The sex you want, you're not getting... and the sex you're getting... you don't want.

Truer words were never spoken (I think it was Eddie Griffin in some shitty movie).  But that doesn't make them any less true.

Case in point:

Two of my best friends are a lesbian couple.  A HOT lesbian couple.  The other night we were hanging out playing beer pong with a bunch of other people.  After the cops came in because we were too loud, we went to a bar down the street and got even further fucked up.  After that, we went back to the house, where my two friends stripped down to their bras and panties and we kept playing games.

I could not help but keep staring at those perfect ass cheeks, sitting on top of perfect pairs of legs, almost bursting out of tight silk panties.  I don't remember much else from that night, but that shit is burned into my mind.

The next day I called my fuck buddy, and drove 30 miles to get some ass.  We fucked like 18 year olds on a coke binge... but it had nothing to do with her at all.  She's just a pussy in a glass case.  Break open in case of emergency.  Lately sex with the FB has been kinda lame.  Stale.  Predictable.  But after the night with the lesbians still fresh in my mind, I tore her shit up.  

Afterwards, laying exhausted next to each other, she was like, "what brought that on?"

If I had told the truth, she would have kicked me out before I could put my pants back on.  But instead, I fed her lies.

It's all human nature though.

We always want what we can't have.  And what we have, we take for granted.

Have you ever been so angry you felt like you were going to explode?  Not metaphorically, I mean literally...  like a damn dirty bomb planted in a Baghdad market, ripping through crowds of people, tearing everything in it's wake to shreds and causing a giant mess that only God could imagine?

Yeah, I was that angry tonight.

The source of my rage?  Two dipshits who I've never met in my life, with only a couple feet of space and a checklane counter separating us.  I was so God damn furious I actually became scared.  Scared of what I might do if and when I completely lost my shit, which almost happened... but some how it didn't.

I work in retail.  A glorious profession. 

A couple of months ago I took a job as a manager of a small retail store.  I'm not really proud of it.  I wonder how I ended up here.  I've done better things in the past, and maybe poor life decisions have led me to this point.  I don't know.  But I do know I still have the fucking decency to go to work everyday and earn my paycheck unlike some others.

The store I manage closes at 9pm sharp.  It's 8:55 and I'm standing on the side walk smoking a cigarette with the only other employee while the last two customers inside continue to perambulate the aisles making their final choices.  The two men are together with one shopping cart and obviously paid no attention to the giant sign on the front of the entrance that states the store's hours.

The cashier and I make small talk as we puff away.  We talk about the some of the cars in the shopping center's lot, one a shiny new Dodge Charger, the other a rusted Chevy Celebrity made some time during the Clinton era.  We notice the two customers with the cart coming up to the check lane at 9:01, it's time to check them out.  Once they're out of the store I can finally count the money, make the deposit and get the hell out.

Did I mention that I had worked 22 out of the past 28 hours at this point?

I tell the cashier to go get a broom so she can sweep while I count the money after closing, and that I would check out the two guys.  The first guy looks at me and says, "I got one of them EBT cards is that okay?" 

For those of you who do not know this (consider yourself lucky if you don't) EBT is code for food stamps.  You get a government issued card, that's just like a debit card, that has a balance uploaded to it every month from Uncle Sam.  That way people can buy "food."  You know, so that people who are too lazy... ahem... I mean too poor don't starve or anything like that.  Of course people never abuse this system.  Ever.

I start scanning the groceries.  After 3 boxes of Pop tarts, some candy bars, Oreo Cakesters, ice cream, a box of Milk Duds, Fudge cycles, several 20oz. Cokes (2-liters have 3 times as much liquid and are cheaper), beef jerky, and a bag of ice I inform Joe Dirt and Kid Rock that their total is 36 bucks.  After a grueling couple of minutes teaching this derelict how to operate a credit card pin pad his transaction is denied.  Turns out he only has 25 dollars left in his EBT account.  I guess he's just going to have to pony up the extra cash for those Oreos.  Damn.

I look the man dead in the eye and tell him, "You only have 25 bucks left in your account, do you want to use it and pay the difference or would you like to put some product back?"  His response:  "Naw, I'll git it, don't wanna put nuthin back."

Okay then.

Dip shit slides his card again, obviously retaining absolutely nothing from my brief tutorial only moments earlier on how to enter a God damn pin number and hit "OK" on a touch screen pin pad.  His card is then processed, and now he owes me 11 dollars.  I tell him his remaining balance.  After he and his buddy dig through their pockets for a few minutes, he mumbles...

"Ah... Ah only got about five bucks, man..."

Words can not explain what was happening in my head at that moment after he uttered those words.  Copy and paste this link, and you can get at least a taste of what it was like:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gJXbwhggFY

So, I take a deep breath.  I can't void any of the items because partial payment has already been tendered.  I can't abort the transaction because of the same reason... the funds have already been removed from his government issued fucking "free junk food and snacks" card.  By now the fucking IBM register won't allow me to make this cat walk backwards, so I have no option but to do the following

1.  Tender out the transaction, making my drawer eleven bucks short.

2.  Refund the asshole $25 to his "I wish I could buy beer and cigarettes with this" card.

3.  Rescan all the items (with out going over $25, like a ghetto version of black jack).

4.  Charge this assholes card again.

5.  Send his ass packin.

While I'm doing all the above he says, "Cain't you just take off some of um?"  Seeing as he was unable to master the concept of a payment device after multiple attempts of clear and articulate explanation, I doubt he would be able to grasp the interworkings of computers and payment devices being operated in concert, all the sole purpose of allowing this fucktard to go home, sit on his ass and eat government issued Whoppers and Slim Jims while I continue to work into the night doing accounting because this dipshit can't figure out that THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN 25 and 36 IS GREATER THAN 5!!!

So, I reach across the counter with one hand and grab this man's flowing mullet with my fist, and with the other hand I grab my box cutter and give this man a special gift for being my last customer of the day.  A free tracheotomy!

I wish...

Instead, I tell them to "have a nice day," which in retail secretly means "fuck you," and watch them mosey out the door.

Holy shit.  I need to smoke.

Wrappin' it up....

On his way out the door (9:30 now, normally I would be locking the door and going home by this time) he says to his buddy, "she told me there was 200 bucks still on it."  My mind explodes... he was using someone else's card the whole time.  I walk out behind them and lock the door, and light up a smoke.  They climbed into their new Dodge Charger and drove away. 

Fuck my life.

_________________________________________

As an after thought, I know this reads like a Republican talking point that you would routinely find being shat about by the likes of Faux News and Rush Limpdick, but dammit this shit goes on everyday and I see it.  I'm not one of those right leaning asswipes by any stretch of the imagination but this one issue they got right.

Politics, economics, copypasta about murders.  It's time to read a blog about a more serious and mature subject... Let's talk about pee, baby!  I have a couple of questions for all the guys (which is virtually everyone, as there are rarely girls anywhere on the internets outside of facebook) about pissing anomalies.

First off, I've always been led to believe that the darker your piss is, the more garbage and bad stuff floating through your system.  Therefore, the clearer the pee, the healthier you are.  The other night I staggered into the men's room at the bar after several rounds of whiskey.  As I "stood" there leaning over the urinal, one eye open, one hand on the wall the other holding my cock, I looked down and noticed my piss was crystal clear.  Clear as tap water.  Shouldn't my piss be as brown as sewer water by that point?  I had been pumping my body full of delicious Maker's Mark for hours and then the urinal cake gets soaked in Grey Goose?  I am utterly mystified.

Then today, I roll out of bed, scratch my ass, and make my way to the toilet for my morning pee.  I aim at the toilet and then TWO STREAMS OF PISS start shooting out.  What the fuck?!  Please tell me I'm not the only guy this has ever happened to.  It was like one of those fire extinguisher sprinklers you see in ceilings.  One stream was right on target and the other was shooting at a 45 degree angle towards the radiator.  I flipped the fuck out for a few seconds trying to figure out how to correct this sudden (and terrifying) situation.  It's not like I can stop after I had just started... once it's "all systems go" there's no going back.  All I could do is scream a laundry list of profanities and try to desperately avoid soaking anything of value with my unwieldy stream.  After a few seconds of jumping around and screaming, it's like someone flipped a switch and everything was back to normal except for my heart racing at 100 miles an hour.  I was so mad at my dick (normally we're best friends) it ruined my morning. 

Anyone know how to prevent this or am I going to have to start putting garbage bags on the floor just in case it happens again, like it did today, without any warning?  Belive it or not, I was actually toilet trained quite some time ago.  I don't remember it, but I think I was two or something?  So, if there are any girls reading this, note:  we guys know how to aim, we get lots of practice.  But even an expert pisser (as all men are) is no match for the double, or god forbid, the triple stream.

Okay, here's the deal:

Yesterday I posted a blog about how I accidentally sent a picture of some titties to a 13 year old, and subsequently received the wrath of a VERY pissed off mother of said 13 year old.  I feel bad for the kid, really.  Poor kid probably has no idea what he's missing with a mom like that.  Poor little guy.  His hormones are raging, and he probably fapped to my picture of "GO CATS" boobs a thousand times before his mom found it by snooping through his phone.  I wonder what would happen if he were exposed to some real (hardcore) noods?  Let's find out!

Anonymous 13 year olds phone number: 901-484-3570

Please... donate your pictures today.  Help this little guy find his manhood.

God Bless,

JohnnyBax

I stopped at a gas station to get a pack, and then climbing back into my pick up truck, I look down at my phone and see I have a missed call.  It's my buddy from college, Tommy, who I haven't talked to in over a year.  Last I had heard he was playing on a cruise ship somewhere in the Mediterranean.  I figured it must be important, so I call him back.  Instead of getting Tommy, a woman answers and she sounds royally pissed... I can tell by the tone in her voice.  The conversation went a little something like this:

Her:  Hello?

Me: (Realizing it's not Tommy) Uhhh, hey... I had a missed call from this number?

Her:  Yes, I want to know who you are and why you are sending naked pictures to my son!!!

Me: .............. what?!  (I'm guessing Tommy lives with his Mom now? wtf?)

Her:  Someone from this number sent a picture of a naked woman to my 13 year old son! It was VERY OFFENSIVE! (Okay, it's not Tommy's mom)

Me:  Woah woah woah lady! Back the fuck up!  I don't know who you think you're talking to and I have no idea who the hell you are, or how you got my number, but I did not send anything at all, much less pornography, to your stupid fucking kid.

Her:  Well, it came from this number, and it was a picture of a woman's (she hesitates, and her voice lowers to a whisper) breasts... (full volume now) and it had the words GO CATS! written on her chest!

______________________________________

Suddenly it dawns on me what happened.  A little over a month ago during March Madness, I sent a picture to all of my old UK friends.

Here's a link to the pic:

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4518987939_875c2711e4_o.jpg

Oops.

Tommy must have a new phone number now.  Shit.  I hadn't thought about it before, since it had been several weeks ago.

Well, at this point I can't very well go back and apologize after telling this lady to "back the fuck up!"  So... I keep on going with my now feigned, formerly legit, outrage....

________________________________________

Me:  Look here! .... Uh, Mom! ... You have no idea what you're talking about!  I don't give two shits about your 13 year old, and I don't appreciate some stranger calling me and accusing me of being a pervert!

Her:  Well!  Don't ever call this number again!

Me:  What the fuck?!  Earth to dumb bitch!  YOU called ME!  Don't YOU ever call ME again!

*click*

Moral of the story: 13 year olds should not own cell phones... unless you're a cool enough of a parent to let your teenage kid see a damn titty every once in a while with out flipping the fuck out.

Last night I was chilling in my room, relaxing to some music after a long day of work when my roommate busts in without even knocking.  She says, "Johnny! There's a cop outside writing a ticket for your motorcycle!"

I would have gotten up to look out the window, but peeling back the blackout curtains just seemed like way too much effort.  Besides, at this point I'm sure Barney Fife is already set in his ways, and any attempt to talk him out of whatever violation I had apparently committed would most likely be futile.  I shrugged my shoulders and rolled over.

A few hours later I wake up and roll out of bed.  It's the middle of the night, and I head out to the bar across the street for a drink, having completely forgotten about my roommate's news flash a few hours earlier.  As I walked past my bike, I remembered that I was supposed to have a ticket.  Instead of a ticket I find a Louisville Metro Police business card.  It has the officer's name, phone number, and a report number.  I literally stood there scratching my head trying to figure this shit out.  Why would a cop just leave a card and nothing else?  Then I flipped the card over and discover a hand written note on the back:

"Your neighbor intentionally knocked your bike over.  Call me for details.  He was arrested."

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/pictures/view/80959034/

Motherfucker.

In the dark I try to inspect my poor baby for damages.  The brake is slightly bent, a couple of scrapes, but not too bad overall.  I immediately call up the cop to get the low down on what the hell happened...

Some drunk asshole who lives two buildings over from me had been drinking at the same bar I was on my way to that night.  The guy is in his sixties and completely hammered.  At some point, this crusty old alchy son of a bitch gets a wild hair up his ass and decides to kick something, and unfortunately my bike must have fit the bill.  The old fart Jean Claude Van Damme's my bike at the exact moment the squad car turns the corner onto my street.  The cop caught this crazy fuck doing a roundhouse to my bike red handed.  In his own words, it was "perfect timing."

According to the officer, an altercation (i.e. hilarity) ensued.  The old guy, knowing he was busted, tied to flee on foot.  But somehow being old AND drunk simultaneously doesn't really help when trying to evade the po-po on foot.   He was promptly sacked by the officer, cuffed, thrown in the back of his car and taken to jail.  The geriatric evildoer must have already been subdued and placed in the car by the time my roommate had arrived. 

The police report, which should be ready sometime next week, has a laundry list of charges.  Public intoxication, evading an officer, vandalism, and several others.  The cop tells me that I can take an estimate to this guy's arraignment and the judge will make him pay for damages, but I highly doubt this asshole has any cash, or is willing to fork any of it over since he was gracious enough to have no respect for my shit in the first place.

All of that aside, the cool thing about this is that he got busted at the most opportune moment.  A person did something really shitty and immediately got what they deserved.  I may be out some cash in the short term,  and I'm bummed that my bike may have to go to the shop for a little while (in the middle of spring weather!) but man it feels so good knowing that sometimes things just work out the way they're supposed to in this world, fucked up and stupid as it may be.

Thank You, Barney Fife.

The past several months have been a blur, and now I find myself laying here wondering what the fuck happened. 

I've been back in the river city for a year now, and after an initial period of drunken debauchery, combined with a complete lack of self-respect for what my body can physically handle, I somehow fell in love with a woman that was completely and utterly wrong for me. Obviously, It didn't work out.  Now I'm paying the price. 

She was a big-titted blonde bartender with a body from hell, a razor sharp wit and a tongue to match, who made dangerous amounts of cash every single night.  A gleeful demon of the night who introduced me to a seedy underbelly of thugs that inhabit the intentionally unknown areas of the city.  Illegal night clubs that run 24/7 with damn near everyone inside on parole. 

Night after night, we pounded fifths of whiskey straight from the bottle and snorted lines of blow until long after the sun had come up, and now the damage is starting to take it's toll.  I lay here in pain, feeling twice my age.  I'll be thirty before too long, but I already feel like I could die tonight. 

But now she's gone, and it's been two weeks.  I'm starting to recover, but still feel a dead spot in my soul.  I deal with it the only way I know how.  And now I go even deeper in the hole.  Numb the pain, at least for a while.  One last swig, another line, and the night will be erased.  Soon, like everything else, she will only be another fuzzy memory... and as the memory of her fades, so will the pain.  I hope.

You know that expression, "Never put off till tomorrow what you can accomplish today?"  Well, I equally live yet regret that expression everyday.  The only thing I CAN'T put of till tomorrow is another tall glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.  It's the only comfort, however small and fleeting, that I have in this world, which by the way is filled to the brim with dickheads and morons.  Yep, as long as my heart keeps beating, I will perpetually try to bury whatever shred of soul I used to possess by drowning my never ending sorrows in the one thing I know that keeps my Ceretonin flowin'.  

My girlfriend at the moment, by no small coincidence, is a Goddess of the booze... a bartender...  slinging drinks night after night for a living.  But as far as girlfriends go, she's nothing to write home about.  To say she takes me for granted, is like saying Tiger Woods is a faithful husband and knows how to play some game called 'golf'.  She strings me along like a helpless fish snatched from a life of contentment just a few feet below the water's surface.  It burns, and I ache, but still for some unknown reason I tolerate it out of an inexplicable obsession that involves vanity, stupidity, and the desire not to die alone in a world filled with lonely people.

The only way out of this is to strip it all away:  Burn the bridges, and never look back.  Love is the cancer that eats, burns, and corrodes the core of what was fresh, new, and exciting about life.  Love is an omnibus fire that can never be satisfied, that thrives on the souls of the weak and unrepentant.  It is a pain that we must endure, so that we may pass it on to future generations... an unyielding, yet everlasting misery.

I know you're a fan of 116... but 144 better describes the way I'm feeling right now about the possibility of me coming back to EBW, and my own personal obsession with the duality of life.  I'm at a crossroads, and I'm asking for your advice, and perhaps to a greater extent, your approval.  Should I return to this place?  In all honesty, is it worth it?  Did you miss me?  The place I rejected and vowed never to return?  Should I follow my instincts and forgo my commitment of abstinence from this place?  I hate to God to say it, but EBW may be my dark angel.  I miss being here.

Two loves I have of comfort and dispair,

Which like two spirits do suggest me still:

The better angel is a man right fair,

The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.

To win me soon to hell, my female evil

Tempteth my better angel from my side,

And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,

Wooing his purity with her foul pride.

And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend

Suspect I may, but not directly tell;

But being both from me, both to each friend,

I guess one angel in another's hell:

    Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,

     Till my bad angel fire my good one out.