Gentle Reader, I had a very entertaining and eye-opening experience last weekend. I was in Charleston, SC visiting my father. Their air conditioners apparently put out twice the cold air of the ones in Georgia. Even though I try to masturbate at least twice daily, apparently when you get to 30, your balls have begun to get a little on the heavy side. I wear boxers, and that apparently doesn't give my junk the proper support that it so truly deserves. So as I am taking a nice long shower, my balls begin to drop it like it's hot. As I go to pull back the curtain and step out, that's when it happens. That arctic cold hit me, and I could literally hear my balls snap back to attention and jump up to hit me right in the taint. That is some serious recoil. I think it's time to go to boxer-briefs at the very least.
Today, let us journey into one of the few relationships I haven't touched on. She was a little bit off, which is the nicest way I can think of to say the two things she loved the most was to snort coke and suck cock. She found me on myspace, which pretty much dates this relationship, and claimed that we went to school together. Those who know me, can attest that my last name doesn't just pop up in just any old high school. So now we are starting off with a lie. If that wasn't the first red flag, the first one should have been the fact that she was a fucking mouth-breather. You all know these idiots, sitting there all slack-jawed, looking stupid, forgetting what their nose is for. Mouth wide open, sucking in wasted air, like they are in a fly-catching contest. If this doesn't alert you to mild retardation, nothing will. I once thought I had impregnated a mouth-breather. My first response was to tell her to meet me at the top of a flight of stairs. Luckily for all of us, it was a false alarm.
She was of Italian descent, which means she was genetically engineered to make a good tomato sauce and to know how to take a good punch. I never hit her, but after tasting her sauce, I regretted that decision. The "Italian Stallion" was a coke-head. It was all that mattered to her. I once let her borrow my Nintendo, so that her daughter could play with it. Next time I got in her car, I asked her why two of my games were laying in the back floorboard. She said those were the two the pawnshop didn't want. Question one. Why the hell are we talking about what the pawnshop DIDN'T want? Question two. Why the hell would they not want "Contra" and "Super Mario 3?" Question three, four, etc.... Why in the hell did you sell my Nintendo, fucking powder-hound? Did you even get enough money to support your habit for the drive home? And, again, why in the HELL did they not want "Super Mario Bros. 3?" This Nintendo was in pristine condition. Nevertheless, the "Italian Stallion" sold it for a twenty-sack. I mean, you didn't even have to blow in the games, thump the cartridge in the g-spot, wipe the entire room down with alcohol swabs, or play while wearing a Haz-Mat suit.
A good rule of thumb; never date a girl you have to piss for. I know relationships are based on mutual compromise, but if I have to save all of my urine in a microwave-safe-bowl in exchange for you busting out Reverse Cowgirl later that night, I think I would prefer to just rub one out. As humbling as it is to know that my piss alone can keep you out of prison, I think I need a little more out of life. The last I heard, she somehow still had custody of her daughter. So, she either cleaned herself up, found a new bladder to provide for her, or they started selling drug-free piss on Amazon. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
6/27/2011
6/21/2011
Bookworms, Bimbos, and Baby-Steps
Gentle Reader, I come to you today with an open heart and honesty. I am, if nothing else, a lost soul. This will not be what most of you are expecting. It probably won't even make you laugh at all. Feel free to close this out now if you thought I might give you a good laugh today. I won't. Those of you still with me, I pity you for reading this. If you have been reading, you know everything that I have been through. A lot of which, I brought upon myself with poor decisions and even shittier execution. I have failed time after time with relationship after relationship. I haven't had a girlfriend since Thanksgiving. This is the longest period of time I have spent alone since I could achieve an erection. You laugh, but it's the truth. I have never been one to walk alone. I depended on women for my own happiness. I needed their approval to feel complete; to define my self-worth.
I was a whore, in the truest sense of the word. I gave myself away for a few moments of pleasure because I thought that made me better than the other guys out there. The more women I could sleep with, the better man that made me. It did no such thing. It has led me astray countless times. Getting all of this out of my system, and reading it back to myself has been a learning experience for me. I have taken baby-steps to being a better man along the way. Taking one thing from this failed relationship, and taking something else from another. This is what I want. This is what I don't want. I guess I am a slow learner, or maybe I have just never met the one that will change my world forever. I know now that it was my insecurity that gave birth to Captain Save-A-Ho. Being myself was never enough. I felt like I had to pull someone out of a hole that they couldn't get out of themselves, and their gratitude for what I did would be what would keep them here with me. Throw money at them, and they will have to love me. They might love you, but they will never be in love with you. I met a couple women along the way who gave me their number, but I didn't even feel worthy enough to be with them. So, I didn't call.
One of the things I have learned is that I could never be with a bimbo. If you talk endlessly about yourself and all of the meaningless things you have done, how cute your boyfriend is, then you aren't the one for me. I don't care that you bought a new bathing suit or the fact that your mom only called you twice this week, instead of the regular three times. Cry me a fucking river. Shallow does not suit anyone. It is a symptom of insecurity. If you have to tell me that your significant other is attractive, I think you are missing the point. I'm not saying that there can't be attraction, but I hope that attraction can be built upon things other than looks alone. Instead, tell me how amazing he makes you feel about yourself. About how you have never felt so loved. That I could understand. See, I live my life inside my own head. I have a brain that never stops and my thoughts, my hopes, and my dreams are what make me who I am. I need someone who can at least think for themselves.
I dig a girl that reads. Give me books over bikinis any day. A great conversation beats a perfect rack every day of the week. A great conversation leaves you thinking, laughing, and smiling for days afterwards. A great bikini just leaves you horny. If you don't read for fun, don't bother. I even read nerdy shit full of dragons, wizards, and parallel universes. Yep, that's how Miles rolls. Like Harry Potter with a hard-on. I have just found that a brain likes a brain that can keep up. So, yeah, I am a big fan of spelling, grammar, and past fucking participles. If you want to give me a try, go work on conjugating your verbs. Also, work on there, their, and they're. That shit makes you look ignorant when you get it wrong. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
I was a whore, in the truest sense of the word. I gave myself away for a few moments of pleasure because I thought that made me better than the other guys out there. The more women I could sleep with, the better man that made me. It did no such thing. It has led me astray countless times. Getting all of this out of my system, and reading it back to myself has been a learning experience for me. I have taken baby-steps to being a better man along the way. Taking one thing from this failed relationship, and taking something else from another. This is what I want. This is what I don't want. I guess I am a slow learner, or maybe I have just never met the one that will change my world forever. I know now that it was my insecurity that gave birth to Captain Save-A-Ho. Being myself was never enough. I felt like I had to pull someone out of a hole that they couldn't get out of themselves, and their gratitude for what I did would be what would keep them here with me. Throw money at them, and they will have to love me. They might love you, but they will never be in love with you. I met a couple women along the way who gave me their number, but I didn't even feel worthy enough to be with them. So, I didn't call.
One of the things I have learned is that I could never be with a bimbo. If you talk endlessly about yourself and all of the meaningless things you have done, how cute your boyfriend is, then you aren't the one for me. I don't care that you bought a new bathing suit or the fact that your mom only called you twice this week, instead of the regular three times. Cry me a fucking river. Shallow does not suit anyone. It is a symptom of insecurity. If you have to tell me that your significant other is attractive, I think you are missing the point. I'm not saying that there can't be attraction, but I hope that attraction can be built upon things other than looks alone. Instead, tell me how amazing he makes you feel about yourself. About how you have never felt so loved. That I could understand. See, I live my life inside my own head. I have a brain that never stops and my thoughts, my hopes, and my dreams are what make me who I am. I need someone who can at least think for themselves.
I dig a girl that reads. Give me books over bikinis any day. A great conversation beats a perfect rack every day of the week. A great conversation leaves you thinking, laughing, and smiling for days afterwards. A great bikini just leaves you horny. If you don't read for fun, don't bother. I even read nerdy shit full of dragons, wizards, and parallel universes. Yep, that's how Miles rolls. Like Harry Potter with a hard-on. I have just found that a brain likes a brain that can keep up. So, yeah, I am a big fan of spelling, grammar, and past fucking participles. If you want to give me a try, go work on conjugating your verbs. Also, work on there, their, and they're. That shit makes you look ignorant when you get it wrong. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
6/15/2011
The Pie Theory
Gentle Reader, I know I have been letting you down. It's been entirely too long since the last time we spoke. To make it up to you, I plan on bringing my "A" game today. I feel like this blog is giving me a bad reputation. Those of you out there that don't know me will obviously think I'm an asshole. That may be, but I can assure you that I'm also a complete gentleman. I even open the car door for a lady. Though while holding it open, I do say "Get in bitch." If that isn't a gentleman, I don't know what is. I know I seem like the alpha-male type that women are attracted to. Please don't try to start a relationship with me. Attempting that will be as big of a let-down as losing your virginity, except this time we will both be disappointed, instead of just you.
I have been having some minor health and emotional problems lately. These are the reasons for my absence. No need to worry, Gentle Reader, I will be fine. I think we all know by now that a woman will be the death of me. Illness doesn't stand a chance. I work night-shift, so it gives me a lot of time to live inside my own head. I did get to thinking about my life last night at work. How empty it feels sometimes without something real and substantial to fall back on when things aren't going my way. I thought, "Why can't I go home from work, like the rest of these guys, who leave work and go home to sleep with their wives?" It troubled me for a minute, before I realized that I was going to home to sleep with their wives too. Enjoy day-shift, I will enjoy drinking your beer and wearing your threadbare bathrobe you should have thrown away during the Clinton administration. And really, dude? A robe? Though I must say, Egyptian cotton feels nice against my skin.
Guys, it is now time to explain "The Pie Theory." This is why you can never get what you really need from a married woman. I know it sounds great.... in theory. No responsibility; no one to go home to and fight with. A random sexual encounter without having to cuddle with her afterwards. It's a pipe-dream. If it happens, it's a miracle. Unicorn, anyone? Imagine a pie...with one little slice missing out of the side. Her life that she has represents the pie; she has everything she will ever need inside this pie. She has her husband that loves her, kids that adore her, a good home, and a life she has worked hard to build. Somehow, something feels like it is missing. A few jokes "he" doesn't get, a few thoughts "he' doesn't want to hear. This is where you come in, fellas. You are the missing slice. You are the piece that makes it all complete. You are the first one to "really listen" to them in years. So, now they have everything that THEY will ever need. You have completed the circle. On the other hand, all you are left with is that little bit of happiness that the slice allows. As long as you can be that one little piece that their life is missing, they will continue to use you for that. Have more respect for yourself than I have in the past. Lesson learned. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
I have been having some minor health and emotional problems lately. These are the reasons for my absence. No need to worry, Gentle Reader, I will be fine. I think we all know by now that a woman will be the death of me. Illness doesn't stand a chance. I work night-shift, so it gives me a lot of time to live inside my own head. I did get to thinking about my life last night at work. How empty it feels sometimes without something real and substantial to fall back on when things aren't going my way. I thought, "Why can't I go home from work, like the rest of these guys, who leave work and go home to sleep with their wives?" It troubled me for a minute, before I realized that I was going to home to sleep with their wives too. Enjoy day-shift, I will enjoy drinking your beer and wearing your threadbare bathrobe you should have thrown away during the Clinton administration. And really, dude? A robe? Though I must say, Egyptian cotton feels nice against my skin.
Guys, it is now time to explain "The Pie Theory." This is why you can never get what you really need from a married woman. I know it sounds great.... in theory. No responsibility; no one to go home to and fight with. A random sexual encounter without having to cuddle with her afterwards. It's a pipe-dream. If it happens, it's a miracle. Unicorn, anyone? Imagine a pie...with one little slice missing out of the side. Her life that she has represents the pie; she has everything she will ever need inside this pie. She has her husband that loves her, kids that adore her, a good home, and a life she has worked hard to build. Somehow, something feels like it is missing. A few jokes "he" doesn't get, a few thoughts "he' doesn't want to hear. This is where you come in, fellas. You are the missing slice. You are the piece that makes it all complete. You are the first one to "really listen" to them in years. So, now they have everything that THEY will ever need. You have completed the circle. On the other hand, all you are left with is that little bit of happiness that the slice allows. As long as you can be that one little piece that their life is missing, they will continue to use you for that. Have more respect for yourself than I have in the past. Lesson learned. Until next time, Gentle Reader.
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