Sunday, January 27, 2008

When Farting in Public Goes Wrong

Just a quick post here about something that happened to me last year. I was flying up North for Christmas, and I had a layover in Philly for a couple hours. I figured there was nothing to do in an airport other than drink, so I proceeded to do so for a few hours. I heard my flight called, so I made my way onto the plane. I didn’t have By the time I got to where I was going I was not only relieved to finally get there, but I had been holding in a fart for pretty much the whole plane ride. I had a little time before my ride picked me up, so rather than rush to the baggage claim with everyone else I darted outside for that moment I had been waiting for. OK, too many people here, a bus is loading there, a-ha, I see an empty bench down there. I walked about 100 yards to be by myself in my moment of glory, sat down on a concrete bench, and…oh no, who’s this lady walking my way? I had to hold it for another 10 seconds until she walked past because I didn’t want her throwing up when she got to where I was. Whew, she’s out of earshot now, here we go, one….two….RIPPPP!

I swear it sounded like the Hamburger Helper hand had slapped the shit out of a fat kid. Some old lady who had shuffled past me a few seconds earlier had stopped and turned around to see what the hell just happened. Maybe she thought it was her, who knows. A security guard about 40 feet away looked my way like he heard it too. I’m usually a good judge of how loud a fart is going to be prior to release, but this time I was WAY off! I don’t know if it was the atmospheric conditions, the angle of my ass on the bench, or just the reverberation off the concrete, but it was honestly one of the loudest farts I’ve ever had. I couldn’t stop laughing for about a half hour. I’d get myself composed, take a good deep breath, and then burst into laughter again. People looking at me must have thought I was crazy, just sitting there by myself, laughing, and reeking of alcohol.

Welcome to Virginia. Here's Your Orange Jumpsuit.

I moved to Virginia around 1999 just for the hell of it. I didn’t have much keeping me where I was, and I had a couple of friends living in the area, so I said screw it and moved. Once I moved I bought a new car (used), a 1993 Ford Mustang GT Convertible. I’ve always had problems driving the speed limit. In fact, I’ve lost count of how many tickets I’ve received over the years. Probably in the neighborhood of 25-30. I had managed to stay away from the cops up North for a few years prior to moving to VA (except for a speeding ticket in a U-Haul on the way here), but New England and Virginia are totally different as I found out the hard way.

I had a friend visiting once I got settled in. A bunch of us went out to the bars and got pretty liquored up. At the end of the night we just headed back to my place where everyone passed out. I had sobered up a little, and thought it might be a good idea to take my new car out on the highway and see what it could do. After all, it was about 4am, so no traffic to worry about. I hit the highway with the top down on this beautiful summer night, and once I got to a straight away I hit the gas. There was a small hill, just enough of one where I couldn’t see over it, but I wasn’t worried.  I hit 100mph and was still accelerating, when on the other side of this hill was a state trooper. Oh shit, I thought, now I’m screwed. By the time he caught up with me I was already pulled over…I knew the drill.

The cop was such a dick even though I was as polite and cooperative as they come. He asked me why I was going so fast and I said I wanted to test out my new car when there weren’t other people on the road. He said “Well I’m another person, and probably the last one you want to see right now. Step out of the car”.   He asked how much I had been drinking to which I gave the standard answer “a couple of beers a few hours ago”. He gave me all the field tests which I passed, barefoot on the side of the highway. He let me go without checking my BAC but gave me a speeding ticket for 100 in a 55 zone.

Fast forward a couple of months. I figured traffic court was no big deal, but I had never been in VA. I walk into the court with my defense all planned out…no tickets in several years so they should go easy on me. So much for that. The first thing out of the judge’s mouth was a question about the ticket I got in the U-Haul a few weeks earlier. “Shit, that’s already on the books?” I thought to myself. I froze, and the judge sentenced me to 10 days in jail since I gave him no reason to do otherwise. I only had to actually serve 5 days, but I couldn’t believe this was happening. I’m going to jail for a damn speeding ticket? “I’m a good, upstanding citizen dammit! I’m not a criminal!”

I went through all the jail processing over the next few hours, and then they brought me into a room where I was issued my bright orange jumpsuit. They had me take all my clothes off and they got a “good look” to make sure I wasn’t smuggling drugs into the jail. Nothing like squatting down, spreading your cheeks, and coughing for 3 prison guards. That was a humbling experience, I tell ya. They told me to put the jumpsuit on, but I wasn’t allowed to wear my boxers or socks because they were not solid white.

I finally made it into my cell which was general population. 30 guys in one big room with bunk beds, a toilet (out in the open), and a shower.  There was a little overcrowding problem so the first two nights I slept on a concrete floor. A guy named “Cadillac” had the bunk next to me and nobody liked him because he smelled bad. I got the crash course in how everything works…breakfast at like 4:30 am, lunch around 10am, and dinner around 4:30pm. Supplies were delivered on Thursdays. This was a Friday, so I was screwed. Toilet paper was one of the supplies, and nobody wanted to share theirs. I didn’t care for the first day because I was determined to hold it for all 5 days so I didn’t have to shit (or shower) in front of 30 other people.

Day one was OK, but after a couple of meals consisting of “mystery meat” and some other foods (I use that term loosely), my stomach was starting to rumble. The second day I said screw it and really had to go. I didn’t have any toilet paper, and none of those other assholes would give me any. I thought I was going to shit myself, but I was determined, and somehow my mind over matter trick worked. I was walking around with my ass clenched so tight you could have opened a beer bottle in my ass crack. Uncomfortable, yet successful. Day three I made it until the afternoon, then because of a petition, Cadillac was forced to relocate to another unit. I begged him for his toilet paper and he gave it to me. I ran to the john and it sounded like someone dumped a 5-gallon bucket of water into a pond from 100 feet above.

I obviously made it through my 5 day ordeal, and did so without showering once. I smelled pretty funky. My friend who picked me up when I was released asked me what the hell happened because it smelled like I took a bath in the sewer.

It’s not a test I ever want to repeat, but I will say I have learned the limits of the human body when it comes to using (or not using) the bathroom.

Friday, January 18, 2008

A Great Story About Sleeping with Fat Chicks

I’ve been checking out a few other blogs recently, and ran across Jamie Kennedy’s blog.  I’ve always been a fan of his, but for whatever reason never looked at his site.  There’s a great story on there about hooking up with a fat chick that sounds familiar to me.  Most of my own escapades involve fatties (hey, they need lovin’ too, and it’s all pink on the inside). If you’re looking for a little Friday humor, definitely check out his story!

Monday, January 14, 2008

My Living Room Has Turned Into a Whorehouse!

A few years ago I lived with my cousin. She was attending a massage school to become a certified massage therapist and she met another girl in class who she became friends with. The girl was “down on her luck” so my cousin offered to help her out. The girl moved into our house and camped out in the living room. She put sheets up to block off the entrances to the room, and a sheet up to cover the picture window in front so people couldn’t see in from outside. Little did she know that you could see in just fine when it was dark out.

This girl was kind of cute at first. She was actually a stripper at a local strip club. After a few weeks of her living in my house she started bringing guys home from work. Every night a different guy. She’d bring him into our living room and nail him right there, and anybody in front of the house could see what was going on inside. She literally turned my living room into a whorehouse! I hooked her up on rent pretty good, but apparently I should have been charging her by the hour instead, or maybe taken a percentage of sales.

A few weeks ago I went to the strip club that she worked at and got talking with one of the dancers who had been there for a long time. She actually knew the chick that used to live with me, and said she got fired for fucking customers and stealing a bunch of money from them too. That one caught my attention, because she was the stripper who stole a few hundred bucks from me in one of my previous posts about strippers. The stripper I was talking to said the other girl got knocked up and moved to California. I’m sure she’s in a trailer park now.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Jaegermeister Doesn't Always Go Down

I used to drink a lot of Jaegermeister…a LOT of it.  Jaeger and Red Bull (Cock Block or Jaeger Bomb, depending what bar you’re in), Jaeger/Goldschlager mixed (Starry Night), Jaeger straight up, you name it.  There were days where I’ve single-handedly put down in excess of 25 shots in one bar.  I used to love it, then something happened.  All of a sudden I couldn’t stomach it like I used to, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try.

One day in the bar I used to own a patron bought a round of shots and gave me one.  He was wearing a brand new sweater…a light colored cashmere sweater that he just plunked some good cash on.  We all toasted and I threw the shot back.  I’m not sure what happened, but for some reason my body said NO and let out sort of a cough, and all the Jaeger that was in my mouth sprayed out all over this guys new sweater.  He was mad as hell because he thought I did it on purpose, and never came back to my bar.

Another time about a year ago I was in a bar in the town I grew up in.  It was the holidays and a few of my friends and I went out to catch up.  Some random guy introduced himself to us and he was pretty annoying.  One of those guys that talks really loud, interrupts everyone, etc.  Something was weird about him because he was with two girls and claimed one was his wife.  He was trying to hook me up with the other girl and I think he was a swinger looking to set up a little group action.  After a few drinks and shots the girl started to look better, so my plan of ignoring them turned to a plan of divide and conquer.  I was going to separate the girl from the other “husband and wife” and hook up with her.

Things were going pretty well, and the friends I was with were leaving one by one so it was time to seal the deal.  The girl and I were going to hit another bar across the street so I cashed out my tab.  The two girls were sitting at the bar and I was behind them, reaching over them to hand my credit card to the bartender.  The girls were both wearing white shirts too.  I left the bartender a fat tip, something like $100 on a $75 tab.  When he realized it, he said thank you and gave us a round of shots (the husband/wife, the other girl, and myself).  He didn’t ask what I wanted, he just gave me Jaeger for everyone.  I took mine, and just like the previous incident, my body said no and I coughed.  My mouth full of dark Jaegermeister sprayed all over the backs of the two girls, and since they both had white shirts on, it made quite a mess.  One of them didn’t even notice at first, but the other one turned around, looked at the back of her arm and started going off on me.  She was so pissed, and of course the other girl figured out what was going on so she got pissed too.  I said “have a good night” and walked out the door.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

Why I Don't Like Skinny Girls

I was discussing an event that happened to me a few years ago with a friend, and had what some might refer to as an epiphany.  I’m an inquisitive person by nature, and sometimes I try to figure out my own psychology.  I think I’ve determined the point in my life when I started hooking up with fat chicks, and more importantly, why.

A lot of psychological nuances stem from one traumatic life event. A lot of people dislike tequila for example because they may have had one bad night which ended in vomiting.  From that point forward they can’t stand even the smell of it.  My traumatic event was a skinny chick I hooked up with.  She was probably about 90 pounds.  I got drunk at a party at her place one night and ended up in bed with her.

She gave me a hand job that at the time didn’t seem so bad. She had a pretty tight grip on the situation if you know what I mean, but I was so drunk it didn’t really bother me that much.  The next morning I got up and went to the bathroom and when I looked down I was in shock.  This chick had worked me so rough that my dick was red and raw, resembling rug burn.  It was painful, much more painful than the night before, and I wondered to myself how I could have let her do that to me.  What the fuck was I thinking, or not thinking the night before?  Could I really have not noticed that she was rubbing my shit like she was trying to start a campfire?  Apparently so.

After that night the girl became known as “Indian burn” which really pissed her off.  One of my friends suggested that maybe she was trying to send smoke signals to someone else.  Whatever the case, it fucking hurt, and I think that’s what developed my aversion to skinny girls.

Farting In Front of Your Girlfriend for the First Time

Some things in life are uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.  One such thing is “breaking the seal” with your girlfriend - letting that first fart escape without trying to hide it.  Before you’ve broken the ice so to speak, there can be some uncomfortable feelings in your body.  I dated one girl a while back and we hadn’t reached that point where we were comfortable farting in front of each other yet.  We went out for dinner one night and I don’t know what I ate, but it really did not agree with me.  I was hanging out at her house watching a movie and gas was just collecting inside me.  I made up some BS excuse that I had to get something out of my car and ran outside.  Whew, that felt great.  Back inside, and then 5 minutes later, “oops, I forgot to get something else”.  The evening was spent making numerous trips to the car and I’m sure she wondered how someone could be so forgetful.

Sometimes the circumstances don’t provide you with any escape.  I dated this one girl for a few years, and the first time I ever slept over at her house was one of the most embarrassing nights ever.  It was the middle of the night and I awoke to notice intense pressure in my stomach.  Did I have to fart?  Was I about to shit?  Only one way to find out.  Since my girl was still sleeping I tried to squeak one out to test the waters.  Oops, better cut that one short because I don’t think it’s just a fart.  I crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom which was directly across from her bedroom.  I had to go really bad but I was so gassy that if I just let it go it probably would have waken up the entire house in mass confusion of “what just exploded?”.  I practiced my technique of letting a little slip out, then stopping, then a little more, and so on.  Every time I did this a fart would come out and I’d cover my mouth to avoid laughing out loud. I did this for about a half hour and then I heard a knock on the bathroom door.  “Are you OK in there?”.  Oh man, she had been listening to the entire performance of my horn section.  “Yup, just um, you know…”. Nothing says sexy like a case of gassy diarrhea in the middle of the night on your first sleep over. I guess you could say our relationship was destined to go down the shitter from the start.