enemy. Anything less than total defeat is a crushing blow that sends one straight to the alcohol and tissues. I saw and felt it first hand Election Night 2004 with the double-shot of Bush beating Kerry and Jim Bunning retaining his Senate spot (the one that now belongs to Rand Paul. . . out of the frying pan, right?)

 

That’s why it’s important to retain a bit of perspective as we approach yet another election. We’re about three weeks away from this and I can already picture friends gathering around the TV watching results with snacks, soft drinks and hard drinks. I can already see their faces of disappointment should Alison Grimes join the ranks of Steven Beshear, Bruce Lunsford, Lois Combs Weinberg, and Harvey Sloane as failed challengers to the throne of Sen. Mitch McConnell.

 

It is entirely possible that Alison Grimes will not beat Mitch McConnell in November.

 

That’s a difficult thing to swallow for some people. It will reinforce the idea that big money is what it takes to put or keep someone in the Senate. Hundreds of millions of dollars have been spent on this race, much of it out-of-state. With that kind of money, one does not have friends. They have masters. It will be hard not to see a McConnell victory in November as another knife in the heart of the American dream, but it will simply be a confirmation. It’s all pro wrestling, kids.

Mormon Acid Funk

October 7th, 2014

 

We should talk about this because although this came out years before I was born, it’s never too late to talk about the Osmonds.

 

Sean Cannon has a show on WFPK in Louisville where he plays various odd things of interest. On his Twitter he teased playing an Osmonds song. Knowing the nature of “WFPK After Dark” and its’ (what could be ascertained to be a) playlist, I assumed he would playing a track from The Plan, the 1972 album where the Osmonds attempt to explain their Mormon faith through the power of progressive pop rock. I mean, what else is he gonna play? “One Bad Apple”?

 

Rather, Mr. Cannon decided to play “Crazy Horses”, a song that preceded The Plan. It can only be described as “Mormon acid funk”. Donny Osmond is playing the Electro-Theremin. The lyrics are about gas guzzlers causing air pollution. Despite the lack of Donny on lead vocals, the Osmonds were of such commercial esteem that this very weird and fun song cracked the Top Twenty in the United States.

 

It’s amazing how the Osmonds started as little kids singing barbershop and then became adolescents doing bubblegum pop and then got into their late teens wanting to rock out and sing about saving the environment. After this, they made The Plan, which is mind boggling for most listeners even if you’ve listened to Zappa and the Residents half your life.

Going Iggy-Like At the Pizza Place

October 6th, 2014

Kentucky Prophet went through a lengthy period of bad gigs up until I put the project on hiatus in 2011. Or 2009. I can’t remember, it’s been so long. Part of the problem is that I would take a gig practically anywhere I was invited and that includes Evansville, Indiana.

 

One Evansville shitshow was at Muncheeze Pizza. I don’t know if the place is still open or not. Playing for so few disinterested people I snapped and went Iggy Pop on them. Not full-blown Iggy Pop where I flopped my dick out and banged it against the oregano shakers but rolling around and generally making everyone uncomfortable. I’d give my performance 6.5 out of 10 Iggys.

 

I had a button-up shirt. That came unbuttoned. As I mentioned, I rolled around in the floor mostly in front of an increasingly horrified party of six people. I have a tendency to ruin people’s days when they have no idea what they are in for. One time I ruined a couple’s first date when they arrived at a coffeehouse gig in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This time I rolled around for about two songs. Then I got up and poured myself into one of the nearby chairs and began rolling my belly fat around in my hand (since my shirt was unbuttoned) right in front on them. Then I rolled around and thrashed a little more. I probably screamed a little bit. I think I played six songs. Long enough to burn myself in everyone’s mind and embarrass myself. This was another gig that left me screaming at myself all the way in home in the car.

 

All in all I’d give myself 6.5 Iggys and 8 out of 10 Jim Morrisons.

Potential Baseball Promotions

October 4th, 2014

Since MLB is in the playoffs, this gives the other teams that didn’t make the playoffs an opportunity to think up new ways to get fans to come watch games in 2015. If the New York Yankees are reading this, they may want to pay attention because they won’t have Derek Jeter again. I am giving these ideas away for free.

 

Ayn Rand Night. This will work especially well in Kansas City. The Royals play at Kauffman Stadium, which has a giant waterfall and (get this) fountain. Discounted copies of The Fountainhead for the first 1000 fans willing to buy them. NOTE: Do not misspell her on the big screen as “ANN Rand”. Big no-no.

 

Todd Rundgren’s Utopia Night. Seventh-inning stretch playing of “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” will be replaced by a playing of Utopia’s thirty-minute”The Ikon”. Afterwards, umpires will call the game on account of curfew.

 

Bassnectar Night. Bassnectar performance after the game. Fireworks included. Being molested in the foam pit, no charge.

 

Finnish Civil War Night. Recommended for interleague play if the Reds play the White Sox. Managers for the Reds and White Sox will sign a peace treaty at the conclusion of the series.

 

Old Fashioned Fappening Night. First 1500 fans get a slide of questionable erotic content. All slides found in storage auctions and all depicted persons are long dead.