There's Rough Sex, and There's Rough Sex

In my never-ending attempts to post videos in lieu of posting anything substantive (very very busy lately), I bring you Alexyss K. Tylor, a quasi-celebrity in Atlanta, courtesy of public access television. Apparently she's all about the vagina power. Listening to her speak, though, I think she's much more into dick.



Some of the most choice quotes:

- "If you are in a sexual relationship, the man should be comin', if he ain't gon' be comin', then the man gon' be goin', somewhere else, puttin' his penis in something else or somebody else."

- "The ultimate goal for a man is to have an orgasm, to have a large, earthshaking ejaculation."

- "A lot of women will laugh and talk about men if his penis is small, or if he's not performing the way she's used to."

- "Because he's in love with your vagina, does not mean he's in love with you."

- "She said his dick was so good, as she started rockin', she got into it and something just hit her and BAM! all upside the head. Dick'll make you slap somebody!"



- "The penis is a very powerful organ. It's a very deep, spiritual, sexual heat-seeking missile."

- "Dick'll make you lose control. Dick'll make you pull out a gun and shoot somebody in the face."

"I Will Not Yield!"

TELL IT, Del. Norton!



It's about freaking time the District of Columbia got a vote somewhere in Congress. Sure, the White House is opposed to it and may veto the bill -- why would the Administration break from its neverending train of anti-freedom initiatives and principles? -- but it's a step in the right direction.

I do emphasize, it is but a step in the right direction. Delegate Norton's one vote in a 435-seat chamber of Congress is really just a drop in the bucket. It's far from true "representation." But it's a start.

Me, I'd like to see true self-governance, including the removal of Senate oversight for District laws. If we in the District want to pass medical marijuana laws, no freaking Republican Senator from Oklahoma -- or anyone whose name does not actually appear on a District of Columbia ballot -- should have a right to smack us down.

As tax-paying citizens of the United States of America, it truly is our right.

DC Vote.

"I Put You On the Streets"

This girl is sooooo adorable!



And no, I'm not referring to Will Farrell.

Corners

To Cho Seung Hui:

Dude, you are such a fucking loser.

No, seriously. I totally wish you were still alive so you could re-read that sentence and let the sentiment set in. I mean really sink in.

You are a fucking loser.

Your words:

"You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today. But you decided to spill my blood. You forced me into a corner and gave me only one option. The decision was yours. Now you have blood on your hands that will never wash off.

That, my dear, is what those of us in the real world call "fucking bullshit."

You had no choice? Give me a break. Everyone has a choice. And most everyone selects the option that doesn't involve killing more than 30 innocent victims.

Just what severe wrong do you think was inflicted upon you that made your actions somehow justifiable? Never mind, don't bother answering that: no matter what your answer, it'll still be a hollow excuse. Because nothing could justify what you did.

Worse yet, you were too fucking chickenshit to face the judgment of history and of the criminal justice system. You killed yourself. You weren't even man enough to stand up and say that you did it. You killed thirty innocent people and couldn't take the heat afterward.

Ooooh, you're such a big tough man with your guns, aren't you? Don't look now, but you were a freak without those things. Maybe if you made some kind of an effort you could have better fit in to general society. But no, you somehow couldn't, and somehow you felt like the world owed you one. You know what? The world didn't owe you shit.

And seriously? It's no one's fault but your own that your writing skills suck. I mean, woah, seriously. I read "Richard McBeef." I swear to you I have never read a piece of pablum that stank worse. It smelled worse than cousin's hamster when we got back from a week-long vacation and only to realize that he had forgotten to make arrangements to feed it. How could you possibly blame someone else for the dreck? Gads, words can't describe how completely talentless you are. Thank goodness you killed yourself, because if Virginia Tech had had to issue you a degree in English, given that drivel, it would have cheapened every other degree that school has ever handed out.

Whatever your issues were, you had a choice. The fact that you even took the effort to reach out from beyond the grave you knew you were putting yourself into for the purpose of blaming some nebulous "others" for your actions just highlights your utter lack of anything resembling humanity.

Yeah, you've gone down in history. You're the shit now.

You're A-number-1 loser dumbshit.

You could have just taken your own life and been done with it. You had to be a big man and take others with you.

I'm sure you're burning in hell now. Hope you enjoy it. Even John Wayne Gacy seems to have had more balls than you. You're probably his bitch now. How do you like that?

We mourn your victims. I don't plan on wasting any more time on you. Perhaps the best result now would be for us to deny you the immortality you so clearly sought. Even if that immortality comes in the form of utter disdain and contempt.

Storm Before the Calm

I am going to blame stress.

How is it that every time I have something worth looking forward to -- in this case a rather long-anticipated vacation -- everything has to pile on for the weeks before then to make my life miserable up until the release point?

I've got a great vacation lined up starting in early May. Yes, it's less than a month away. I'm spending close to a week in Amsterdam and very very VERY much looking forward to it. I've never been to Amsterdam and this ought to be a huge treat.

Since then, my life here has heaped on stress upon stress which will not make this lead-up time even remotely enjoyable.

We have two trials scheduled for two successive Mondays between now and then. They're time consuming and tricky and definitely ulcer-inducing. On top of that, I have to respond to discovery requests for a complicated disability case. Then, to still further pile on, I have to respond to a summary judgment motion the day before I leave.

Why can't everything just be easy? Man, I wish I could just cruise through the next few weeks and happily hop on to the plane and relax for a week. But then my life never seems to function that way.

Malaise

On what can I blame my current funk?

- That I had sinus issues (almost literally) up the wazoo last week? (I suppose that depends on how you define the word "wazoo.")

- Maybe the meds I'm taking to combat the ubiquitous sinus issues has contributed to a depressed mindstate.

- The nagging doubts I have that my current romantic interest may actually share absolutely nothing in common with me outside of being a really nice guy. (I must blog about this at some point.)

- The stress of a work week going crazy with no real end in the near future.

- Some strange urge compelling me to do things I probably know I shouldn't do.

- Alcohol withdrawal.

- Hunger. I've been trying to cut back on all portions of all meals. We'll see when I finally collapse in a Nicole-Ritchie-simulation event.

- Seasonal affective disorder.

I've got to get over this. Maybe I just need to get laid.

Now Blow.

One of the joys -- admittedly a very small one, but I do take pleasure in the little things -- of going to a gay-centric doctor's office is that you can have cute little conversations with your doctor which may be somewhat inappropriate in a more "straight"-laced office (pun intended).

Having experienced a substantial increase in sinus activity over the weekend, I hunted down my doctor on Monday and demanded an appointment for that same day. (I'm all butch that way.) And by "demanded," I mean "begged and pleaded," as in "I was wondering if there was any possible way I could pleeeeeease see a doctor today? I'm miserable!" Well, it worked, because they squeezed me in at 3:15.

During the course of describing my symptoms to my (really cute) "doctor" (who's actually a P.A., but I don't care), I mentioned that it was so bad I was getting a sinus headache, which I normally never get at all. Then this exchange occurred:

Him: Yeah, so you probably feel compression too, right? Like when during takeoff and landing in a plane?
Me: Yes! Especially when I blow.... Uh, my nose, I mean.

We both got a pretty fun laugh out of that one.

So, Uh, Just Where IS China?

I've seen this commercial on a few times now.



Here's my question: I may just be totally retarded, but didn't the guy hit China the first time around? I know it's a very small target and all -- being the country of largest geographic mass in the world -- but I'm pretty sure his first pushpin hit pretty well into the middle of China.

If I Were Mr. Potato Head

... my nose would be removed from my face by now.

I think I caught something during this most recent cold snap (or maybe it was during the warm snap) that has rendered my nose useless for its intended purposes. Instead, it now serves as a bottomless repository of airway-clogging goop. I'm temporarily changing my name to Rudolph because my nose is so ridiculously crimson at the moment.



My dad used to get irritated at me when my nose would run like this. I'd sit there doing my thing, then get up to blow my nose... then I'd go back to what I was doing, then a few minutes later get up again to blow my nose... then repeat the cycle. My dad eventually would get annoyed at this cycle, apparently completely failing to understand why I couldn't just, once and for all, get up, blow everything out of my nose, and have it all done once and for all. I don't think he understood the concept that my body actually replaced all the mucous I had just cleared out, and that I actually had to do a new blow job (tee hee hee!) to get rid of this new batch. Nor do I think he actually appreciated the fact that it bugged me as much, if not more, than it did him that I had to do that.

In any event, it's kinda funny to think back to my dad when I'm sick for such a stupid proposition. It's like bailing out a leaky boat, dad. "Just clean it out already!" Sounds more like douching before sex, personally. (Or taking an enema, I guess. I wouldn't know.)

But Dad, if I could, I would shove a vacuum tube up my nostrils right now, suck it all up, and leave it there until it was all cleared up. Because frankly, I'm pretty miserable right around now.

Stranger in a Not-So-Strange Land

Scene: Me, walking from the Metro to Whitlow's on Wilson, to meet some friends for brunch.

Players: Me, and some random African-American girl no older than 14. We are walking in opposite directions, toward each other.

[Dialogue]

She: Excuse me, hey.
Me: [Looks up from cell phone, a text message having caught my attention]
She: Hey... hey, you speak English, right?
Me: Uh, NO. [Rolls eyes]

[End.]

***

It's not like we were in Seven Corners or something, where you could go the entire day and conduct your entire business without ever speaking English. And it's not like I look like I just stepped off the boat.

I think the scene could have been better if I had actually answered the question with a long English response to the effect of "no." Maybe something like "Nah, never quite picked it up in school. My English skills are pretty bad. Diction, grammar, enunciation, all never caught on. Sorry... bitch."

But then brunch was delightful.