Sex appeal

Sex appeal. Megan Fox has it, my blog doesn't. Well no more! That's right, it's time to get sexual. In fact, most of my entries are going to deal with sex in some way, shape or form so you might want to get used to it.

Now, I'm a firm believer that a pair of tit's can brighten up just about anything. You don't see many 4's and 5's anchoring the news, do you? Why? Because when Armageddon comes people would rather hear about it from Megan Fox than Rosie O'Donnell. I know that when I kick the bucket I want to go out with a raging hard on. I want them to have to cremate me because they can't close the lid to my coffin. That is why (take note of this) when I die, I want the news broken to my family and friends by a topless Filipino model.

Imagine, you're sitting outside the operating room while the doctors try to surgically remove the kung fu grip I still have on the badger clamped to my jugular. Seems my years of badger fighting have finally caught up to me. For hours you wait outside with nothing but magazines and Judge Judy to keep you company. Finally the door opens and everyone stands up to see one of the doctors come out covered in blood... and fur. He looks your way only briefly and shakes his head. Slowly he turns to walk away, revealing a topless Filipino woman with beautiful, natural, double d's.

"I am so sorry, but he didn't make it. That badger was... massive. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Think of the oral sex that follows as part of the healing process.

Seriously though, why does death have to be so depressing? I know that for my funeral there's going to be a two drink minimum, a light show, and a guest appearance by Lil' Wayne. Also, the red punch will be spiked with acid. Then I want the same topless Filipino woman to deliver my eulogy and then rub my ashes all over her naked body while everyone else burns my worldly possessions and dances around the fire. Then everyone will load onto a bus to eat pancakes at Denny's.

On second thought, just forget you read that entire paragraph.

You know, when people tell me I'm strange I usually take it as a compliment. Normal people are boring and have nothing to say. I, on the other hand, may have nothing to say but at least I'm not boring. At best I'm eccentric and at worst I'm sketchy. Either way, let's just say I lack certain social graces. I guess that's why I've never been good at staring at attractive women.

The art of passing complete strangers and letting them know you think they're attractive without them looking at you funny and checking to see if they have something in their teeth is one I have yet to master. See, if I stare at the ground to long, I look like I've got something to hide. If I stare outright, though, I look at a pig. Then, when I try to steal glances, I shift my eyes too much and look, well, shifty. Really, I just want to know how to subtly send the message: "we should have Earth shattering sex right here on the sidewalk" without saying it outright.

That's not to say I'm completely incompetent when it comes to the opposite sex. I love talking to women. I've always thought of them as beautiful creatures from a more advanced, sophisticated and cleaner planet that have come to earth to make me sandwiches and suck my cock. Seriously though, any woman who can tolerate me is a better person than I am. That is why, women, I would like to thank you for making me a better person by osmosis. But as much I am inspired by you, don't think for a second that I put the pussy on a pedistal.

Seriously, I don't care if my clothes don't match. I don't care how horny you are, I am not about to have sex with your bleeding vagina (oral is ok though). And if you think that Britney Spears is a legitimate musician than not only can we not be friends but I will probably find where you live and egg your house. It's like, I hear you talking but all I'm thinking is "bitch shut up! I don't care about Ewan McFuckingregor, I'm trying to watch Star Wars!"

Ah, if only life were like porn. The only thing librarians and school teachers would be able to locate on a map is the g-spot. Like a musical number in a Broadway show, people would break out in spontaneous orgies. Everyone would be choppy and pixelated, especially during peak traffic hours. Also, everyone in Japan would be animated and raped by tentacles.

Unfortunately we don't live in magical porn land where Astroglide River flows down Silicone Breast Mountain to a giant vibrating lake. No, we live in a capitalist society, one where sex is just another commodity with a dollar value attached to it.

Now, I had typed up a lengthy paragraph on the commodification of sex in a consumer society. While the subject of the consumerism and sex is one I'd like to go into farther, I am currently writing a research paper on 18th century prostitution and don't really feel like mixing business (my paper) with pleasure (my blog), even if the former is about the business of pleasure. If you really give a shit, I'll post it next time.

Besides, who wants to listen to me talk isms? TOTALLY unsexy. Well, I guess I really don't have anything else to say. Before I go, in honor of all the money I spent on alcohol during my trip to Austin, and the money I borrowed and still haven't payed back (Sorry Meredith, you know I'm good for it) I give you this:

Stay classy.