Real quick. I'm new to this place. The first person to successfully teach me how to follow other folks' blogs will receive a bag of Skittles in the mail. And not those crappy chocolate ones. What a let down those were.
On a candy note, I've learned something. If you never let your candy jar go dry, and you don't stock it with bullshit candy that nobody likes like Zero Bars - word gets around. What I'm saying is: girls are always at my house. Sure, they don't like me. But they do like my chocolate. And to be honest, some of them I don't like all that much, either, but I do like their cocoa puffs.
No for real, you should see it. When girls come to my house they go straight for the screaming lion. (That's my talking candy jar. He says in a scary black man voice: "Getcho hand out my cookie jar. Roar! Roar!" And I haven't changed the battery in 7 years. And I just realized - I haven't had a "dry spell" in seven years, either. Coincidence? Hell not! That's the power of chocolate making up for my sociopathic personality! Thanks chocolate! I've almost had babies I could learn to love with girls I could never learn to love because of you, you piece of shit! And thanks for always showing up late, periods! It's no fun when you don't show up when you are supposed to. Try being a little more punctual, you menacing menstruals!) It's like girls can't even say hi to me yet until they've raped my chocolate collection. Am I mad? Hell no. That's why it's there. Let's face it, my really cool video game chair with speakers in the head rest was never going to work as bait - unless I was trying to lure a bunch of dudes that are just like me.
Speaking of dudes, my friend who still does a radio morning show likes to send me disgusting pictures on my phone. He knows that I'll think it's a text message and then nearly throw up when I see the gross picture he sent. (Oh man, I'm starting to dry heave over what I'm about to tell you. For such a sick guy who dishes it out, I sure can't take it. My stomach is a pussy.) He sent me a picture of an old dude on a couch blowing another old dude that was also on the couch. Here's where it gets interesting: I actually caught myself thinking "Ooooh gross. Their dudes! And their old dudes! That's even grosser."
So why was my thought disturbing? Because my friend had inadvertently tricked me into realizing that I have a preference on what types of dudes I'd like to see blowing each other on a couch. Here I thought all these years that I'd equally prefer to not see ANY dudes blowing each other on a couch. Although I didn't enjoy it one bit seeing these old dudes slobbing each other's knobs, I had to admit: given the choice, I'd rather watch young healthy dudes sucking each other off than geezers. I know that doesn't make me gay - but it makes me something. It made me realize I had a preference - even if I enjoyed neither. And that was no fun to find out. I hate you, ugly reality. Go away!
This same friend of mine once argued with me (off-air, during a commercial break when we worked together.) He said, "Dude, if you could blow yourself and you did, that would be gay." I argued that blowing yourself isn't gay, because we all give ourselves hand jobs all the time and that's never been called homo. Then the commercial ended and we went back to performing a wholesome family radio show. However, three hours later, my friend went back to this subject that he had obviously never stopped debating in his head all morning - you know, the subject of the gayness of blowing yourself. And he tried to bring me to at least a compromise. He said, "OK, dude, so you don't think blowing yourself is gay. Fine. But at least give me this one: if you come in your mouth and actually swallow like a good girl should: then that makes you gay. Will you at least admit to that?" I said, "Deal! Let the resolution show that it's only gay if you swallow yourself."
I can't believe they ever let guys like us have microphones on a family station. How stupid! By the way, if you want those Skittles, get me learning how to follow some blogs. Later, yall. Now go blow yourselves!