Dental School

I have come to the conclusion that I am a masochist. I have worked very hard to get into a position to be mentally beaten for 4 years. Even more troubling is that I am paying for it. Out the rectum to be precise.

Bring on the beatings.

A clever, appropriate title for the filth this post represents.

“You’d be popular in prison. Just like the Tupac song, you’d get around.”

“Of applause? It’s a little hazy what you’re implying.”

“You’d get used like you had a tattoo of a naked woman on your back.”

“Yeeaaahhh…I hear your words but I’m not following you. I’d be a horrible lemming. Can’t tell if it’s my fault or yours.”

“A tattoo of a naked woman on your back would be enticing to imprisoned men that haven’t seen a woman in years. The image would facilitate the raping of your backside.”

“That just does not compute with me. I’ve decided your metaphors suck.”

“Are you f’ing with me? Talking with you is like trying to reason with a retarded fellow that is anxiously engaged in humping a doorknob.”

“Ooohh you just used the “R” word. Please show some respect to mentally challenged individuals.”

“Allow me to demonstrate my apologies and respect by ripping your arm off and beating you about the groin and face with it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re you.”

The little man just stood there, in near rigor mortis, nothing but his lips moving. “This is one of those times when I need a drink that's flavor is only eclipsed by its surgical grade anesthetic effect.”

“I do not give a shit. Let me see your arm.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’d rather you do. Now relax and think about ponies, butterflies or whatever you like.”

“Will it hurt?”

“It won’t hurt me at all. Man, I slay myself! But seriously, this is going to hurt you like hell. Pay no attention to my laughing.”

“That is the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. How about a pain killer first?”

“Sir, I cordially invite you to check and see if perhaps your little boy vag isn’t bleeding all over the place.”

“Very well, let’s get this over with.”

I put a little tension on his arm and received an education. In hind sight, I probably should not have provoked this young man. The provocation lent itself to superhuman strength I never would have thought conceivable from his meager frame. I type my recounting of the event from a body composed of bruises, cuts, stitches, casts, screws, a halo and an assortment of metal rods that would make an erector set enthusiast inordinately jealous. Much like a quilt made from many pairs of Levis, I looked as though I had been sewn together from a collection of battered body parts. A poor man's version of Frankenstein, if you will. As a bonus, I got my own customized colostomy bag that I can accessorize with my catheter, respirator, casts and bandages.

I may have been sexy before but now I’m downright orgasm inducing. Cast and sling movement restrictions only enhance my ability to pose sexily. I simply exude sex. I’ve always been called a sex machine, now I resemble one too.

The little bastard most likely considers himself lucky I’m in a wheelchair and incapable of physical retribution. I can only assume he cheaply struck me instead of fought me straight up because he knew he’d lose in the most ignominious way possible if he were to fight me like a man. I can’t say for sure because the beating he gave me erased the recollection of how I’ve arrived at my present predicament. I don’t remember him driving a fully loaded Mack truck to the appointment and he certainly wasn’t behind the wheel when I gripped his arm. The only thing I remember is that I pissed everywhere. There was no place that was not covered in my piss. Point of fact, only a Mack truck containing two high yield nuclear bombs could inflict pain upon me. I wonder where he purchased such weapons. Clearly he had help.

To be continued? Probably not.

Implants are specious by nature.

Let me qualify that statement. Large, disproportionate implants are specious. All they are is an unabashed physical manifestation of a woman’s innumerable insecurities.

The decision to get them abnormally large is actually a sad concession. The woman realizes her face and personality will never get her the attention she wants and so she purchases it in the form of chest inserts. They bring the attention the woman deeply yearns for. Sadly it is all negative attention. The newfound attention is exclusively derived from their chest. All other attributes are mere accessories.

Don’t believe me? Pam Anderson. What was the first thing you thought of? Her monstrous rack, right? One more time. Dolly Parton. Why do you ever doubt me? I am clever enough to do this with half my brain tied behind my back.

Women if you are going to get implants, get them in a size proportionate to your body. Get them to restore the elevation they once had before children sucked it out of them. Get them after breast cancer takes one or both. Get them to restore perkiness that age and gravity have taken. Let not the compulsion or impetus be attention. You only deprecate yourself and your boobs by getting them. Get them abnormally large and I submit that your self esteem will plummet faster than Obama’s approval rating. You will quickly learn that men only respond to you because of them. That’s not what you want. Let your natural frame, or a purchased proportionate one, complement your personality. Improve what you can internally not under a surgeon’s scalpel. Respect yourself and for hell’s sake don’t alter perfectly natural beauties into freakishly disproportionate mounds. Straight up, when they’re that big, they don’t look good. They make you look like you should be a royal suck up to the Red Queen in the new Alice in Wonderland.

Massive boobs only suggest they are all a woman has to offer. What should women with massive homegrowns do? Absolutely nothing.

Isn’t that a mite bit hypocritical, E?

Only to a dolt.

Silly liberals.

An excerpt from a friend's Facebook post that I replied to then thoroughly owned a dill hole on. Copied as seen on Facebook.

SW Well, I can't wait until November when the Dems get destroyed and the #hcr gets repealed.

EH Ditto.

ML LOL, well friend, maybe wake up a little, stop blindly following the party of NO, who has done NOTHING other than run up the national debt, ruin America's reputation in the world, start illegal wars, pass legislation the allows the government to illegally spy on its own people, and completely roll over and pander to corporations rather than Americans. They lie, cheat and steal and you KNOW it. Grow up my young repub friends and think for YOURSELVES for once. Love YA!

EH Thanks for the advice, Comrade L. I gave it its due consideration while dropping a deuce. I think for myself. That is why I'll never support Obama who wants to take that right from me and bestow it upon the government. Juxtapose this administration's spending to Bush's and rethink your statement regarding the national debt.

ML Tut, tut, tut, E. Blindly following the blind. I call total bullshit on the majority of you all thinking for yourself, lol. Lets just spout the same ol' lies of rush and glenn and sean, lies that have been PROVEN to be such, lets just REFUSE to work with ANYONE that will not completely cave to your demands, no compromise, no debate, just miscommunication, mistruth, half turth and lies. Yeah, that basically sums up the republican party. Oh and learn what juxtapose means, moron, i think you mean compare. (Sorry steve, your moron friend here is so rediculous, couldnt help myself)

CW I like this M fellow.

KW He does have some excellent points.

RR Blindly following the blind? That would be the Dims. CNN's - not Fox's - latest poll has a whopping 59% of the country opposed to Obamacare. Seems like Obama and Pelosi are the ones with their heads somewhere dark and stinky, along with their sycophantic followers in congress. And those cheering them on as well.

EH Well said, R.

M, I don't know what's worse, your inability to think for yourself or the fact that you let BO think for you. You are both complete tools.

Juxtapose- to place close together or side by side, esp. for comparison or contrast. (www.dictionary.com) Buy a dictionary and educate yourself. BO can't do everything for you. Perhaps after purchasing a dictionary, you can spell ridiculous and truth correctly. You obviously don't know what truth is so I shouldn't expect you to be able to correctly spell it. Spell check is free but apparently not idiot friendly.

How can anyone support the dems right now? The daily increasing levels of corruption and blatant bribery are staggering. Yesterday they voted against the will of the people they supposedly represent and pissed all over the Constitution. You only prove your stupidity by supporting them, M.

I hope the next time you salute the poster of Stalin you have hanging in your room that you hit your head hard enough to dislodge some stupidity and allow room for sense.

Freedom died a little bit on Sunday.

Stupidity pervades our very existence. Mainly in the form of democrats.

It is of little wonder why the democrats have a jack ass to represent them. Both in logo and president.

I cannot begin to explain my rage and will not try to because it will only enrage me further.

Weekly stress.

For some unexplainable reason, I have always wanted a stalker. That is until I realized I’ve had one for quite some time now.

Church is usually a place of edification, reverence and of learning. These are no longer possible due to an impediment named J. I am on a constant state of high alert for J’s location. She makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I hug many girls at church without discrimination. All but one return the hug. J differentiates herself each week. J grapples me and releases me only after her muscles have vanquished their energy stores. Her inability to read my body language that vehemently screams I want to be anywhere but close to her coupled with the numerous failed attempts to free myself from her grasp once she catches me cause me to elude her every time I see her. I'll see her laser in on me from across the room and I’m spurred into evasive action like I stole something. I venture to say that whoever created radar, early warning detection devices and radar avoidance mechanisms had her in mind. I feel like a spy with my constantly scanning eyes surveying the room to know her whereabouts. My location is determined by her. Just like the VESPR theory for electrons, I try to be as far as I can from her. It's bad. I do all I can to keep her the F away from me.

Just to clarify and make sure you don’t think I brought this upon myself, I don’t remember ever initiating hugs with her. Surely she saw me giving every other girl a hug and probably thought she was entitled to one. However, I don’t give her a hug, she takes one. She nuzzles her face in my neck and holds on as though she’s trying to fuse our bodies together. It makes me sad. Spastic movements to indicate I want separation are ignored. The best way to maintain separation is avoidance, even blatant avoidance. Every Sunday I hope she has internalized my blatant avoidance and will correct her weekly folly. Every Sunday I am disappointed anew.

I feel bad about it but what kind of girl makes a man do this? Nobody wants to be like this but she makes me and I’m sure others too. Bad J!

Rodeo Clown Face

“What the….???”

This couldn’t be real. This had to be a joke I just wasn’t getting. This chick looked like she applied her make-up with a shotgun or had Ray Charles do it for her. Remember the old grandma putting her make up on in the movie Airplane when it was turbulent and her lip stick went everywhere? Grandma would look like a professional make up applicator at the Clinique counter compared to this chick.

Does she not own a mirror? A cursory glance would be sufficient to realize that she does not look good. Only a rodeo clown would appreciate the disaster…but probably not. There was no discernable evidence of a joke though. I sat there stupefied. This resembled self-mutilation but without the piercing of skin; simply a horrifying topical application of gross.

She looked at me like Jabba the Hut looked at Princess Leia attired in her metal bikini. What was I going to do? I had just made a New Year’s Resolution to be nice but if she came on to me I would have no other choice than to be honest.

“I hope you brought you’re A game,” she said lecherously as she eyed the front of my jeans as though they contained the secrets to world peace.

“I have no other game to bring,” I responded while the mantra “be nice” repeated itself in my head.

“Oh you’re trouble.”

There was going to be trouble if I didn’t end this quicker than a virgin on his honeymoon. I needed to escape before I snapped and was no longer able to control my tongue. By hell I was going to be nice!

“How about we make some bad decisions?” she asked as she arched her back in a pseudo-yawn. What she was really trying to do was show of her upstairs female parts. Her belly stuck out more than her chest! How revolting! Her shirt strained to keep the mass of belly fat from escaping. If a piece of fabric could commit suicide, it would have done so then. Her body looked as though it were sponsored by adipose tissue.

“How about I make a good decision and tell you no?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Aren’t you quite the talker?”

“I may be good at talking but I’m better at following through. Now giddy up!”

She lunged toward me. My only thought was to strike her in the throat and watch her struggle for air. That was quickly replaced with “be nice.” How do I get myself into these situations? Damn these cursed good looks and chiseled body! All they do is get me into trouble. Sigh…I wish those two things were true. I could grieve about those later though. Right now I had to fend off this painted beast. I didn’t have a red article of clothing to distract her though. What else could I use?

Honesty is the best policy right? I would test the validity of that statement by implementing it and hopefully getting this chick to scram.

“You look like someone repeatedly slapped you with a rainbow.”

“To steal a line from the lame Skittles ad campaign, come taste the rainbow.”
I grimaced and fought a gag as though someone had shit on my upper lip.
This chick was silky smooth…but hideous. Those two coupled together still equals hideous. It’s like any number multiplied by 0, the result will always be 0. There is no overcoming hideous…no matter how much a girl tries to cover it up with make-up.

“I’d rather kick a puppy and drown a kitten in front of a child.”

“Sounds hot,” she said as she slowly inched closer. One adrenaline rush was apparently insufficient energy for this behemoth to sustain movement further than a lunge. She had a body for sitting not for chasing. She drug her massive whale body toward me as her mouth hung agape and sucked air in like a turboprop jet engine.

Apparently honesty doesn’t work. I was having difficulty suppressing the old me. Half of me wanted to easily escape by simply walking away, not running but walking cause she wouldn’t be able to keep up either way. The other half of me wanted to share some thoughts with this thing. How long do resolutions usually go for? A month or two? A few days was good enough for me. I proved I could be nice and at the same time proved I didn’t want to. I hope her disastrous make up job is tear proof.

“Look slim, I’m sorry for all the maladies and ills that have befallen you. Food may seem like a logical option because it, unlike me, can’t say no. If I was on the phone with you and had never seen you, I would say you would rather screw than eat, which is a good thing, but upon seeing you I now know otherwise. I may be a walking hunk of man meat but I’m not the kind of meat you throw on the grill. You can’t eat me. Additionally I don’t voluntarily consort with cattle so I suggest you mosey on to a grassy field somewhere and graze. The phrase moving on to greener pastures applies on a few different levels. I could go on an on with a lengthy diatribe but you bore me almost as much as you sicken me. I’m now going to have my memory erased.”

Looking back, it wasn’t too mean, per se, but I was too grossed out to thoroughly ruin her. It’s hard to talk when you’re gagging.

A conversation I overheard.

Guy 1- Where do I know that girl from?
Guy 2- Probably through one of your filthy dealings in an hourly hotel.
Guy 1- I have never paid for sex.
Guy 2- Maybe not directly.
Guy 1- Explain.
Guy 2- Taking a woman out for an evening is a risky investment you hope pays off, a gamble if you will.
Guy 1- Go on.
Guy 2- At the end of the evening, you’re hoping your suaveness results in getting your peter wet. I say eliminate the risk and just rent a hooker. That way you forego the responsibility of entertaining her at dinner and eliminate superfluous time spent with her when it’s simply a prelude to screwing anyway. Why not just get what you want without the excess? You’ll spend the same amount of quid or less depending on your dining selection.
Guy 1- A sound observation.
Guy 2- I’m sure the prostitute screws better anyway.
Guy 1- Isn’t being with a hooker risky?
Guy 2- Risky like STD Russian Roulette or risky like she may not be clean?
Guy 1- Both.
Guy 2- It depends on the quality of hooker you invest in. Main Street and train track hookers are STD petri dishes. Stay away. “Escort” establishments are a little pricier but well worth keeping the itch off and out of your pecker.
Guy 1- You seem quite savy.
Guy 2- I’m simply a satisfied customer who believes in word of mouth advertising.
Guy 1- A major stumbling block for me with the idea of temporarily employing a hooker is even the mere mention of a whore gives me a fever and activates my immune system because it thinks it has to fight something off soon.
Guy 2- Tell your white blood cells to stop duplicating in anticipation and relax. Go the escort route. That or the safest method.
Guy 1- Abstinence?
Guy 2- The old five knuckle shuffle. Slapping the clown. Flogging the dolphin.
Guy 1- Jerking off is as close to being gay as it gets.
Guy 2- Interesting hypothesis.
Guy 1- While you’re thinking or looking at dirty things, a man’s hand is handling your garbage.
Guy 2- Correction: Your hand.
Guy 1- Reassertion of correct phrasing: Me being a man and placing a hand on my junk qualifies it as a man’s hand on my wedding tackle.
Guy 2- I follow your reasoning and wish you never would have revealed the concept. I can’t argue with the thought process. This leaves you with two options: Get a girlfriend or hire a prostitute.
Guy 1- Prostitute it is. I have a spine so that excludes me from getting a girlfriend.
Guy 2- You are very wise.

Passing of the torch.

“I leave you to divine what that means.”

“But you didn’t say anything,” the young man muttered while looking down at his scuffed shoes as the exquisite, young vixen sauntered off.

“Uneducated in the ways of body language and women, eh?” I chuckled lightly. He will need to learn this valuable skill set to be a successful practitioner of women seducing. Women almost exclusively deal in subtly. One must be able to perceive the signals and interpret them correctly in order to safely converse with them. One unable to grasp the subtly is considered unworthy and dim. I could be of service if this young man was willing to learn.

“Do I know you, old man?”

“Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your exchange with that voluptuous creature. In large part because I was eavesdropping. I thought I might be of some assistance.”

“I don’t have an immediate need of knowledge concerning osteoporosis or arthritis. Thanks anyway.”

“Wits?! That will make my job easier. Women appreciate wittiness if used correctly. That paired with an improved visual acuity with regards to signals will make you irresistible. I understand if you’d much rather prefer pounding out a symphony on your organ alone, fag!”

“You piqued my interest. A greater sampling of what you have to offer is required.”

“I’m not hawking my wares like some street vendor. I have valuable information your little Johnson will thank me for later.”

“A conversation will never take place between you and my pecker. Are you sure you know anything about women? You seem awfully gay.”

“I’ll dismiss the insult because you are young and know not what you say. Listen to this though, sonny. Women expect myopic attention. Damn the peripherals and anything else in your purview. However, a word of caution regarding that statement. This knowledge can be a great ally or bring about a quick and painful destruction if neglected. Women are incredibly sensitive to this. If they feel you are adhering to this principle, adoration and all that she has will be given to you.”

“No sensitivity here, pops. It’s as though my body isn’t innervated. I feel nothing.”

“You may not be sensitive but she is. Respect the sensitivity. If in violation of it, you bring about utter condemnation and scorn. Unanswerable questions will instantly be asked rapid fire like: Why don’t you pay attention to me anymore? Do you no longer find me attractive? Are you saying I’m fat? Why don’t you open your eyes when we make love? None of these questions and the myriad of others that will surely be asked make for a good day. Don’t allow your gaze to dawdle. Instead of making women manifest their barely contained insecurities by what they deem is ignoring them, visually or in general, use their innate ability to over analyze things to your advantage. Let their minds wander with the possibilities of what you two can amount to. While this scares yours and my rectum empty and our undies full, it is the safer of two evils. When a woman is considering what wedding colors to use, her wedding dress, which bridesmaids she should select from the pack of catty, vindictive bitches she calls friends and all other things you, me and all other men find atrociously sickening, things could be no better for you. Her infatuation with you at that point knows no bounds. Interestingly and crazily enough this starts from the moment you meet her. You simply need to cultivate it and not cause a deviation in her mind. Don’t be a douche bag and think you’re being a deceitful dick. It’s simply safety. Don’t do it and she’ll turn tail and peace out quicker than a Frenchman. Are you writing this down?”

“So you finally stop your diatribe to breathe? I thought I was going to have to watch you die because I was unwilling to give you mouth to jowly mouth.”

“Piss poor timing wits again, huh? Forgive me for giving you scripture. I see you are too young or too stupid to see the value in my words. Good day, son.”

“Sorry old timer. Proceed.”

“What’s your name, lad?”

“E.”

“You look like a nerd of no comparison.”

“I do like books and libraries. I suppose that qualifies me.”

“As do your glasses and overall plainness. You look like the short, male equivalent of Sarah Plain and Tall.”

“Who? I’ve often been told I look like a Brad Pitt/David Beckham hybrid but more sexy.”

“Who? Clearly there is an age disparity between us. Let us bridge the gap by further exploring the ageless art of seducing women.”

“Do you still change your own undies or do you have a nurse do that for you?”

“A nurse. Not from necessity but because I like to be pampered. See what I did there?”

“I hope you didn’t just shit your pants.”

“No numb nuts, my diaper joke. Never mind. What is your impetus for talking to women?”

“To bang.”

“Now imagine I’m a woman asking you that same question.”

“Same response but I can’t even imagine a boner looking at your wrinkly ass. Do you kick your droopy ass when you walk?”

“Good one. That while getting in the panties is your end game; you shouldn’t portray that. If she is smart, she will pick up on your cues and follow accordingly as long as you’re smart about it. One misstep or poorly worded statement and the legs close quicker than a well-oiled bear trap. You’ve only got one shot unless you are so handsome that any and all slip ups are overlooked or forgiven. Seeing as though that doesn’t apply to you, we need to make you the model of debonair-ness.”

“Clearly you need to be updated on what good looking is or you would know that I am a specimen.”

“You silly fool. I have eyes. I can see you are but I am trying to teach you something. Know you are but never act like you are. Confidence and arrogance are divided by such a thin line that it is almost indistinguishable. It is markedly better to come across as one that has never spent a second in the mirror considering his appeal to women. Be you and hope that you convey someone that knows he has infinitely more to offer than his looks. Women find that more attractive than looks. Women value security more than appearance. Don’t believe me? Next time you walk down the street pay attention to the couples. You will only see an attractive man with an attractive woman. The opposite does not hold true. You will see an attractive woman with varying degrees of “good looking” men. Some far from it. They want to feel safe, secure and comfortable with a man and can fall in love with whatever he looks like. Our simple, little man minds can’t make sense of the concept but it’s as true as…something that is very true.”

“Holy shit stains! You’re right. Preach on, sage.”

“No can do, it’s time for my nap. Be here same time tomorrow for more instruction and for hell’s sakes, man, wear some pants! Make her fall in love with you before you unveil the angry inch otherwise you have no chance.”

“I’ve been told it’s a good size and that it’s cute.”

“Holy shit you suck. Tie a weight to it and hope like hell it stretches. See you tomorrow.”

Straight up.

I will forever refrain from using a colon and a right parenthesis to illustrate jocular intent. Those are for chicks and fags.