supper's ready.
I feel like the walking dead. No one tells you that insomnia can just strike. Like fucking Hiroshima. My shadow isn’t imprinted on the beige carpeting but it might as well be. I’m totally incapable of REM. I have a problem. And to tell you the truth, I think the only way I can solve this particular stunter is with copious amounts of sex.
I swear to God I’ve never been so horny in my life. This is probably inappropriate and I apologize for not adding a disclaimer, but I think the majority of the world has some idea of what H-O-R-N-Y means. And I’d bet they can also define F-R-U-S-T-R-A-T-I-N-G. The worst part is I can’t even bring myself to orgasm. I don’t care if that’s tmi. I just don’t fucking care anymore. Maybe I’m off the deep end. Maybe the cheese has finally slid off the cracker. Who could blame me? It’s been two months and I feel like I’m beginning to mold. My cooch is literally dusty from inactivity. I’ve tried really I have, but personal administrations simply aren’t cutting it anymore. The worst is I don’t know why, and that makes me kind of angry.
Angry enough to kill a man. No.
Angry enough to buy a vibrator. Yes. yesyesyesyesyes.
Do you remember the color Burnt Sienna? When I was a kid one of my favorite things in the world was a fresh pack of crayons. And you know in one of those big packs there were all the obscure colors like Macaroni and Cheese, Salmon, and (a personal favorite) Purple Mountains Majesty (as if we were all in some sort of tizzy over Crayola’s patriotism). My least favorite color in those packs was Burnt Sienna. It was too red to color The Lion King or the Beast and it was too brown to use on a rock or the wall of a cottage. That color is a waste. It’s a disgrace to the crayon population. It’s offensive. There is absolutely no use for a color like Burnt Sienna unless of course you had to color burnt fucking sienna and we all know that little kids don’t want to color burnt sienna. I mean I don’t even know what it is and I don’t want to color it. And I’m 20.
But my favorite color. The one that always made me smile. The one that was applicable in nearly every coloring scenario…Golden Rod. No, I’m not trying to tie this one in with my first two paragraphs over a bad phallic pun. When I was four my favorite crayon color was Golden Rod. When I was seven it was Golden Rod. And now that I’m an adult it’s still Golden Rod. There’s something about that warm yummy yellow that makes me just…happy.
I was thinking recently about the feasibility of vampirism. Mom said that ocean water has the same salt balance as human saliva and blood. I found myself thinking “God works in mysterious ways.” However, that thought morphed into the notion that perhaps surviving off a blood diet was actually possible. I mean if you made sure to feed from other people (healthy other people) than you’re ensured the same nutrients that flow through their blood stream. But human farming wouldn’t go over well just to ensure the health of vampires. And it’s true. You’d have to farm, otherwise you’d inevitably receive whatever other toxins existed in that homeless guy’s blood. Alcohol, Syphilis, Heart Break. Well, I’m not sure if that last one applies.
God, I hope that Edward Cullen character gets aids. That would really rev up the story for me. A real “Race to find the Cure”…or else Bella’s dream boat gets a shriveled sinking immortality. I don’t know about you, but an STD prone immortal seams pretty sketch to me. Makes one positively jump back into the waiting arms of normalcy. Hell, if aids can end this vamp fad sooner than society expects and little junior-high girls demand it to play out, then I suppose it’s almost worth promoting.
But you should really take these musings with a grain of salt. It is Monday after all.
"I seem to make up for my boyish charm in Dawson's Creek when covered in projected algorithms."
Hello. It’s October.
…I’ve been busy.
Okay, so I think the best way to start a post after a long stint of not posting is to really not mention the “stint” at all. Though I’ve already broken that rule, I think it would now become; to mention the abandonment “stint” as little as possible. So I’ve mentioned it. Now I’m done. What should I do? Apologize? Fuck that, no one reads this blog anyway.
So, about a year ago I made a rather interesting personal discovery that led me to make a completely invalidated opinion about the human condition (which is how these “personal discovery” things usually play out). And in that moment of clarity I found that there are two kinds of people in the world:
Those who watch TV shows…
…and those who watch movies.
To make it more applicable for this post I should elaborate with the first being [Those who find enjoyment in small half-hour segments of a never-ending saga] and [Those individuals who are sane]. Was that rude?
Mind you, this conclusion was reached in the past tense, which leads me to expand upon the subject. I previously voted myself into the ranks of the sane…but, a year hence, have come to appreciate the dark side. I’m a modern-day Anakin Skywalker.
The darkside, of course, in this case would have very little to do with the force, and much more to do with the lack-therof. I’m about 0 for 12 in my hours for regimented curriculum activity nowadays, and find the free time would be stifling if not for my new best friend named Hulu.com.
Don’t say it. I know. Everyone already knows about Hulu. Might I refer back to an earlier post where I said that I am in no way “up” on my internet trends. Ever. That being said I feel that by laying my soul out for everyone to see and proclaiming the site my proverbial “bosom-buddy” I’ve redeemed my lack of initiative with unabashed and awesome veneration. So I’ve now prefaced the real point:
It’s Wednesday.
And besides the fact that it is definitively NOT Monday (hey it’s the little things right?), Wednesdays mean one of my shows is on. Even better, tomorrow is Thursday in which TWO of my shows will be on.
Though a year ago I would’ve jammed nail files into my eyeballs before admitting to having a show (which obviously also admits both of the following: that I have time to watch said show, and that I have an invested emotional interest in said show) A veritable font of useless time has turned me into the darkest of sinners. And I now humbly “boast” a total of THREE shows that I keep tabs on and one that I’m in the middle of playing season-ketchup with…give or take an episode of the ‘92 version of Dark Shadows.
Whew! Glad I got that off my chest.
Yes, joining the ranks of the dark ones was not nearly as hard as I’d originally thought. On Wednesday I watch Eastwick and call me primitive, but the fascination for witches seems somewhat more academically historic than the current vamp-fad. (Hence the reason I boycott Trueblood…because it’s boring and I can literally feel my brain oozing out of my ears into pop-fetish mashed-potatoes). But it doesn’t actually start to get amusingly didactic until I shake things up with Fringe and Project Runway the next night. Topping off this little family of segmented televised fun is the usual reruns of Scrubs and Code Monkeys on YouTube, South Park, Family Guy, and the surprisingly good Dead Like Me on Hulu. I mean the series is into its second season so they must be doing something right. Though I find lately that I watch original season episodes almost against my will.
Confessions have never come easy to me. Which may strike you as odd given that I’ve already confessed to being a Catholic. But I felt the truth needed to be told. I am a fraud. I walk the edges of the darkside and frolic with the force. I can’t help myself. I’m 20 years old, jobless, and American. I was damned from day one.
And really it’s either that or wasting away on a steady diet of romance novels and health food cereal. I’m sorry but I’d rather be a sinner than a sap.
This is what pain looks like.
Today is graduation. Good thing I’m a senior.
It irks me that I don’t know more about computer trouble-shooting. I’ve been hired for a job I’m a virtual dunce at. Sure I can answer the telephone, take messages, check messages, forward calls, page people, calm you down, get your computer from the conference room, find your keys, relocate 200 computers, WHILE eating lunch, but what they call “the basics” of trouble-shooting here, seems to elude me. And, uncharacteristically, makes me question my intelligence. That being said, grades won’t be available on Banner until the 12th, but they’re due up for seniors by today.
You’re welcome.
The 9-5 work schedule seems to creep up on me the more I work it. Maybe in 1988, from 9am to 5pm was how Melanie Griffith and Joan Cusack made their living. But 8-5 is the new 9-5 now, and 9-close is working “late”.
To tell you the truth, I don’t know what they expect me to do for nine hours. I’ve resulted to playing hundreds of minutes of Internet Spades just so I can boast the gradual build of some kind of skill. Maybe not trouble-shoot skill but that seems to cross the line into possible retardation for me. A subject I’m naturally, not very keen on delving into. So, instead, I feed my ego doing something I’m good at: shootin’ the proverbial shit. And though it begins to get monotonous on around the 57th hand, playing to the sweet lilting snores of my manager never fails in keeping up my spirits.
I hate playing the computer though. Not only do I feel cheated (I mean, utilising the word “internet” in a title usually denotes a “network” of humans somewhere.) but, frankly it’s just too boring. I like the excitement of playing Gold2 or Blue4 knowing there’s a 50/50 chance it’s the most accomplished spades gambler in the world who just so happens to enjoy wasting time on PC Internet Spades like any other person. Now that’s cool!
The reality however, is that everyone I play is most likely a lethargic minimum-wage earner trying to kill another 3hours before he/she can have a bowl of Ramen and watch Scrubs…
…or, you know, watch a baseball game, or have supper with their wife, or go to the eye doctor, or smoke pot, whatever it is…
Now here's a question that's plagued civilization for centuries.
So Kendall and I are signing the lease on our new appartmento this Friday. God, it’s gonna be nice to make waffles everyday. And a fridge. Shit. It’ll be like living in the lap of luxury. All the comforts of home, sans parentals. I am a HUGE fan of living off campus. On top of that, we’re just a block or so away from the potential klan hideout, so we’ll be able to do our spying more conveniently.We’ve decided to christen our home: New Compton.
So finished with my two hardest exams…that’s goodsies. Math and French. I went into the epic battle knowing I would probably get defeated, however it would be more analogous to say that I fought like Rocky Balboa, than to say I fought like Sonny Liston. Sonny had a reputation and failed. Rocky created a reputation even though he failed. I definitely feel more Italian Stallion here. I mean, I was a contender.
So Good News! Swine Flu’s invading our country. Not just that…it apparently attacks hale healthy young students. That means we’re probs gonna die soon. Just get ready. HOWEVER, there is an antidote! You just have to catch it in the first few days.
I think I’m gonna get Boogles a Prayer Cross for his birthday. No I’m not going to get him a Snuggi! It would obviously swallow him. That’s not a very considerate birthday present.
Hey, speaking of the Boogster, you-know-who might be getting a SchmaceShmook soonsies. All I have to say, is it’s about fucking time. Apparently he attended Green Mountain College…I hope you know what that means;
HE WAS A STRAIGHT A STUDENT. thank you. I’m friends with that Boogles.
So I recently found a old Yorx Newave color-optional TV. (Don’t worry, I’d never heard of it either.) It pretty much just looks like a straight-up 80’s set. Plastic push-in buttons. I’m totally keeping it. I don’t know why someone would want to throw a perfectly good television away. Fuck it, their loss.
Question: Who would win a fight? Knights or Pirates? For that matter, Knights or Wolverine? It’s a good thing the folks on Spike TV are solving these mysteries for us.
We plan on sabotaging Clifton VAR tomorrow. We’re gunning for the one they call Vernon. Hopefully our campaign will prove successful.
French is Muhammad Ali and I'm totally Sonny Liston right now.
Kendall and I had a great idea. So we went to Nesticles and bought 6 milks and 34 cookies on her flex. Then we went back to the room and dressed ourselves in black spandex, our Bitter t’s, and sweat bands. After a solid round of Partini, armed with two Pepsi bottles full of Burnett’s lime vodka, and Boogles ridin’ shotty in my backpack, Jordan, Kathryn, Kendall, and I head out to find this “haunted house” on Chuck St.
When we got there we took a couple drunk awk pics that came out black, and I dipped to investigate the house further…Got in. That was simultaneously awesome and fucking scary as shit. My heart was racing. I tiptoed through the house and into the front room where I tugged at this giant Confederate flag to no avail because it was attached to the stairs. Then I stole a shot glass that’s never been used, a ring of old skelton keys that were hanging on the back door, and a rocking chair.
Then I booked it.
Kendall made me put the keys back and we left the rocking char on the street. Possible conclusion…it’s a legit drug house…for what Fredvegas mafia I have no idea. OR it’s a klan hideout which seems like a good bet.
I’ve yet to explore the upstairs…whether or not I have the balls is apparently not the issue. There are big things going on in this house. Big things. That I wish I could say I don’t want to be involved in however, it excites me to think we might find an actual basement-full of cocaine, and there’s something about the prospect of stealing from criminals that makes the whole concept of stealing more fun.
And if it’s the klan…just think of all the confederate paraphernalia we could cop!
Finals are coming. I might vom. French is going to kick my ass. You know that feeling when you’re about to play a super good team, and you just know that they’re going to stomp on your face like it’s nobody’s business but they won’t rub it in afterwards, they’ll just strut away confidently leaving you broke and beaten on the ground? Well if French is Team Good, then I’m the loser. It doesn’t sit well, but French, historically, is a Fail for me. The nuances of a second language elude my ability to comprehend. On Monday I will crash and burn. And that’s not surprising because it’ll be a fucking Monday. I hate those liiiiitle buggers.
As to this past Friday…Wtf Ballin’ : function FAIL.
You can't tell, but her feet look like skin clogs. Size 4.
Today I watched Taboo on National Geographic (which, might I add, has started to refer to itself as “Natgeo” as if the majority of it’s viewers weren’t bored nerds like me, but legitimate anthropologists and biochemists who also happen to be kick-ass nature freaks…you know, someone like Bear Grillz, but who lack the funding to have their own TV show on such a cool network as Natgeo. But this really isn’t relevant to my story.) The show was all about sexual taboos, and I met some interesting individuals…Two in particular:
The first was a man who thinks of himself as a woman and calls herself Linda. And the second is Linda’s boyfriend? named Bill who recently had facial reconstructive surgery to look more like a woman even though he’s a man. Okay, ya know? I mean I’m glad they love each other. I’m glad they have each other. But I started to get confused when Linda was talking about her childhood as a boy. She said that as a boy he liked other girls and was attracted to them but still felt as though his personal sex was misplaced. Okay, so that means that he was really just a lesbian trapped in a male body…I get it. So Linda’s about to have sex change surgery, and that’s a big deal for the couple. Bill expresses his distress that since he would like to fully become his female persona, Karen, he is afraid that he and Linda cannot be together post their surgery. That means that if Bill is Karen, then Karen is a heterosexual and Linda is, as we deducted, a homosexual…as of now, neither has received surgery. So they’re both still biologically male. That means they’ve been engaging in male homosexual sex…MY question is: …Who pitches in a scenario like this? and don’t act like you’re not wondering the same thing.
So I just learned about Chinese foot binding. That was odd. And gross. Which led to a hardy looksee at Jocelyn Wildenstein’s eff’d up face.
Oh, hey Kendall: FAIL.
Here’s the full episode. Worth it:
"...so what we gonna have? Dessert or Disaster?" - Kanye West
Fucking Monday, again. Fuck.
Not only that, but it’s 420 today. A holiday, and it’s raining. It always effing rains on 420. Mad.
420. What a day. I wonder about like who decided on 420. My grandmother’s friend says that while she was in college, all the kids would go out at 4:20 in the afternoon and smoke a J. I mean I dunno if that’s what it’s from. The time, or something else. I’ve heard some mixed stories. But in the end it doesn’t really even matter. Pot smokers have their own damn holiday. I think it’s time to legalize this shit.
So yeah, I’ve heard the whole some kid’s made 4:20 the perfect time to smoke after school. Then I heard the one about the so called “police code” 420…But the best story might be the Legend of Jester Hopperpot as told by Dave on Code Monkeys…
Ahem…”Jester Hopperpot was a hippie who developed weed so strong that he felt like it had to be hidden. He booby-trapped this route to this hiding place so that no one could ever find it. Then, years ago today, Jester Hopperpot disappeared forever. And when he disappeared so did the greatest stash of weed man has ever known…The theory is he got so high he couldn’t find his way back…Supposedly he did have a map, but he was so high he forgot to bring it, and no one knows where he left it.”
I personally think that one takes the cake. It is NOT a shitty story.
Of course, you could always just think of 420 as the infamous Adolf Hilter’s birthday. King of the Aryan race. Defiler and Killer of the Jews. The Villain of all villains. Yes, Mr. Hitler’s birthday is on April 20th. Kinda makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, huh?
The rest of the story is that Jester Hopperpot stole the Declaration of Independence which is made from the finest hemp that again…the world has ever known….I dunno, but that sounds like a lie to me.
I do wish I had some “one-hit wonder weed” right now though. That would be something pretty amazing. And speaking of amazing in that particular episode of Code Monkeys the guys rattle off the longest list of slang names for pot I’ve ever heard. Over 40 individual names. It is quite a thing to behold.
I’ve had that Keri Hilson, Kanye West, Ne-Yo team-work song stuck in my head for fucking ever. I don’t know if you’ve ever woken up with a song stuck in your head before, but it’s a bitch. It’s bad enough that one dumb portion of “Knock You Down” is rolling around on repeat in your head, but when it’s been like that since minute one on day three of this R&B Pop Freedom Train, things start to look a little less bright.
This past Saturday I knocked out my community service hours. It was pretty sweet. Habitat for Humanity was hosting this competition and biker expo and the local BMW dealership. My grandmother was once in a biker “club” so I remember growing up with people of a similar biker disposition. But for the most part it was a culture shock. I mean it was hot as shit, but when you’re a biker your coolness is measured not just by your bike, but also by the fit of your leathers and the size of your boots. Having said that, every guy there was wearing either a leather jacket, leather chaps, or both. And big ol’ work boots/leather cow-boy boots. I LOVE LEATHA’!
It was a pretty ballin’ time. And I got this great yellow t-shirt. It’s great. And like yellow, and everything. It’s so great.
You know what was great, I got BBQ chicken for free ’cause I was required to help out my community through my school’s volunteer program. I ate that chicken like it was my fucking job. Best chicken ‘09.
The only thing that could’ve made that day exponentially better would’ve been a little bit of ganj on the side. Were I a guy, I could’ve gotten away with saying like a blow-job or something. But bj’s don’t hold the same weight when you’re a chick. So a nice fat sticky-icky stog would’ve just made my day. No big though, I mean I’m not trying to be like the black sheep of the H for H fam. So I made do with gettin’ a good fresh tan on my limbs, and pretending like I don’t get tan lines. I’ll make up for the lack of blunt today.
"Goddamn Yanks with all the stippin' and talkin' about the Gays!"
I’ve thought about being a stripper. Yes, I have. I think a lot of people have probably thought about it. And since thinking about things can’t get me into any trouble, I’ve actually thought about the feasibility of me becoming a stripper…in the context that I’d continue to be a student.
Regardless of the fact that Fredvegas doesn’t market to “stripper” types (though the name may seem to suggest otherwise), I’ve come to the conclusion that it would be feasible for me to become a stripper…However, I’d have to play a good con…and I don’t think I’d excel in that department.
I’ve never been very good at selling retail. Oh, I’ve worked a whole heck of a lot of retail jobs, and in the specific question of whether or not I can sell you an item (aka. whether or not I can work the cash register in order to “sell”.) I can answer in the affirmative. I’m a regular cashier wiz. But, when it comes to hustling, to “making the deal”, you know working to convince your customer that making a purchase at Y store is better than making a purchase at B store, or making a purchase at all. Yeah, that kind of selling, I don’t do.
I’ve always thought that it’s not necessarily because I can’t do it. I think maybe I could. But in all the instances where I’ve tried to “con” a customer into making a purchase at Y store, it hasn’t worked because my heart’s just not in it. I think if we’re talking small change here, like the difference between a 15% off shoe, and a regular priced shoe, then okay, sometimes I can make that deal. But were we talking, like, the sale of my body for “viewing pleasure” it wouldn’t really hurt my feelings if the guy went off to another strip club. I respect customers who know what they want. That way if we don’t carry it, there’s no hard feelings, just send him where they do. See, happy customer. My past bosses don’t exactly promote this behavior though and I can tell you right now that were I a stripper, even if I was the best exotic dancer in the joint, I’d get fired for the first customer I sent off with a “Oh sure, I hope X Girls Unlimited better suits your tastes. Have a nice day!”.
You’re wondering why I’ve even thought about this as a possibility. My nearest business locale would have to be D.C. (I’m not stepping into Richmond with thoughts of stripping, EVER.) And though I’m sure D.C. has effectively high-class strip joints, I’d be starting relatively low rung. That being said, I recently read in one of my Sociology books that strippers (even the low-rung ones) make twenty to fifty percent more money in tips than a regular minimum wage worker does in a relatively normal area like…phff…say, Fredvegas. I mean add that to minimum wage, and we’re not talking like waitresses here, I don’t even mean Hooter’s waitresses. We’re talking serious cashola. Something that I, as a good upstanding supporter of American capitalism and a free-market, think is pretty sweet considering my lack of funds at the moment.
Call me insane, but the only real problem with this scenario in my mind is the fact that I have trouble making a “sale”. Not that I’m thinking of becoming a stripper. There isn’t a problem with that thought. Now, I probably won’t become a stripper because frankly, I don’t think I’d really care enough about my profession to “get the job done”. So case closed. And still I have no money.
On the up side, I recently received an email for a part-time job taking surveys for this company. I requested information and told them that I was “…very interested in this job!”. I pride myself in saying that I didn’t sound at all desperate, but more professionally eager. Which is appropriate given my circumstances.
Today I tabled at the Nest for my Social Change class. It was boring and then I went to math. But while I was at Nesticles I had the pleasure of seeing two people who are somewhat relevant to my life.
The first was Fucking Nancy. Who speaks very quickly and rather loudly, but says nothing of any importance whatsoever. She was yelling at someone to take a free t-shirt for the gay Day of Silence in support of Prism. There were quite an array of colors to chose from, one could say a rainbow, so I decided to take a t-shirt given that they’re free, despite the fact that Fucking Nancy felt it relevant to tell me that “Gays EVERYWHERE are oppressed ALL THE TIME! ESPECIALLY at HERE!” and that “I have a T-SHIRT, because I SUPPORT GAY RIGHTS. Even though I’M A FRESHMAN, I think it’s NEVER TOO EARLY TO START SUPPORTING GAY RIGHTS!” I was then intoned to “WHERE THE SHIRT ON FRIDAY!” and to “DON’T SPEAK!” Luckily though, I’d made it back to my booth before she could reprimand me for not engaging her in shouting conversation. Which would’ve been pointless anyway, because it’s impossible to have a conversation with someone who never shuts-up. I’m sorry Nancy, but the “Fucking” part still applies. Maybe next year.
Then I was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the General. He was marching, as he often does, two sandwiches in hand and bayonet strapped to his back. He looked, though I hate to say it, as though he was about to go kill someone. Bayonet them to death, perhaps. Or maybe lodge a musket-ball into their larynx. He looked behind briefly as though he feared the blue-coats were after him. The bloody union bastards might’ve caught his sent! And then he disappeared into the fog, like an old movie. It was all very striking and terrifying at the same time. The actual event happened in about 3-4 seconds, however to me it could’ve been a whole 5 minutes he marched from Nesticles to the mail room. And constantly in my mind: “There he is. The Gen. So majestic, yet so very deadly.” I was afraid. But I lived to tell the tale. Anyway, if The Gen ever condescends to direct his murderous wrath toward me, I’d be dead if roughly two seconds. Hatchet buried in my skull. Very Mel Gibson in The Patriot. I…know it’s the wrong war.
As of now I have a job prospect. I’m retaining stripping as a possibility, however I’ll have to steer clear of Fucking Nancy and the rainbow brigade unless I want to be yelled at to death or ogled by lesbians. And I should probably keep an open mind about stripping for Generals, because well, one doesn’t want to get the proverbial axe, especially when one is pretty much naked give or take a pasty.
"...but it was a girl deer, so it was no homo." -Nappi
My friend Michael Nappi was once stabbed in the subway. Nappi stabbed him back before booking it. This conversation I had with him recently via Facebook chat might give you an idea of how he thinks… (This chat contains material that is rated R-X. Be forewarned.)
10:21pmMichael: If i went back in time and fucked me. is that gay?
10:21pmHannah: Yes, you can’t just fuck male butt and call that not gay
10:22pmMichael: But its mine
10:22pmHannah: So? you are fucking a male in the ass. it’s pretty self-explanatory to me. That’s like if I got a strap-on and went back in time and fucked me.
10:22pmMichael: It’s like masturbation.
10:23pmHannah: No sir. I would call that gay intercourse. Two people, not masturbation.
10:23pmMichael: But its me.
10:23pmHannah: It doesn’t matter.
10:23pmMichael: I dunno, I’d fuck me.
10:24pmHannah: You would.
10:24pmMichael: I mean I jerk me off.
10:24pmHannah: That’s cool, but it’s not the same. I “jerk me off” too. I don’t eat me out, though.
10:25pmMichael: Because you can’t? or because you don’t want to?
10:25pmHannah: Um, because that would hurt more than it would be fun. Like auto-fellatio.
10:26pmMichael: Ok well see, that falls under “unable”. If people could give themselves oral sex with the ease of traditional masturbation they would.
10:27pmHannah: Yes, but that is to say that the person in question is still just one person. If you go back in time, then you are two persons, and that is gay.
10:28pmMichael: Is it gay or straight to masturbate?
10:29pmHannah: Masturbation doesn’t fall under a category. But if I was pressed I’d say it’s borderline gay. However I’m not borderline gay, just the action is.
10:29pmMichael: So there you go. Fucking yourself is borderline gay too then.
10:30pmHannah: Except it still is two people verses one person. That makes a difference.
10:30pmMichael: Is it more straight to fuck 3 girls vs. one assuming one is male?
10:30pmHannah: No. it’s the same because there’s only one male. If you were fucking a male and a female, or two females and a male, that would more gay.
10:32pmMichael: So only homosexuality can be compounded?
10:32pmHannah: Yes?
10:33pmMichael: You said it: “More gay”.
10:33pmHannah: Well it would be because there are TWO MEN instead of one.
10:34pmMichael: So if I fucked 10 dudes I would be 10 times gayer than if I fucked one?
10:34pmHannah: It’s all the same gay. But if you threw in a girl, it wouldn’t be as gay.
10:35pmMichael: You’re contradicting yourself.
10:35pmHannah: I am not!
10:35pmMichael: It’s all the same gay.
10:35pmHannah: No, if you add a girl then it’s less gay.
10:36pmMichael: If that is true than borderline gay i.e. masturbation is the same as fucking 10000 dudes.
10:36pmHannah: No.
10:36pmMichael: You just said 1 or 10 is still the same gay, so .5 (your hand) is then the same as 1 guy.
10:36pmHannah: No, .5 is not a whole guy.
10:37pmMichael: I’m a whole guy and I’m doing stuff to me.
10:37pmHannah: Yeah. One.
10:37pmMichael: So if I dildo’d my ass…
10:37pmHannah: …that’s gay.
10:38pmMichael: But it’s only one.
10:38pmHannah: More than one.
10:38pmMichael: Me.
10:38pmHannah: You and the dildo.
10:38pmMichael: Correction: If I analy fisted myself…
10:38pmHannah: Not gay. I mean if your into that shit and it gets off, by yourself, not gay.
10:38pmMichael: You are really gonna say a piece of plastic decides my sexuality?
10:40pmHannah: I guess I’m not saying it decides you sexuality, I’m just calling the actions gay or straight.
10:40pmMichael: So more than one = gay.
10:40pmHannah: In my mind, yeah.
10:40pmMichael: One includes one’s fist?
10:41pmHannah: No. I mean, yes.
10:41pmMichael: Ok . But not one’s dildo held by one’s fist?
10:41pmHannah: Yeah, that would be two.
10:42pmMichael: So a person = dildo.
10:42pmHannah: No. But it counts as two
10:42pmMichael: What about a flesh-light?
10:42pmHannah: Counts as two.
10:42pmMichael: …Thus gay?
10:42pmHannah: No. That’s a female “thing” so it’s straight. If you have more than one of the male sex organ (instrumental or natural) then it’s gay. Anything else is straight.
10:43pmMichael: You have contradicted yourself again.
10:43pmHannah: No, I haven’t!
10:43pmMichael: But what if I’m dildoing my ass?
10:43pmHannah: That is gay.
10:43pmMichael: …But thinking about straight shit?
10:44pmHannah: You thinking about straight shit, is straight. You dildoing your ass is gay.
10:44pmMichael: So where does that leave us?
10:44pmHannah: It’s pretty straight forward to me.
10:44pmMichael: Actions are defined by the number of sex organs?
10:45pmHannah: An action’s sexuality is defined by the number of same sex appendages are involved, and if you’re by yourself with only your hand it is not gay.
10:46pmMichael: Though my hand is conducting the action of a male sex organ?
10:47pmHannah: By anally fisting? So what. It’s not a dick, it’s a fist.
10:47pmMichael: You are so prude
10:47pmHannah: No I’m not.
10:47pmMichael: Yes you are.
10:47pmHannah: Explain to me why I’m prude. I’ve done all sorts of lesbian shit, I don’t call my sexuality gay though.
10:48pmMichael: Because you are defining an actions sexuality by the quantifiable number of physical aspects.
10:48pmHannah: No, just by the quantifiable number of sex organs. That makes sense to me, and it’s not prude. A prude is someone who doesn’t participate in anything sexual no matter if the action is gay or straight.
10:49pmMichael: Prude is not an extreme.
10:50pmHannah: Yeah it is.
10:50pmMichael: It is a state of closemindedness. One that you exhibit by your defining an action by the physical aspects.
10:50pmHannah: You are so wrong right now.
10:50pmMichael: Not the intent, or desire, or action itself, merely its characteristics.
10:51pmHannah: So how do you define an action?
10:51pmMichael: Holistically.
10:51pmHannah: How wise. So, anally fisting yourself would depend upon whether or not you were thinking about straight shit or gay shit while you did it?
10:53pmMichael: Anally fisting myself depends not on what I’m thinking about.
10:53pmHannah: What else then?
10:54pmMichael: The action without motivation carries no connotation, so the action depends on me doing it.
10:54pmHannah: So it’s the motivation that counts.
10:54pmMichael: …Along with the action. If I fuck a girl while thinking about a guy I’m not doing anything gay.
10:55pmHannah: That’s right.
10:55pmMichael: If I fuck a dude while thinking about a girl it is somewhat gay.
10:55pmHannah: I agree with that too.
10:56pmMichael: If I stick a dildo up my own ass while thinking about a woman that isn’t gay. If I think of a dude, it is. If I think about a horse its bestiality.
10:56pmHannah: Hahahaha. My rationalizations don’t taking thinking into account.
10:57pmMichael: If I fuck my own ass from the future while thinking about a girl, it isn’t gay.
10:57pmHannah: Yes it is.
10:57pmMichael: But it’s my ass.
10:57pmHannah: …And at the same time, it’s another person’s ass…it’s the Nappi’s ass from the past.
10:57pmMichael: It is my ass. I’m the Nappi from the past.
10:58pmHannah; Nope, you are the Nappi from the future. He is the Nappi from the past.
10:58pmMichael; I am both. Just like my hand is my hand. Regardless of the fact that i am not thinking about it as a hand
10:58pmHannah: Hahaha. No you’re the current Nappi. Your hand is the current hand. And tomorrow you are the future Nappi. Tomorrow you will be the current Nappi. Comprendé?
10:59pmMichael: Yes, but today I am future Nappi. As I am the past Nappi. That is the complexity of time. If I walked into the room right now and told me I was gonna fuck me in the ass…
11:00pmHannah: It would be gay!!!
11:00pmMichael: I would see it from both points of view hence it would a) not be gay,
11:00pmHannah: Doesn’t matter!
11:00pmMichael: …And b) feel FUCKING SWEET.
11:01pmHannah: Awkward. However, if I had the opportunity to eat myself out…I would probably try it. The action would be gay, and I would remain straight.
11:02pmMichael: Once again we are at an impasse. Because if you pictured a dude eating you out it would be straight.
11:02pmHannah: Yep. I guess.
11:02pmMichael: Well?
11:02pmHannah: Thoughts are a lot more complicated than actions. You can be thinking about something that as an action is considered straight, but if you’re focusing on the guy’s role in the action then you are thinking gay-ly. Assuming you are a guy.
11:05pmMichael: So if I jerked off to a dude fucking a girl while focusing on the dude, that would be gay?
11:05pmHannah: The thought would be gay. The action would be neutral, but probably more gay if you want to think about it holistically.
11:07pmMichael: The exception:
Is when you jerk it to a dude lotus-ing on a chicks face.
NOT GAY.
11:07pmHannah: Hahahahahaha.
