How Ya’ Liking The New Features?

So I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m rolling out new features.  Justin’s Corner, an invitation to guest bloggers, and The Playlist of the Month are already out.  There are more to come.  I’m still not entirely sure of how I should present this stuff, though.  For now, these features will mostly appear as the in-between posts.  Normal posts are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday (unless it’s a holiday or I’m lazy or I’m tired or I forget or I’m being a bitch).  “Feature” posts will happen on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends/holidays.  There will be regular features – things that get a new post every month/week/event.  There will be one-offs – something I done did and I’m not going to make you wait until Monday to see a picture of the bear I wrestled.  Oh, right.  I wrestle bears.  ‘Cause I’m such  man and stuff.  Sometimes these features will appear as additions to regular blog posts.  In those cases, they will either be at the bottom after the tl;dr or right up top so you can get to the funzies without having to suffer through my stupid, “No, my opinion matters…” bullshit.  In some cases (like today’s) it will be both.  One feature will be right up top (well… right below this today, to ease you into it) and one feature will be at the bottom.  Some features will be posts all of their own – like guest bloggers or any kind of “… of the Month” posts.  I’ll stop dilly dallying.  Here’s the thing:

Thing I Found of the Week [beta test]:

This idea for a feature is still pretty up in the air, so I’ll at least offer something fun for now.  IF YOU’RE AT WORK, DON’T CLICK THIS.  I CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR IRRESPONSIBLE CLICKING. ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY NOT SAFE FOR WORK.  I’M SERIOUS, MAN, DON’T DO IT. http://bootyoftheday.co/  I don’t know what’s going to be at the top of this amazing website when you click on it, but if it’s anything like what I stumbled across while searching for some (believe it or not) safe-for-work inspiration for a different feature, then I’m sure you’ll either greatly enjoy or at least be intrigued by it.  Mmmmmm… booty.

Then I’ll do my normal, everyday post.  It’ll look something like this:

“…And another thing:  I don’t care how many dicks you’ve slapped, I still don’t want mine slapped.  That’s the problem with all you Republicans.  Something something, I don’t like religion, something, bark bark, I’m important.  Wild accusation followed by superlatives and exclamations!  Should I ask a question of the readers that they’ll never respond to?  Hmm… hasn’t worked so far, but maybe this will.  How do you like your cumshots?

Now for something slightly less crude followed by something slightly more crude followed by a random aside followed by a very verbose way of explaining something that should actually be pretty easy to understand.  But first (and even before that, I’ll add some pointless and distracting parenthetical) I’ll explain a bunch of back story that you couldn’t possibly give two fucks about.

tl;dr – Poorly worded summery of the above, and yes I do understand that most of these aren’t very helpful, but I like cracking jokes in them, so I’m keeping them for now.  

Cracking of another stupid joke and/or some weird acknowledgement of something and/or some even weirder in-blog apology to whatever I just lambasted, thereby invalidating at least one point that I made earlier.  When did I become so wrote?  Whatever, stick with me, ’cause I can only get better, kid.  Dumb shit after the big game, now here’s the weather:

Aaron’s Notes Extended Booty Call Forecast [also beta]:

I like a nice, aggressive lapdance

And then a note on a 2012 goal.

But the lappy first.  As many red blooded, vibrant, living, heterosexual, male human beings, I have a certain fondness for women.  This fondness spans a great reach of reasons, both physical and non-corporeal.  Companionship.  Love.  Friendship.  Compassion.  Fuckin’.  The lap dance doesn’t really fall neatly into in one category and may in fact be a category of one.  But that’s not something I would like to debate today.  Rather, I’d just like to acknowledge that it can be quite a lot of fun and that it offers an often great, though brief, close, physical experience with the fairer sex.

Which is all fine and good and usually something that I don’t much care about.  Not the close physical experience, that is.  I mean, let’s not get crazy.  I love’s dah booty and dah boobies.  However, these experience in the form of a lap dance are usually pretty lame.  You get a bit riled up, you can’t touch the lady.  You are not likely to get touched by the lady.  They reek of cocoa butter, bad perfume, and strong liquor.    Some are hot but most are a little haggard.  Ridden hard and hung up wet.  They look depressed and probably are.  They often don’t work hard for the tip and rarely deserve it.  But sometimes… yeah, sometimes.

At the strip club that my friends and I frequent most, the experience is usually no different.  However, there are a handful of regular strippers that are not so regular.  There are a few white chicks with awesome bodies and/or awesome faces.  There is one black chick who is just a fuckin’ knockout.  There used to be a chick from Colombia…. or at least of Colombian decent who was fuck-off hot, along with some other big-boobied, thick-tailed Latina ladies.  But in my pat few visits I seem to have been getting lappies from the same chick, and I just can’t seem to help it.

She’s not super beautiful.  In fact, I might say she’s average at best, though it’s difficult to know for sure with all of the poor lighting, drunken haze, and blahblahblah.  At some point she coerced me into getting a lap dance from her.  She grabbed my hand and tugged me to the dark, sleazy, dance area.  I skeptically sat down and spread my legs in that oh-so-familiar fashion.  She sat on my lap and said, “Let’s wait for the next song” which I though was pretty considerate, being that this song had just started.  If it’s that close to the beginning, most of the dancers just get started.  Instead, she asked me to give her a back rub.  Pretty cool.  The back rub turned into a side rub and a butt rub and then a new song started.  And she immediately started grinding.  And man, do I ever mean grinding.  Her ass was crushed, full-force against my now hard, throbbing junk.  It was as if her ass were the pestle, my lap the mortar, and my dick was some secret collection of roots and crystals meant to be pulverized to release essential oils and some kind of incredible, magical substance meant for ancient incantations.  In a good way.  She stood up and planted my hands on the cushions of the couch we were sharing, spun around, and brought her less-than-ample yet still appealing breasts to eye level.  She pulled in close, arching back and forward to keep in full contact, rubbing her crotch, belly, boobs, and face against my loins before sliding back up, this time past bringing her left leg over my head and sliding her panties to the side.  Pretty cool.  Facing me, she pinned her hips to mine and started grinding my hog again.  If not for the stiffness of denim and the occasional pass-over from the front button on my boxers, it would have felt as though I were inside of her.  She pulled in more, exhaled into my ear and bit the upper lobe.  She reached down and grabbed it – and I mean really, really grabbed it hard – somehow managing to get a full grip in spite of the jeans in the way and motion about with it for a while.  She did a bit of all of those move over and over until the song started to come to a close and frankly, so did I.  If that song were just a few seconds longer, I might have gone all cumsies in my pantzies, and that would have been quite a joyful embarrassment.

When the song finished, she mostly stopped the lappy, instead just sitting there on that club in my pants.  At that time, I could have probably used it to club rocks.  She asked if I wanted another, and I almost said “yes”, knowing that it could only end one way.  Instead, I said no thanks.  I paid her and tipped well.  With what must have looked like an angry squirrel in my pants, I limped back to the table my friends and I had acquired earlier that night.

It was an aggressive lap dance, and it was great.

I got another one (actually two… long story) from her later that same night, and they were somehow better.  Somehow, I say as if I don’t know why.  No, I didn’t finish or anything.  I may, however, have had a nipple in my mouth.  Being that I am quite a fan of nipples, I’d say that was a pretty cool.

Since that night, I’ve been back a few times.  Each time I go with a plan to seek out some mega-hot dancer with big-ol’ boobness and hope for a chance to motorboat, and each time I reluctantly agree to once again receive the best lap dances I’ve ever had.  How she manages to locate my sad little turtle with her tight (I assume) little den with such accuracy absolutely boggles the mind, but one does not ask such questions.  You just sit back and enjoy it.

tl;dr – The lap dance feels like half a step down from actual sex, and I’ll bet she’s awesome in bed.  Suck a booby.

Oh, right.  The goal.  Today’s featured picture is that of me back in my military days.  I forget exactly when it was, but I’m gunna guess 2004 – 2005.  All I know is that it is exactly how I want to look and in 2012 I am going to post that thing all over my house, desk, car, and everywhere else I make poor life and health decisions to remind myself to get as close to looking like that guy as possible.  That’s pretty much that.

Fuck, I really want to go get another lap dance from that skank.

Gotta start playing catch up

And it ain’t happening today, so I’ll just float this teaser out there – that list of porn stars that I actually enjoy watching?  Jenna Haze is not on that list.  She has been in the past, so I might suggest you give that a shot (ha).  However, there are some videos I’ve seen her in that kinda turn me off.  More so, some up close viewings of her at strip clubs have really turned me off.  To be fair – it’s not her looks.  I think she actually looked better in person then on film.  The problem is some of the things that she does and some of the songs she dances to on stage… she seems really fucked up.  Certain levels of crazy are fine by me for a lady that I might date and even more acceptable in a chick I might just knock boots with.  Certain levels.  Not her level.

I also don’t much care for male-male-female threesomes.  I really don’t care for scenes where a girl is being banged by more than two dudes.  That’s gross and a chick that does that is not a chick for me.  My memory and active imagination won’t let me just ignore such things when I watch porn, and I like to enjoy my porn in a particular way.  I wonder how other guys enjoy their filth, ’cause if it’s the same for them as it is for me, then I don’t get them at all.  I like to imagine myself in that porn.  I’m that guy.  If there are a bunch of guys, I don’t want to be there.  In real life and in porn, I don’t want to be inside of a chick that some other dude is also inside of.

I know that’s hypocritical as I would absolutely love it if a dozen chicks jumped into bed with me at once.  That sounds fantastic.  I also know that if I were serious with a chick and found out that she had been in some three-four-fivesome situation or worse, I’d be weird about it for a while, but I’d get over it.  On the other hand, if I found out in the first month or so and hadn’t become that attached, I would probably stop pursuing.  I really don’t know, though.  It’s never happened.  Frankly, I really don’t want to know about the sexy-times a lady has had before me.  Is that odd?

Let’s get back on track and wrap this up.  When I see a chick in a porn take two cocks up her ass at the same time, all of her scenes ever are basically ruined for me forever.  So many thing about that are super gross, but the main thing is that you have to be pretty fucked up to be okay with doing that on camera, for money, with the typically gross dudes that do porn.  The very thought of my tongue, dick, or even fingers being anywhere near such a woman’s bits or pieces is a total boner killer for me.  And that’s really that.

tl;dr – Jenna Haze is a fine looking woman who’s porn I once enjoyed but no longer can.  Also, if you do double anal, you’re disgusting.

By the by, that goes for dudes, too.  I don’t bang dudes, sure, and I can’t really speak for those who do.  But from a perspective of just, I don’t know, respect or something…? if you are a dude that double teamed a girl – fine.  We were all young once.  If you are a dude that double-analed a girl – not fine.  Fuck off you gross weirdo.

Sweet Assed Sex Chart, Bitches!!!

Check me out.  No, really… check me out:

Right Here.  No really, click on this line right here.

Now I know that this is going to immediately look like crazy sauce and terrify you – DON’T FREAK OUT!!!  It’s just a dick pile of data and a motion chart.  First thing is first – click the “Chart” tab at the top of the screen.  You can check out the data in there, if that’s your dig… but I would advise against it.  The whole point of a chart is to more easily make sense of data.  So like the screenshot below says, just click on the “Chart” tab.  Slut.

When you’re actually in the chart you’re ready for the fun.  It should default to what I think is the best way to view this data.  Each ball represents a sex act or otherwise thing that could happen during a sexual encounter.  The balls will rise or lower over time depending upon how intense I considered the act.  The will move left to right depending on the chance of them taking place at a given time.  They will change color depending upon how much I liked it and they will grow or shrink according to how much the lady liked it (or rather – how much I thought it seemed like she liked it.  I’m still not psychic.  Working on it).  The “Play Button” and slidy bar thing next to it are where the magic happens.  That’s the timeline, which makes the various data points (balls) change depending on what part of the encounter they took place in.  Important to note – if you hover your mouse cursor over a ball, the chart will display the name of the activity over it and some other data on the sides.  Give it a try.  You can which data set is represented by each axis, color, and size as you wish.  I find that Y = Intensity, X = Chance of Activity, Color = My Observed Enjoyment, and Size = My Perception of Her Observable Enjoyment works best, but hey – knock yourself out.  The Timeline thing will always represent time, so I don’t see a point in changing anything else to time.  You might.

A little something about this data.  The data in this chart represents the activities that could take place during a “hook-up” or otherwise get together involving sex over a 24-hour period.  It took some doing to get it working just right, and all of the compiling/recompiling of data was a bit much for me.  As such, the data on this chart is not original data.  I’m debating with myself whether or not I will actually share that, as some of it is a bit intimate.  Even for me.  Chance are that I’ll share a slightly cleaned up version, but no promises.  Anyway, the data here is a bit fuzzy and has been rounded up and around a bit.  I needed the chart to work and get pretty damn close to what I meant, and some of the actual data would end up fucking it all up.  So some things a fudged.  Things like “1” is often a placeholder – look at chance of “Dry-Humping” taking place twelve hours into the encounter.  I mean, it could happen, so it shouldn’t be “0”, but it hasn’t happened since I’ve started logging it.  I feel like I should be giving a seminar on this…

tl;dr – No, really, you should read this one or at least spend some major time with this chart.

Now fiddle around with this like one might fiddle around with their bits and pieces.  Feel free to ask me about any of this crazy bullshit.

edit – a few minutes in and already questions.  If you have it set up the way described above it’s pretty easy to follow.  I think.  If the dot is blue, it means I don’t much like it.  Red means that I love it.  Small ones don’t tend to be enjoyed by ladies, big ones do (Ha!… oh, I just made myself sad with teeny weeny).  All the way to the right means it’s pretty likely to happen, all the way to the left means it ain’t.  All the way to the top means I consider it rather intense, all the way to the bottom means it is pretty tame and/or calm.  Some things lose intensity over time.  Some become more likely.  Some are more fun the more we’ve been around each other.  Other times – like if we’re dry-humping at fucking hour 18 – are the fucking worst.

Scum Week – Part 2

Quick Recap of Wednesday’s post: I planned to take a week to be a real piece of shit.  I still had some rules and got some chubby boobies for banging.  NOW, let’s continue.

Or rather, let’s start from somewhere near the beginning.  “Scum Week” was to be a seven to ten day affair of me basically slacking off and skanking on.  I was going to drink too much, play too many video games, watch some anime, pick up loose women, watch a lot of porn, eat poorly, and whatever else struck my fancy without destroying me.  So here’s what happened.

Day 1 – Friday:  After work, I think it may have been about 5:00 PM.  I flew out of work and headed to my favorite liquor store.  I have a favorite because I am a piece of shit and have had occasion to check out several locations.  I grabbed a “handle” – also known as the “family size” – of Wild Turkey along with a fifth of Kettle One.  Wild Turkey is my favorite.  An unfortunate drink of choice for an unfortunate amount of years.  Vodka, on the other hand, is no friend of mine.  However, it mixes well with any number of things and chicks dig it.  I then headed to one of my favorite grocery stores and picked up some sodas, some orange juice, some cranberry juice, and some snacks.  These snacks were mostly shit that I’d never really eat on my own.  In fact, I didn’t typically keep soda in the house.  I’ve started to keep some over the past few months because when I have company, I’d like to be able to offer a drink.  I got my bitchass home, started drinking, rubbed one out, and hit the internet.  I don’t remember exactly what I posted on the list of Craig.  I also deleted it, for reasons which should become apparent soon.  What I do remember is that I basically asked for lady with big and bouncy boobies to come over to my place to knock boots.  I also remember something like, “Why are big boobs important?  Normally it doesn’t matter to me… except when I want to titty fuck and that’s what I want to do.  So yeah, you gotta be cool with being titty fucked, too.  Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you get yours, too.*”  There were several back-and-forth’s with ladies of varying attractiveness, most of which turned out to not be serious.  There seems to be an unsettling number of chicks that love to just flirt and not follow through.  But a few chicks were down to follow through, and I tactfully chose the lady with the biggest, roundest bust.  She just so happened to be a fat.

Fat’s maybe not fair.  I mean, I’ve fucked some pretty fat chicks back during my club going and bar crawling days in Texas and later in Germany.  Those pickups were just to help my friends nail the fat chick’s super-hot friends.  This chick wasn’t as fat as some of them, so that’s pretty cool.  She was somewhere in between chubby and chunky, but her boobs were clearly enhanced by her heft.  She came over to my place with one of those tiny backpacks that you see on cute chicks in nightclubs – you know, those cute chicks that already know they’re going home with some guy that night, but haven’t chosen which guy, ’cause that’s the skanky way they roll?  Yeah, that kind of backpack.  She looked pretty together from her pictures and better in person, so even though she wasn’t the type of chick I would normally go for, I was perfectly alright with this choice for “Scum Week”.  Celebrity she most resembled… like an Ugly Betty, but less ugly and more chunky.  Actually, somewhere in between the Ugly Betty character and the actress who plays her without the ugged-up look, but chunky.  Anyway, she dropped her bag on my way-too-big-for-my-place coffee table and eyeball fucked my home.  She was, maybe, all of 23 and clearly used to dorm rooms and shitty apartments shared by three or more people.  She was quite impressed with my place.  It was clean, neat, well furnished and considerably better appointed than her or her friends’ shitty places.  Somehow, impressing a chick is a pretty big aphrodisiac for me.  Maybe because inside, I’m a strange mix of really into myself while still managing to be completely down on myself.  We sat on my love seat, drank some of that liquor, and talked about bullshit for a while.  Then we started making out and…

Day 2 – Saturday:  a little after midnight, we a nipple made an appearance.  My relationship with boobs and nipples is complicated.  No, it’s less complicated and more “disjointed”.  I’m a big fan, but they aren’t the most important thing on a woman.  They aren’t even my favorite erotic part of a lady, and the size usually doesn’t matter to me at all.  Yeah, I do like big boobs.  But I also like little boobs.  In fact, I prefer a nice, firm, tight pair of little boobs over some big ol’ sloppy knockers.  Some disagree, but hey – to each his own.  I’m not going to get into the gory details (unless people ask for it…), but rest assured that we both got ours.  The titty fucking occurred and, as always, I got dat ass.  That’s something I have more thoughts about, but that’s for another day.

After banging in the living room, the kitchen, and the “studio” we went back to my bedroom.  We used my full(?) sized bed, which was awkward because I scummily had a queen sized mattress up against the wall – also a story for another time.  We fooled around a little more and then drunkenly fell asleep.  We woke up around 8ish – pretty early considering the amount of booze we’d had and the hour we probably fell asleep at – and had one more quickie.  I let her clean herself up a little while I put on some shorts and the cleanest polo I could find.  In what was mostly like my least scummy move of the situation, I made breakfast.  Nothing special, just English muffins, those bullshit brown n’ serve sausages, and scrambies (’cause I’m classy as fuck).  After that, I made up some dumb excuse about needed to get some things done before meeting family (none of which was true) to get her to leave.  I did not walk her to her car, but instead let her do the walk of shame on her lonesome.

I spent the rest of the day drinking, playing video games, and deciding which awful fat-bomb-makers to order food from later that night.  I really wanted either Pho or Pad Thai, but those were, obviously, far too healthy for “scum week”.  After going back and forth for a while, i settled on Indian food.  A LOT of Indian food.  I ordered two entrees – lamb vindaloo and crab malabar.  Both of which are pretty fuckin’ heavy.  I also ordered some greasy pakora and samosa’s along with some garlic naan and a mango lassi.  In case you’re wondering – no, I did not make it through all of this food in one sitting.  Yes, I did try.  I passed out in the living room on my favorite chair.

Day 3 – Sunday: And I woke up pretty early.  Around 3ish.  Normally, I would just go back to sleep, but I wanted to squeeze the very life out of this weekend.  It was all types of Carpe Diem up in here.  I looked around to see the aftermath.  I had miraculously managed to bundle up my Indian leftovers and neatly stack them in the fridge before passing out, but had also left a mess of dishes and the pan I had used to make eggs the previous morning was sitting in a sink half-full of dank water.  “Soaking” is a dish washing practice that I tend to avoid, usually only making an exception for baked-and-caked on food, but it occasionally seems like a good idea to do to any kind of dish when I’m drunk.  It never helps, but instead just makes it so I have to sink my hands into nasty, stale, yuckwater at some point to fish the stopper out.  I didn’t start drink on Sunday.  Instead I simply kept on drinking as fairly full glass of bourbon was on the accent table next to my chair when I woke up.  I guess I hadn’t finished it before drifting off to dream world.  Giving the situation, it seemed appropriate to knock it back right then.  I spent the rest of the morning wondering the Mojave wasteland and killing random strangers in Fallout: New Vegas while searching for public buttsex porn on my laptop – now propped up on the love seat next to my big, comfy chair.

At some point that day I broke into my “Fuck-it foods” reserve.  These are canned, boxed, or frozen foods that I keep on hand for those days that I just don’t feel like cooking.  Most of them are fairly healthy, but not all.  Some of them were chosen because I find them delicious and, in small doses, aren’t completely destructive.  In this case, I had found my reserve of Chef Boyardee’s Ravioli and Assorted Garbage.  I had two cans.  I said “At some point…” because I didn’t discover that I had done this until the next morning.  I had actually managed to black out on a Sunday, at home, by myself.  Doin’ pretty good.

Day 4 – Monday: I don’t know which is was.  Did I not get as fucked-up on Sunday as I had thought?  Did I manage to stop drinking booze at the right time?  Did I drink just enough water to be okay?  Was I still drunk?  Or had my body just so given up that it didn’t bother sending the normal response for “man, you really fucked up” by making my head and body ache like they should have?  I don’t know, but I woke up Monday morning feeling pretty alright.  I went to work and did my job pretty well.  I say “pretty well” because I spent a bit too much of the day texting various ladies to try to set up booty calls.  I had lined one up for that night, but that put some pressure on me.  As much of a scumbag as I was being then and am normally, I don’t like people coming over to my place and seeing it look like total garbage.  So when everything at work looked pretty together, and I was pretty on my P’s and Q’s after some events that had taken place a few weeks ago, I got the fuck out.  I probably left five to ten minutes early.  This might not be a big deal to a lot of people, but I like to take pride in my work, so I will often stay late just to make sure everything is good.  I hauled ass home and cleaned as quickly and thoroughly as I could.  During this was when I found the cans and Chef Boyarpoop.  I call it that because the clotted remains left behind in those aluminum carcasses actually smelled like poop.  Whatever that food is made of – and the can says it’s natural – comes out of the can smelled tasty.  Meaty, tomatoey, hearty.  However, in less than 24 hours, it decays to the point of actually smelling like human feces.  Nothing I can think of has actually put me off of eating unhealthy food as much as that stench.  I have not bothered to replace those cans with other canned pastas nastiness, but instead picked up some boxes of Nature’s Promise Macaroni and Cheese.  I know that stuff isn’t the organic, healthfood magic that they claim and some believe them to be, but it still has to be leagues better than Chef Nastardee’s Canned Horrors of Momentary Deliciousness.

I made two trash runs before I felt the place was clean enough, and by that time my own body had stopped being so.  The chick that I had convinced to come over backed out.  That’s upsetting, but I wasn’t terribly upset.  I’m always impressed when a girl has it in her to just tell me when shit has changed.  I hate it when there’s a no-show with no warning.  Even worse is when they no-show and then call me a week or so later to try to hook up again.  I know that move.  I’ve done it before in my scummier days.  That means that she found a better hookup for the night and didn’t bother telling me she couldn’t make it.  Now I’m the best hookup again, and she’s got the hornies.  I’m less offended by the idea that she would go for a better hookup – we’re all trying to get the best in some way or another.  I’m not at all offended by the idea that I am not the best, or by the notion that she got some other dick.  We’re both adults and I know what I am.  The most offensive part is that she couldn’t be bothered to just let me know.  In case you find yourself in such a situation, know that it’s always best to err on the side of letting them know.  Don’t give a reason unless they ask, and then only give the actual reason if you know it’s cool.  Chances are they already know or would rather remain ignorant – I know that’s how I feel and I know this rule has given me the best response from the women that I interact with.

Anyway, my Monday night hookup cowgirled up enough to tell me that she couldn’t make it.  Sucks, but that’s fine and thanks for telling me.  Even better, thanks for telling me at just the right time.  I was led on just long enough to clean my place up but still have enough night left to find a different hookup.  The replacement chick may have actually been better, too, though I suppose I’ll never know.  Anyway, she was pretty cute.  Imagine a thinner Anne Hathaway with a bigger forehead.  She was no stunner, but looked pretty good.  I never asked, but she seemed about my age (29), which is pretty rare for me.  Not for lack of trying, by the way, I’ve just never been desirable to women my own age.  I’m not sure what that says about me, but it can’t be good.  Anyway, we got our freak on, and it was pretty freaky if a bit abbreviated.  I really like to take my time.  I know that probably comes across as braggy, but it’s not.  What I’m not saying is that I like to “get’s mine” (a.k.a. jizz) more than once.  This works out because, like most guys, the first one doesn’t last very long.  The hours of the work that goes into getting a chick into my bed isn’t worth the four to ten minutes of intercourse that follows, even if those fleeting moments are pretty rad.  Rather, I’ll spread out the encounter with more than one my-gasm along with fore-and-aft-play (heh heh [I know I said I had a chart coming – I do… it’s just not ready yet]) and some making out.  For this encounter, we were both near-30’s people with jobs and shit, so we cut out a lot of the extras and I only jizzied twice.  No idea how many times she did, but she seemed to have a good time and has since called me back to set up other rendezvous, so that’s a thing.  After she left, I proceeded to get really good and drunk.  I passed out on the couch around midnight.

Day 5 – Tuesday: I awoke in a stooper.  I felt rough and looked it, too.  Thankfully, I had no meetings or otherwise reason to be seen by any bosses and it would be a mostly empty shop at work.  I coasted through the day and had to call off a booty-call that I had arranged the previous day, because “Scum Week” had caught up with me, and there was no way I could knock boots.  The text was simple, and the reply was understanding and cool.  Something like, “I’m sorry to do this, but I have to back out of tonight.  Another time?” responded to with something like, “Oh, that sucks.  Another time would be good!”.  I haven’t talked to her since.  And with that, “Scum Week” ended early.  I spent the rest of the night nursing my poor, ruined body and cleaning my poor, ruined home.

tl;dr – I’m a piece of shit, and that was proof.

Yeah, not so sure that I’m going to actually repeat this exercise next year.  But maybe.

*”Gettin’ yours” is pretty fuckin’ important.

Booty Update

Still not resolved.  Trying for Friday night, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.  Sorry for “Phoning it in” for today’s post, but I is busy.  Be back with more by Wednesday.

Craigslist Booty – Part 5

With this, we wrap up the all Craiglist & Booty Week.  If you’re new here, don’t sweat checking out all four previous posts, but I do think Parts 2 & 3 are pretty alright.  I feel like I should have learned something from all of my fuck-ups and fuck..s.  Here’s what I think, so feel free to tell me I’ve misinterpreted my experiences.

On craigslist itself:

  • It’s fuckin’ crazy.
  • It’s a lot of fun to read.
  • It’s full of sex, and you can get in on some of that if you know how.

On avoiding making a bad internet personals ad:

  • Being too vague
  • Being too specific
  • Being too lewd
  • Being too “vanilla”
  • Being Boring
  • Promising something you can’t deliver
  • Being too suggestive

On things that have worked for me:

  • Being clever
  • Being silly
  • Being firm and assertive
  • Being open
  • Being odd
  • Saying what I mean
  • Innuendo
  • And most of all – A Picture!

By the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this – any kind of personals place is very dangerous.  The internet doesn’t necessarily make it more dangerous, but rather introduces additional aspects to the classic, newspaper based personal ads model.

  1. Lack of a vetting process
  2. Extreme Volume
  3. Inherent anonymity

Newspaper personals have some kind of vetting process, if nothing less than to keep to a standard of decency.  Every place with personals does have its own set of rules, and craigslist’s rules are a lot stronger than most would think.  However, the standard of decency is much lower on the web.  Don’t mistake that for people actually being more decent with newspapers than with craigslist.  It just means that they appear more decent in print than on screen.  Keep in mind – John Wayne Gacy did not have the internet and Hitler didn’t have rap music or Grand Theft Auto.  The internet also makes it so easy to post, that you end up with a shitload more posts than any reasonable business can keep up with vetting.  This lack of vetting means a lot more crazies get through.

Ease of use means large volume.  Large volume means greater probability of crazies being users.  Extreme ease of use means extreme volume means extreme probability of crazies.  I’d think it is much less of a cause and effect but more of just a numbers game.  Still, even if the percentage of crazies using the personals section of The Washington Post and craigslist.org are both only 1%, The Post only publishes so many a day.  If a paper publishes 50 ads on a week day and 100 ads on Sunday (and I’m just pulling those numbers out of my ass), then we’re talking over 1200 ads a month.  In my “1% are crazies” scenario, this means about 12 crazies a month get their ad published.  Craigslist deals in millions.  An estimated 50 million personals every month.  Even at just 1%, that means 500,000 crazies are publishing their personals ad every month.  It’s an unfair comparison, as the paper is local and Craigslist is worldwide.  Also, the whole vetting thing and the anonymity of the internet means the crazies are all invited.  It also makes it much more difficult to find, prevent, or stop those crazies.

The thing is, now you have your own vetting process.  We would hope that if someone was crazy enough to lure someone with a personals ad to do harm to them, any idiot could spot it.  However, if a crazy really wanted to harm you, they simply have to draft a normal enough sounding ad to make it in the paper.  Craigslist makes it so easy to post, that I just don’t see crazies trying that hard.  So just pay the fuck attention and always be careful – more so on the Wild West that is the internet.  OH!  And always be fluffing.

tl;dr – The internet may be a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it’s populated with real people.  In other words, it ain’t the internet’s fault, it’s ours.

Fuck, this week ended really dark.  I should draw some pictures or post rainbows for next week…