Open Until Nine Isn't, Forcing Me To Speak Of The Sexing Music To Fill The Void

Since that total shaftbagger X isn't updating his blog with the rampant and entirely true tales of his penis, which has long since become void of warranty, I guess it's my brotherly duty to get your genitals into a general state of terrified excitement on his behalf. You know. Since he's too busy deep-diving his wing-wang in the parking lot of the dollar matinee to tell us a proper story.

So anyways, apparently people out there have playlists of the sexing music, which are always hilarious because the playlists are always like six hours long and the last time I heard the end of one it felt like I was sharpening my babymaker against a grindstone. I heard the other day that Portishead makes it into these lists with astonishing regularity. In order to test this, I listened to some Portishead, just a few minutes ago, right here at work, and waited for the cavalry to muster. Instead, I got really bored. Portishead is slow, people. Very, very slow. Like, lullaby slow. I understand that people don't exactly fill their little secret playlists with death metal, but geez. On my groove-meter, Portishead ranks somewhere around "completely motionless". As in, "while this song is playing, why not take a little nap and dream about fishing on a very calm lake, which is made of Valium".

Maybe I just don't get it, because Fancy said that he could totally see the Portishead thing, although whenever he watches porn he's blasting Electric Six and King Missile as 'mood music'. Also, one time we were driving around downtown trying to find something to do and we saw these pretty hot tourist chicks wandering around the Fremont Street Experience, and the first thing he did was start blasting some Weird Al and pulled over in front of them and got their phone numbers, which all started with 011-something, so we knew they were totally fake and threw them away. Then we went to a bar and drank Tequila Blasters until everybody else passed out.

You'd Better Just Download A New Browser For This One

Pretty much all week, we've been working on getting my extremely good friend X's blog up. I'm here before you today to say, Hell Yes, Mission Fucking Achieved. Starting this very moment you can see the blog is up over at open until nine, even though right now there's not much on there. Well, there's a quote from me, which is the best way to start pretty much anything, ever.

First of all, you're going to notice that the site is tremendously sexy. This is because Dooley is a deity among designers and you should all pretty much give him money to pretty up your sites and then remove your panties, right now.

Second of all, X is a fucking pimp. I've made some references about him earlier on my blog, calling him "The Christopher Columbus of penis". This is not a joke. I have shown up at his place, gone with him to buy slurpees at 7-11, and watched him convince a particularly hot clerk to come home with us. I don't know if he smells like diamonds and licorice or what, but none of us can wait to see what kind of things show up on his page. I'm practically dripping with excitement. So please, do yourself a favor: bookmark his page, then come back here and bookmark my page again, then maybe go have yourself a nice little snack. And then, you know. Bookmark my page again.

Girl Candy

As far as I know, everyone with a uterus eats pretty much only Midol. Not believing in the efficacy of aspirin of any sort, I'm not too sure why, but it seems rather universal. We'd all probably still be in the garden of Eden if there'd been a Midol tree nearby.

Looking at the wikipedia page, I notice that it's got caffeine in it, which seems like a pretty weird thing to want in your body when you're making rag-goo. I mean, wouldn't you want to sleep and alleviate the horrible painful pains? Having a Tab A instead of a Slot B, I can't honestly know what having a period feels like, but according to how bitchy Kerplunk is getting right now, it seems to be on par with getting run over by a forklift full of alligators who are munching on your disembodied stomach, while you watch.

I'm amazed that nobody has invented a pink Hello Kitty Midol PEZ dispenser, which would make trillions and trillions of dollars and cause the owner to live forever in a house made entirely of naked slave girls who never have periods, ever.

Traditions

Young Me: You gotta help me out here, the dogs are attacking each other!

Mom: That's not "attacking".

Young Me: ....oh.

---

We never had a very strong sense of tradition in my family, because traditions are corny, like a mountain of corn. Still, there's things that happen in your childhood that stick with you until you're older - sunny days outdoors, a race your mother let you win, a funny uncle who always pats your ass and wants to see your underoos. Those concepts help to mold and shape you, becoming your own joie de vivre, your flair, your latent homosexuality, if you will. And one day, you'll be looking lovingly down at your own missed abortions and passing those fruits of knowledge down to them. Or, more succinctly:

Boy: Why are we at the morgue?

Future Me: Because I'm dissecting this corpse.

Future Wife: That's not "dissecting".

Salmon Eggs Are Disgusting

I loves me some sushi. The same drive that leads men to consume rare steak and bloody veal insists, nay, forces me to put raw fish in my mouth. This is ten percent because I am biologically more complex and therefore superior to fish. It is also one hundred percent because raw fish is delicious, much more delicious than ordinary cooked fish. If there were some way to uncook a fish and thereby invent a process which made fish more raw, the person who invented that technology would be rich forever, because they would have unlocked the secret flavor of rainbows.

That having been said, I do not like salmon roe. At a recent get-together where there were probably a million people sitting at a table of ten, I put one salmon egg in my mouth and bit into it, hoping for the lack of taste I get from smaller roes. I did not get this lack of taste.

Instead, I got the taste of a sweaty fish orgasm in my mouth. It was horrid. It was like I'd been physically abused by some distant fish I would never be able to find and murder for the horrible thing it had done to me. It was like cheap, salmon-flavored, convenience-store wine, steeped in salt and fish kool-aid. Somewhere, there's a fish out there who owes me ten dollars. And to all the ladies: I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know.

I'm going to buy as much salmon as I can this weekend. I am going to cook it in various ways, and I am going to get twenty million percent of my US RDA of omega-7 magic acids. And I hope that somewhere in all that fish is the one that destroyed my soul. Even if I never know, it will be better for the balance of the universe if this one time I can get revenge, forever.

Love And Marriage

11:54:23 AM Teleolurian: it wasn't like that

11:54:29 AM Kerplunk: that's still rude

11:54:41 AM Teleolurian: we got married after i got off of work

11:54:45 AM Teleolurian: and then we went home

11:54:51 AM Teleolurian: and drank some champagne

11:54:51 AM Kerplunk: was anyone there

11:54:53 AM Teleolurian: and she complained

11:55:01 AM Teleolurian: because her and alcohol don't work

11:55:05 AM Teleolurian: so she went to lay down

11:55:16 AM Teleolurian: and me and derek and jewmy drove to arizona

11:55:24 AM Teleolurian: cuz i thought she was going to sleep for work

11:55:38 AM Kerplunk: she was waiting for you to SEDUCE HER 

11:55:38 AM Teleolurian: then i came home and found out she wasn't asleep

11:55:39 AM Kerplunk: IDIOT

11:55:46 AM Teleolurian: I DOUBT IT

11:55:57 AM Kerplunk: WHY????IT WAS YOUR WEDDING NIGHT

11:56:07 AM Teleolurian: she gets sick when you even look at booze

11:56:20 AM Kerplunk: hey, i know how she feels

11:56:23 AM Teleolurian: she was totally not being friendly with alcohol

11:56:29 AM Teleolurian: so she went to lie down

11:56:34 AM Teleolurian: like she does every time she drinks ever

11:56:49 AM Teleolurian: unless she's at a concert, then suddenly she can outdrink THE PRESIDENT

11:56:56 AM Kerplunk: LOL

11:57:09 AM Kerplunk: it sucks not being able to drink

11:57:23 AM Kerplunk: you're automatically the designated driver

11:57:36 AM Teleolurian: and i am completely blind to the machinations of women, and she knows this

11:57:50 AM Teleolurian: if she wants me to seduce her SHE HAS TO GIVE ME AMPLE WARNING

11:58:10 AM Kerplunk: ...it was your wedding night, and she went to lay down.

11:58:16 AM Kerplunk: what more do you need?!?!?!?

11:58:20 AM Teleolurian: warning.

11:58:28 AM Kerplunk: that is a warning you doofus

11:58:38 AM Teleolurian: no it isn't, it's a drunk chick

11:58:39 AM Teleolurian: ...

11:58:41 AM Teleolurian: oh.

Hot Robot Love

2:55:22 PM Teleolurian: so, the poor girl i raised from a teenager that just moved in with me this week...

2:55:45 PM Teleolurian: her boyfriend and my wife are apparently running around the house discussing electricity. this is totally awesome

2:56:02 PM Teleolurian: because she needs to build me a theremin, which i assume are made out of electricity

2:56:43 PM Alex: ooooh cool!

2:56:52 PM Alex: she knows how to build them??

2:56:53 PM Alex: weird

2:57:13 PM Teleolurian: she has some crazy degree in "electricity" or something

2:57:25 PM Alex: lol, i didnt know there was one!

2:57:29 PM Alex: how cool

2:57:39 PM Teleolurian: lol, she has an associate's in mechanical technology

2:57:40 PM Alex: "I have a degree in electricity!"

2:57:50 PM Alex: it even fucking rhymes

2:57:52 PM Teleolurian: but it sounds better the other way

2:57:53 PM Teleolurian: yeah

2:57:54 PM Alex: thats awesome

2:58:18 PM Teleolurian: she needs to start building awesome robots and quit this crocheting crap

2:59:18 PM Alex: YEA!

2:59:34 PM Alex: then she could crochet the robots sweaters

2:59:37 PM Alex: that would be cool

2:59:41 PM Teleolurian: that would totally rule

2:59:52 PM Teleolurian: and then i could teach them to love

2:59:56 PM Teleolurian: ...

2:59:58 PM Teleolurian: physically

3:00:09 PM Alex: thats all you

3:00:12 PM Alex: lol

3:00:24 PM Alex: sticky robots

3:00:25 PM Teleolurian: i should go get a degree in that

3:00:33 PM Teleolurian: Robot Love

I So Wish I Were Kidding

4:50:54 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: that's to be expected

4:51:11 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: i won a master's degree in sex

4:52:24 PM Kerplunk: EEHHMMM...masterbation

4:52:34 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: we quibble over terms

4:52:53 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: remember the course of internet etiquette

4:53:13 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: Male: (obvious lie)

Dumb Bitch: Here, have my ovaries!

Be My Valentine

Welcome To PsykoDate.Com! To get started, please fill out the form below.

Name
I am a:	ManStalkerScientologist
Seeking a:	VictimHuman BodyCoke Mule
For:	Long stalks in the parkDissectionThis recipe I found
My appearance is:	Foretold as the coming of apocalypseShort and stalkyPretty damn creepyOn a wanted poster at your local post office
My favorite part of a woman is	Her thymus glandHer eyesHer mind, with foie gras
Please	IM me, but pose as a 9 year oldTry and look frightenedDon't move or speak, it ruins the moodWear something that can hide a blood stainTrust me when I say they're aspirin

Christmas Cards

Dear Patrick:

Merry Christmas! I hope you are doing well. Me, I've just found out that apparently I'm the heir to a vast fortune. Apparently, I need a good faith donation of $10k, but that should be pretty easy to get a hold of. So, how's that AAPL stock been treating you?

Best Wishes,
Tele



Dear Caroline:

require 'base64'
Base64.decode64("WW91IGFyZSBhIGJpdGNo
LCBhbmQgSSBob3BlIHlvdSBkaWUuIEFsc28s
IHlv\ndSBzaG91bGQgcHJvYmFibHkgZ2V0IG
NoZWNrZWQgZm9yIGhlcnBlcy4=\n")

Good Luck,
Tele


Dear Dinah:

How's my favorite niece doing? I can't believe how much you've grown. The coke is in an envelope behind the left front tire of my old truck. I hope your holidays are going well. Please tell your mother that I love her.

Wink Wink,
Tele


Dear Woman Who Sat Across From Me On The Subway:

Do you believe in miracles? How about love at first sight? Because, man. Sitting across from you was an effort not to spout the first pickup line that came to mind. Are your legs tired? Because in my mind, you were kicking as hard as you could to try and break free from the cuffs.

I Love You,
Tele


Dear Parole Officer:

I believe my parole is over. I believe it was over six months ago. Quit coming to my house. I'm on to you and your 'strip searches'. You are costing me hundreds of dollars in therapy. That's six months of my life I've got to try and erase with nothing except the methadone you never found. You prick. It was IN MY POCKET. I wanted to go to jail so I could be safe from your sweaty-ass palms.

Die And Rot,
Tele

The Mother Daughter Talk

So, in my morning blog travails I found this map of the average age your daughters will be when they meet the future man of their post-erotic dreams. There are several vital pieces of information that can be gleaned from this article, so I've taken the chance to sum things up. Because I'm just nice like that.

• America does not look good in pink. France does.
• There are no children in South Africa; they spring fully formed from the heads of their ancestors.
• People in Brazil are pretty, you know, friendly. I'm pretty sure there's a secret handshake involved, before you're whisked away to a den of earthly delights.
• Russian girls are far less kinky than I hoped they'd be. I sort of just figured that in a land where the primary alcoholic beverage is named after water, there'd be, you know. Kink.
  
• The map information on India is just plain lies. There is no way that in a place where children magically appear whenever a kitten dies, the average age of virginity loss is 20 years old. Unless, you know. There's a factory involved.
• Somehow, somewhere in Patagonia, people are having sex.
• The Chinese aren't into driving crappy cars to some overlook to make a sweaty, fumbled attempt to hammer the sickle. One wonders if this has to do with the lack of cars, or the lack of overlooks.
• The Japanese totally lied on the survey. I have it on authority that they all lose their virginity at the age of four.
  

I Think That I Shall Never See

She grinned up at me, impish and beautiful, far away from civilization in the woods of Colorado. When she asked me, it came out like a dare.

No. I had never done it in a tree.

I will reveal something to you. This is meant to be quintessential knowledge, the wisdom of the ages, the flower of advice. Trees dare you to attempt carnality in their horrible, scratchy boughs. Did you know that pine needles have formic acid in them? And that formic acid is the reason why ant bites hurt? I know this. You might say I know this intimately.

Trees want you to die. But first, they want to punish you. They have heard their brethren screaming at the hands of their bipedal aggressors and they use their telepathic mind-waves to lure sulky summer-camp dryads and their July paramours to them. The only thing that was in my mind at that point in time, excepting for the past fifteen minutes of surreptitious petting, was that I had not yet earned my summer camp badge in this particular activity and I sure as hell knew that snotty Brian Connell from the next lodge over hadn't either.

It's a good thing the camp wasn't in Arizona. You think Colorado pine has something against humanity? The saguaros will eat your soul.

One To Remember Me By

Missing You	Stalking You
Playing the mix CD you made for me	Carving the playlist into my chest
Accidentally bumping into you at the store	...daily
Thinking of your name	...because that's what I named my dog, car, and nicknamed my new girlfriend
Taking sleeping pills so I can stop thinking about you	Taking meth so I can watch you sleep through your window all night long
Remembering our trip to LA during lonely moments	Reenacting our trip to Mexico with a paid escort
Feeling wistful	Stroking my precious, stolen lock of hair
Ordering your favorite drink at Starbucks to remember you by	Sneaking into the back room and dumping GHB into the Hazelnut syrup
Truly, truly sorry	Can't wait for you to die so I can dig you up and bring you home

Dear Future, Amnesiac Self

VA wrote about a tough situation, where she pushed herself between partying and studying to the absolute limit and broke down. Sometimes I feel like that's going to happen when I'm hypomanic and juggling different code projects, songwriting, and being the most abusive amazing person on the internets, but it never does.

I don't take notes and I frequently wonder what would happen if one day I woke up and realized I'd just forgotten it all. Obviously, this could never happen to me, because I'm nine billion percent ultrafantastic, but just in case, I need to leave myself a little set of notes to make sure that my circle of friends and enemies never realize the moment when they could escape my evil grasp.

Notes For Future Teleolurian:

1. You are the most utterly fantastic person ever. You invented magic, drank absinthe, wrestled three bears at the same time, and you were born an asian octopus in Mexico. Don't put up with anything anyone does to/for you, ever, even if it's nice, because who cares? They're other people.
2. Perl is for people who really wish they were writing their own language. It's missing about a billion typical code constructs. Just relearn Ruby and you'll be fine.
3. Don't worry about writing lyrics for songs, you can just keep making up nonsense. Nobody will ever tell the difference.
4. You react very badly to all drugs that aren't straight uppers or downers. Taking amitriptyline will make you die immediately. Taking SSRIs make you see the future.
5. Your wife is a liar. She can drink booze just like anyone else.
6. Your friend Mike will eat anything you give him. Your friend Fancy has a much higher tolerance than you do. Your friend Derek will ignore you for weeks on end and then magically appear again.
7. All women are exactly the same, except for Fancy's wife. Given half an excuse, she will remove your cranium and feast on your congealing brains. Do not mess with her. By 'mess with', I mean 'anything that requires you to be in visual range for more than three seconds'.
8. Stargate is a complete waste of time, and if you ever enjoy an episode of it, you should kill yourself immediately.

Comfort Not Applicable

Oh, Joolz.

Nobody wants to have sex in a tent. I mean, why? Just... why? Is it the soothing sound of vermin crawling all willy-nilly right outside the door of your cramped little temporary boudoir? Is it knowing that maybe, just maybe, there's a bear watching?

I may not be able to offer an unbiased opinion, since both sex and nature rank right up there with snorting crushed glass on my list. I don't get the concept of wanting to bang out a contract with somebody in the bathroom of an airplane, for that matter. Whatever happened to people wanting to snuff the smurf in, you know, physically conducive locations? Places where two people might actually fit? Places without rocks?

Of course, I know your first argument will probably be something along the lines of wanting to change up your sex life. Personally, I think playing around with sex merely lengthens the duration of something that's pretty darn boring in the first place. There's the whole rush, true, which is why people continue to copulate and the world population soars, but there's drastically little you can do while actually performing the act. I mean, you can watch TV, talk on the phone, or recite all the swear words you know, but unless you have a particularly permissive partner, you can't:

• Play the piano
• Go make yourself a sandwich
• Practice your golf swing
• Look for porn on the internet
• Memorize the Bill of Rights
• Plunder graves
• Purchase illicit chemicals and insufflate them
• Complete a magazine survey to determine whether or not you're a closet homosexual

In fact, most of the suggestions you see out of people trying to get more bang for their buck include such timeless offerings as: roleplaying, which is stupid without a dice bag; positional variations, which actually make sense but don't really change the tab A - slot B functionality (much); and BDSM, which is an excuse to buy more clothing and a way to get your SO into D&D. And, of course, there's having sex in unusual and uncomfortable locations, like tents, walk-in freezers, and on a moving skateboard. None of which actually sound like any fun whatsoever, more like something you do when you've got the motive but need to improvise.

Also, I am now never ever going camping with you.

Take Two Of These

Why do bra ads always need to be pornographic?

I mean, I get it. You get more people to look at your ads. You sell more. Not having breasts myself, I can't say whether or not it helps to be able to see someone else's in the underwear. And let's face it, nobody really complains that there's boobies around.

But I've never seen some male model in underwear and thought, wow. Look at that guy's junk. I totally need a pair of those boxers. And if you're gonna try and sell on some poor girl's self-image problems, why not go the full monty and show some before and after with those double-padded bras?

Look, girls. You meet a guy. After whatever your personal courting time is, be it one hour or one year, the compatibility alarm dings or your ovary clock hits daylight savings time or [insert pointless metaphor here] or whatever, and you go home for a rousing game of Truth or Sex. Do you really think it matters what you look like by this point? The visual index is pretty much unimportant after the first glance. You're not gonna miss out on the Bow-Chicka unless you're a bow-wow, if you get my drift.

And trust me, if all systems are go, how many of you lie back in post-coital exhaustion and think, well. That was fifty dollars well spent. I mean, I think that all the time, but it's not the bra I'm paying for.