Brenda and Howard: Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

Note to the Reader:  I've been struck with a great idea for a 7 part serial following two characters and their married life.  Trust me, it'll be a bit more interesting than that description.  Enjoy!

Pabst Blue Ribbon and Smiling Mustard

            There's a day in a man's life when his wife's usage of two simple words cause an internal apocalypse.  On a June Tuesday morning after 5 years of marital bliss, Howard's wife Brenda handed him his lunch with the usual good bye kiss on the cheek.  What was unusual was the extra weight in a usually light sandwich ladened bag due to the celebratory beer she had packed for him.  A beer celebrating the two words she had scrawled on a neatly folded paper towel.  Two words that oozed the scent of Sharpie, mustard, and turkey--"We're pregnant". 

            In Brenda's excitement hours earlier, she squeezed yellow lines of mustard into a smiling face before layering on lettuce and lunchmeat.  She subscribed to the belief that love made sandwiches better.  Howard's face was anything but happy sitting behind his glass desk behind glass partitions.  In fact for the last four months of their trying to have a baby, it was really a one sided venture.  Sure sheets were grasped, the appropriate cum faces and cuddles were done, but Howard was dreading the fateful day Brenda's urine would become potent with baby indicating hormones. 

            The sandwich was dumped and the PBR can drained.  Howard, who was unaccustomed to drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon at 11:30 in the morning, promptly speed-walked to the office bathroom to vomit.  He got as far as the ladies room sink.  With the taste of alcohol and half digested oatmeal fermenting in his mouth, he stared at his exceptionally groomed face in the mirror.  The furrow between his well maintained eyebrows belied the waves of self loathing and anger.  Anger at his life long cowardice.  You see, dear reader, Howard was a closeted homosexual. 

Guest Post: War is Hell, and Sinning is Delightful Part 2

Note to the Reader:  Sorry that it took so long to get this guest post out.  And yes, I'm copping out of my Wednesday post by posting a late guest post.  Yeah, I know.  My parents' expectations of my life are probably the standard to which you should hold your expectations of my posting schedule.  That bar is limbo low.  In regard to this Nony piece, I really wish I just sat down and edited it with the first part.  The two are much stronger together than apart.  I'm personally looking forward to the next installation because this one was a ripe cunt to edit.  I may be too close to it to appreciate it singularly, and frankly, I'm/we're still waiting for the story to move along.

Have you ever heard of Hedonic Adaptation?       

War is Hell, and the sinning is delightful. (part 2)

               Put simply, it is the reason why the amount of Nutella you put on your drumstick gets larger with each passing day, until you get tired of it. We all experience this little bitch in one facet of our life or another. The reason we exist and push onward as ethical, sexual, political, intellectual etc... creatures is because of a need for new and exciting additions to our personal experiences.

               The experiences of war (especially of those who have indulged in the savaged privileges granted to them by unnatural positions of authority in foreign lands) have irreversible effects on a man's appetites in ways you would be fascinated to hear an NPR report about.  As with the previously mentioned lack of recruitment standards, a whole lot of Bill & Ted's with preexisting fascinating appetites were given clean slates after a retreat to an environment in which they were pretty much allowed to get away with rape and murder.

               You may not be aware of it. You may deny it. Doesn't change the fact that the world is a hard and tragic place that does produce people with certain quirks and kinks in their minds. For an assortment of "logical and ethical" reasons they are perfectly normal at least in their own eyes. Then they are just sent home and out of respect granted the don't ask, don't tell policy in regard to their experiences.  Their extracurricular proclivities simply never entered public view.

               Sighting down my scope, I realized that I don't know what to do about any of these issues.  I can't do anything about the numerous teachers, preachers, politicians, and god knows who or what else that get away with such despicable deeds.  Many just slip through the cracks of bureaucracy only to commit savage acts yet again.

               I honestly believe you can never know the mind of another man. Thus I can't pronounce with absolutely certainty that I was correct, but the look Bill and Ted had through my scope left me without a shred of doubt that they aimed to misbehave that day.   

               In their minds eye they are perfectly normal for a conglomeration of logical and ethical self redeeming delusions.  But when I look into the mirror eyes of  men like Bill and Ted, I see a creature who knows how much more intense and satisfying it is to take without permission. To gnaw at a thighbone with claws and teeth covered in mud and blood.            

               As I watch Bill and Ted start to descend towards the sun bathing girl, I remembered something some talking head Wall Street prick said in an interview.  He was going on about his belief in the "Falling Tree Methodology." What's that, you ask? If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to notice, then it's legal. That was his legal, ethical moral guiding tool. The CNN bloke or whoever was interviewing him just nodded and agreed, as if this is the new norm. 

               When you are deployed, everyone knows everyone if not directly, then by association via rumors and stories. Based on what everyone knew about Bill and Ted, I knew they subscribed to that man's sort of methodology. When we returned home, I couldn't let it go.  After a while I began shadowing Bill and Ted from time to time. Eventually, I found myself watching them through the scope of a barrowed rifle as they stalked to rape a girl in the middle of the woods.  Perhaps, come to think of it, they might have just been trying to kidnap her. But then, definitely rape her, I would bet.

               Do details like that matter to you?  

My Parents Aren't the Only People Disappointed

Will post a blog tomorrow. 

Have you ever thought about the person who would find your dead body?  Strange leading question for my upcoming entry, I know.  Think about it.

Love,
Hermia (or whatever Pseudonym I'm going by)

Guest Post: War is Hell, and Sinning is Delightful (Part 1)

Some Insight for the Readers:  Let's speak on length and content.  This serial already was a huge monster of text before I got my grubby, bloggy hands on it.  When I made the agreement with my writer friend, Nonny, to take that monster and share it with the world, I had the stipulation of 500ish words.  I'm not too persnickety about the 500, but I wanted to keep the serial to have enough content to make your brain-gonads want more.  This is a two parter, which was divided by Nonny.  In regard to content, this is definitely a food for thoughty installation.  Really digest it.  Read it a few times.  Then curse Nony for not moving the story along.  Yeah, he can suck a monkey for drawing this sucker out.

Enjoy!

What a piece of work is man?

War is Hell, and the Sinning is Delightful. (part 1)              

               The whole concept of "Sin" has lost all its weight in western culture. I'm not weighing in on this from a political or religious stand point mind you, just an objective observation. With the rise of secularism in the world, the idea that individuals, cultures, and even whole nations could be rewarded or punished based on the merit of their actions and behavior has been shrugged. I would have to write a rather novel book to answer all the critics on that statement, but stick with me here.

               With so many atheists and faux religious people in this world who have no idea what sinning is, the dynamics of human interaction have changed a bit and next to no one has noticed this.  

               I'm sorry... I do not know how to put this gracefully, so I'm going to just cut the shit.

               People just don't understand the gray miasma which is now ethics. There are a few things that I need you to be aware of so you can see why I had to put Bill and Ted down in front of a 18 year old girl, but not before letting them scare her for a bit.

               Out of over 3 million people, only 1.4 million serve currently in the US military. Out of that number, only about 200,000 are female. As you might imagine when deployed in places like Iraq or Afghanistan there are very few women around. Now think about the goings on of war throughout history. In my blunt summation, it was mostly a brutal and all too imaginable rape orgy. Especially if the motivations of the people involved were religious in nature. 

               In the days of occupation post the 2003 Iraq War and long after the President had declared "Mission Accomplished", which I guess is a modern way of declaring armistices, the American economy was booming. The news media was painting the ongoing conflict as sloppy, bloody, and increasingly unnecessary. The truth about poor equipment, neglected troops, and crimes against humanity made recruiting for the war effort difficult for the military.

               In light of this the Marine Core and Army began to wave their recruitment restrictions. The bar to which these standards were lowered makes me wish this were fiction. Any who was willing was recruited, scrubbed, and shipped off.  It mattered not if on their glowing CV was a list of prior drug charges or violent crime convictions.  Although throughout human history it was normal for the military to accept a the ragtag rapey type, but unique in today's secular and capitalist world. The truly hilarious thing is, they started paying outrageous bonuses to men who would agree prior to ever touching foot in boot camp, to go through boot camp and go straight to Iraq.

               Hell, up to and over six figures was offered to get Special Forces quotas. Despite all this, they still couldn't get enough people.

               Naturally, some very unsavory types were drawn into this sort of work.   

By: Nony

Regret

Note to the readers:  Because I'm attempting to keep the pledge I made to my blog readers, I'm going to not watch Vampire Diaries Suits right now.  I had a physically miserable day yesterday because of some bad decisions disguised as a good idea.  I went through something I really never had before.  If you're unlucky, it's a something you may experience time and time again.

Regret

Regret.  It's a hard thing that grows and swells in your gut like a miscarriage waiting to happen.  The rolling of its shoulders and the kicking of its feet punch the breath out of your body.  Perhaps you'll find yourself lying awake at night mulling over all of your decisions leading to this inexorable pain.  Pain that chokes your throat and clenches your bowels. 

That's how she found herself at 2 in the morning.  She awoke beside her ex in sheets that were soaked in sweat and other shameful things.  The last few hours had been spent in revelry, the press of warm bodies, and mind altering substances--all to the tune of food and drink.  A desire for gluttony and hedonism was the excuse they gave to spend time together. 

Everything in excess when the world was ending, so they told themselves. 

She had been battling the pain in her mind and body beside his restless silhouette.  The emotion she had been denying was growing too large for her to ignore, let alone coherently contemplate.  It was as if the first shared bite of that evening's dinner sealed her fate to internal damnation. 

It wasn't that she was not accustomed to pain.  Nicks, cuts, broken bones were merit badges she collected as she walked through life.  But pain that sizzles, pops, and explodes to fill your body like a bag of mating snakes was something new.  Something that snuck up on her after too many bad decisions albeit among good company.  Regret poisoned her and infiltrated her every nook with each bite of food shared with the sleeping man beside her. 

Regret gestated within her as they lost themselves in a tangle of bodies to the tune of a TV turned down.  It lied in wait until sleep sucked her under and made her vulnerable.  When her eyes snapped open hours later she realized what she had done, and she fled to her only escape.  The bathroom.

Quiet with a door that locks, the bathroom was her sanctuary.  She gave herself over to the pain and vomited until even her soul was scraped out from the bottom of her gut.

Staring into the newly flushed toilet water as the porcelain sighed, she condemned herself to a sleepless night. 

After all, food poisoning is a demanding bitch.

Guest Post: More Meat, Less Potatoes...And a Rant from Your Blogger

Hello, the two people who read my blog. 

Firstly, I apologize for missing my posting schedule, which was this past Wednesday.  Ironically, my guest poster managed to send me his entry on time.  Show's you how easily I'm one-upped.  I will be going to Florida soon enough for work, where I will be divorced from distraction.  I promise a slurry of posts that are hopefully less shitty that their predecessors.

Now that the obligatory, yet sincere apologies have been dealt--a rant from your blogger:

So, this guest poster of mine promised me that the title of this next post would be apropos.  More Meat, Less Potatoes implies that the story of the lone gunman, the two stalkers, and oblivious lady friend would move along a bit more laterally than it has been.  Frankly, I had a key board smashing moment while I was editing this bit.  It's good, but that fucker needs to get to something a bit more meaty before wasting such a good title with a misdirect. 

Enjoy the third installation of the Nony serial. 

So I was watching my two former co-workers through the scope of my rifle when-

More meat less potatoes.

               She came into view.

               I was perched far and away, but within perfect view and range to witness or intervene in the fateful scene that was about to unfold. 

               There she was, the adorable and care free product of a unwittingly sheltered life.  She came bursting out of the woods.  She engaged in various childish high jinks with the freedom of someone not aware that she's being watched and with the abandon of someone very much certain she's alone.  With that certainty, she pranced along the riverside and leaped semi-Disneyfied from boulder to boulder. Funny how when viewed from far enough away, like bacteria seen through a microscope, all human activity tends to resemble childishness.

               All the while, hungry wolves were circling the fawn.

               She picked a large flat sun exposed rock, promptly dropped her top, and laid out to bathe in the sunlight.

               Now, this is a perfectly normal and even natural behavior for a woman who thinks she is alone to take in and enjoy nature in a perfect world. Oh, but if only people would look around and see that the world we live in is not only far from perfect, and it's all our own fault.

               (Not their real Names)

               Bill and Ted stood off in the distance, watching her with... a familiar look.

               How is your understanding of Einstein's theory of Relativity? My favorite laymen parallel is the novel notion that a moment with a beautiful woman slips by like sand through your desperately clutching fingers, but when you place your hand on a hot stove time seems to stretch on forever.

               I bring this up so that you might apply that principle to me at that moment and thus understand and appreciate the convoluted emotional storm I was experiencing. I was both an observer of and an ambiguous participant in the scene I have described to you. I do hope you know that it is truly impossible to know the mind of any man, but I want to show you mine as honest as I can, twisted as it may be so you might better learn.

               When I see naive innocence about to be introduced to truth, I feel a slurry of things:  Pleasure--the one I am least proud of; ethical panic--the one that usually ends up determining the outcome.

               Shall I be brutally honest about what went through my mind as I watched this girl through that scope?  

               I have seen so much violence in my life, and have been on both ends of it, that I honestly don't know any more what is the right or wrong thing to do or feel about anything anymore.

               My first bitter angry thought, "Good, let the arrogant bitch get a life lesson."

               I'm not proud of it.  Sometimes I forget that people, who aren't as close to the follies of man as I am, are not silly, self centered cunts for getting themselves into these situations.

               My second thought, "Am I legally or ethically allowed or obligated to intervene here?"

               At which point I'm starting to get a headache that I am pretty sure a few untraceable trigger pulls would have remedied.

               My third and favorite thought was, "How much reality should I let this girl be exposed to before snapping the curtains closed?"

               I mean after all, had I not been there to protect her from the situation that she had unwittingly stumbled into all on her own, she would surely suffer a horrific fate.

               Shouldn't I let her get a little taste of reality to help her better protect herself in the future?

               But, alas!  We just assumed that Bill and Ted would do harm didn't we? Until I interjected this bit of rationality you were about to condemn Bill and Ted to execution along with me, weren't you?

               How do you know you can trust my telling of the story? If you don't understand things from the larger perspective, then you might argue I was out looking for trouble.  

               Maybe I should tell you a few things about Bill and Ted first...

Guest Post: Nony Series--First, a Totally Related Tangent

Note to Readers:  If you haven't started reading the Nony series from last Saturday's post, read it here before this one.  Although this post is titled First, a Totally Related Tangent there are still spoilers.  Be sure to read the first one.

Enjoy!

So why was I stalking her?

First, a Totally Related Tangent. (That might prove I'm not entirely crazy)

               Life is Suffering.

               I had a rough childhood.  I will gladly spare you as much of the whiny details as possible, and instead just gaily prance to the pearls of wisdom retained from so much "real world experience". Without much option, I naively turned to the military who decided Iraq would be the perfect place for me to resolve my adolescent issues. As you might imagine it didn't help all that much.

               Despite the waking nightmare that has been my life, I am the inevitable and well adjusted statistical anomaly you get from child abuse. Too frilly? In other words, nature abhors a vacuum, if 99.9 percent of children who are abused go insane, then it stands to reason that .01 will come out as well...

               I'll want you to decide for yourself as to what I am.

               I will tell you that at least in my own mind I feel that I am fabulously well adjusted, albeit darkly twisted in my sense of humor.

               But is there a fringe benefit to all my suffering?

               A sort of bullshit detector that makes my skin crawl such as when the President told Americans that the most important thing they could do to contribute in the War on Terror was, as I may paraphrase, "spend more money, and keep a close eye on your neighbor" at which point he cackled and exited stage left.

               Before I go much further on this tangent, you need to understand that I am a strict atheist and skeptic.

               I come from a family of Christian morons, whose idea of accountability was that personal responsibility was trumped by angels and demons.  Domestic violence caused by demonic possession?  Yeah, didn't buy into that either by the umpteenth time the back of his hand popped a welt on my sister's cheek.  Worse yet, I was raised in the ghetto that prescribes to exorcism attempts on my entirely sober father.  At that point in my childhood, I started to wise up.  My father's abuse paired with sobriety and distinct lack of demons belied an individual who was the epitome of a piece of shit.

               Nope, no need for personal responsibility, it's just the demons.

               That said... did anyone else notice that the "Five Pointed Star of David" on the Republican (GOP) Party's elephant mascot became inverted into a pentagram right about the time the War on Terror kicked off?

               As you may ask, what does all this have to do with stalking this woman?

               Well, I was stalking two men originally, two blokes I worked with in Iraq when I discovered they were stalking her. This caught my interest for a number of reasons.  Reasons that would make me wish retrospectively that I had stayed the fuck out of her business, but not really.

               Anyways, it was at this point I decided to thrust myself in her life. 

               For her own good.

               Opps.

---

 [SA1]Weave this throughout the story in later installments.

Clocks

Where this piece came from:  I hate time--well, at least the measured sort.  I hate how in the hustle and bustle we often glance at our cell phones or watches one, two, three times consecutively to even have the time register.  It belies our preoccupation of having to be wherever at a very specific whenever.  Frankly when one lives in the modern first world, it's hard to get away from the clock.  There will always be places to be and people to meet, but we have to remember the wise words of Simon and Garfunkle when we get in a time funk:

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy

A lot of people hate the mornings.  On my own, I'm a morning person.  I usually get up with the sun, but on some early shoot days I'm up as early as 4:30am.  But fuck it, as long as I plan I won't be rushed.  Hell, if I'm proactive enough I have sufficient time to wake and bake...muffins, of course. Winky blinky.

Just know, as hectic as life is, there is always time to look for fun and feel (as they say) groovy.

Enjoy "Clocks"

Clocks

How often do you check the time?

With places to be

People to see and date,

Ruminate for just one second how many moments were wasted

looking at your cell's face counting down until you're late.

Do you find yourself staring at the at the glaring red lines

waiting for :59 to bloom into zeroes that blare

declaring your booting out of bed?

Instead, forget the numbers

and enjoy your sleep.

Keep close the memories you make

and not the appointments that keep you up at night...

when really you should be focusing on holding your wife.

Guest Post: How I met my first and last Wife

Note to the Reader:  This guest poster will remain anonymous until revealing the identity of the individually is optimally dramatic and grandiose.  To piss him off and perhaps amuse him, he'll be referred to as Nony.  Get it?  From Anonymous?

Anyway, he is theatrical as shit, but there are so many layers to his writing.  Pay close attention to these weekly guest posts.  Note that the Nony guest posts are part of a series.  The labels on this blog will indicate to which series guest posts belong, as I plan on having other guest posters.

Note to the Creative Writers:  For those of you who dabble with creative writing and think you have a piece that pertains to the contemporary human condition...I want to have you as a guest poster!  Shoot me a comment at the end of this blog if you're interested.  Please feel free to tweet me as well if you're thinking of dabbling in creative writing here:  @LoveMiaLi.

Now... Sit up.  Pay attention.  Probably even read the story a few times.  Get furiously annoyed that it is brief, but know there will be more next week.

      How I met my first and last Wife

      "I'm sorry, you are stupid attractive" I failed to say charmingly.

      "What?" she snapped in that short crisp bitchy tone that only women (and gay men) can quite pull off without sounding like a woman or a gay man. That sounds redundant, but it's not, you're just dumb.

      "Wait, no!" and violating all common sense waving my hands like a mad man I rambled, "Foot in mouth disorder."

      At that point the look she was giving me was more "I'm going to call the police" than "Oh you're so adorable I just want to suck your dick until your eyes roll into the back of your head and melt!" as I had imagined it playing out as I watched her magnified graceful form through the scope mounted on my rifle.

      Run-on sentence much?

      Finally, she gave me a confused little smile, I set my sights on it and bore into the depths of my dark and twisted "soul" for any divine spark or some such thing to help me recover. When I came up utterly empty handed, I took one from the devil for a reasonable (albeit unfixed) interest rate.

      I looked her in the eye and after one last small flourish of gesticulated frustration, I dropped my hands to my sides as if to signal my surrender.

      I sighed and with a shrugged blurted, "What I meant was-" I pointed a finger at my temple, "You are so bloody attractive that it is making it really hard for me to think straight right now, it feels like my brain has been marinated in retarded and set to bake at 350. Seeing you carrying all those bags so precariously and in that all too realistic and drab nurses uniform... you are just the perfect image of American femininity. I'm sorry." I finished with a slightly depressed sigh and locked my eyes on a stain on the rug. The world seemed to vibrate and wobble in and out of focus as my eyes moistened.

         By the time I was done puzzling out the origin of events that led to the stain on the carpet the hard look in her eyes hard softened to the one I had imagined through the aforementioned scope. Oh, and on that note, I wasn't planning anything crazy mind you with that rifle, no sir I truly wasn't.

      It was just the most convenient device I had handy at the moment I decided to stalk this woman.

      ...wait.   

      I know that sounds way worse, please hear me out before you pull the trigger, but don't put the gun down either, okay? That's right. Good, keep it pointed right between my eyes. You will thank me later. 

      This was the first time I set eyes on the woman who regrettably would go on to become my wife shortly thereafter.  We'll call her Rox Ann, to protect her identify from irreparable embarrassment from association with me. 
  
By:  Nony

Late Post: Posts Weekly, Broken Promises Daily

To apologize for not posting yesterday, I'm sharing with you a YouTuber whose work is brilliantly human and funny.  Yesterday was a bit hectic between dealing with my car (tires all brand spanking new), running errands, still NOT unpacking, and going up to LA for my first radio show.  Yeah, life unfortunately is busy.

However I try not to be too shitty, so I have a surprise for you folks who dig the blog.  I'm talking about the folks who like creative writing and aren't here just because I spread my legs on film.  For these lovers of lit:  keep an eye out on my Twitter for blog news Saturday.  You will not be disappointed.

Until then, enjoy the video at the beginning of the post.  Natalie Tran is the brainchild and star of CommunityChannel.  Although, I'm sure she wouldn't consider herself a star, so much as my life is full of small human dramas that demand skits.  And by drama I don't mean me silly, childish and petty drama, but rather dramas as in theatrical human stories that need sharing.

Third Installation to Danger Series: Hunger

Where did this piece come from:  I'm fucking starving right now.  As an individual who is very much driven by my stomach, hunger is a very dangerous thing.  For a long time I've been intrigued by the idea of the body's two hungers--the hunger for food and nourishment, and the hunger for sex, flesh, and human connection.  From seeing many folks fall into regret over eating too much cake and regret over the unnamed person in their bed, I thought it appropriate to play with this idea for the Danger series. 

There are two things I've realized in my life in regard to the two hungers:

1. Never go food shopping on an empty stomach because that leads to an empty wallet.
2. Never go to a swinger's club without having masturbated furiously before hand, so as to not let your standards dip too low because the itch is too damn strong.

Enjoy Danger (III)!

But wait?!  I haven't posted Danger (II)!  That's because it really isn't worth posting quite yet.  Keep an eye out down the road for it. 


Danger (III)

The most dangerous thing is hunger
When hunger consumes you
      your body and psyche is stretched out of proportions.

You order twelve pancakes when you can only eat three.
You sleep with a two when you deserve an eight.

So don't eat with your eyes
and don't think with your dick...

Unless you're that hungry.

TMI: Society's Curse of Too Much Information

Where this piece comes from:  Upon being asked to dinner, I found myself in an internal debate--to creep or not to creep?  This is the answer to that question.

TMI:  Society's Curse of Too Much Information

Through the act of creeping, it's very easy to get to know people through Facebook, blogs, Twitter, etc...  However, how true to reality is the information filed under "Five Things I Couldn't Live Without"?  I find social media and the internet a little off putting in regard to socializing.  

This isn't due to the content.  This isn't due to my hate of internet shorthand and text inundated with grammatical errors. But rather I hate how easily information about someone is available.  It kills the mystery of the individual.  Why get to know someone when all their thoughts, emotions, work history, and life is posted online on a web page?  As curious as that internet version of someone is, I'd much rather hear all that from you. 

Through cyber stalking socializing, almost everyone with internet can find out anyone's favorite sushi joint, turn offs, and what they were doing in 1982.  It turns me on to know that there are some folks that don't use Facebook, Twitter, or much anything social networky.  These individuals preserve the enigma of who they are, and can control who and what knows anything about them and their thoughts. 

Frankly, I wonder how the people who fall into celebrity cope.  With enough Googling, I'm sure we could find out James Franco's favorite flavor of ice cream.  With everything to know about this echelon of people available with a few strokes of the keyboard, what happens to the mystery of this lucky slice of the population? 

Socially speaking, shouldn't an individual be able to cling to the mystery of himself as any other human being does?  It blows that that facet of humanity is denied privacy by having every career move and sneeze documented.  Certainly, this awesome for fans.  It's different in the case of politicians, as they need to be scrutinized and made transparent.  However, those who fall into the light because of their talent to entertain a population...let them hold their personhood close and reveal as much or as little as they want. 

When everyone and anyone can know everything about you, what do you have left to share?  Perhaps you find yourself in awkward situations where the people you meet remember and know more about you than even you do.

You line up a particularly awesome anecdote to share with someone you're trying to get to know, and it anticlimactically is cut short with "Oh, I read that story already somewhere."  So much for sharing a piece of yourself when the internet has enabled another to do so already.  Although this has never happened to me personally because (let's be real) I'm very much a nobody, this situation falls within the realm of possibility for many others. 

I want to get to know you.  Not the perfectly aligned, triple spell checked Facebook statuses that still manage to have errors.  Fuck that.

Tell me the unedited, on the fly with good eye contact stories about yourself.  Gesticulate, inflect, waggle your eyebrows.  Let's unravel the mystery of who you are, who I am, and who the fuck anyone is in person.  It's better than spending hours scouring Facebook, Wikipedia, or IMDB to get to know someone. 

Tell me the story of you by you. 

Give it to me raw.

Will Post Wednesday...But for now the Significance of Funny Stories

I could never do stand up comedy, but I would just love to have a venue to tell funny stories.  Perhaps one of my favorite tropes in literature is the bard.  The bard is the keeper of stories and histories.  This tradition is preserved and maintained by telling stories and the like in a way to maintain interest and continue the diffusion of stories through generations.  Rather than having the responsibility of preserving history, I like to plant stories that will be retold because they're funny.  Comedy is something I try to weave into my story telling and my blog posts.  Making someone laugh or even smile is such an easy and small thing to do, so why not do it? 

I'll leave you with this--an example of wordplay and humor from the movie Clue.  It's shit like this I hope to include in future projects.

Yes, it's based on a board game.  And yes, it's still bloody hilarious to this day.

Love,
Hermia

P.S.  Normal blog post on Wednesday.  Love your faces.

Live Long and Wank On

Where This Piece Came From:  Often times I close my cam show with something quippy.  The go-to one liner is "Live long and wank on".  This piece came about after really considering what that phrase meant to me and to those who consume porn.  I thought rather arduously about whether or not I would post this piece, as it is about pornography.  This blog is dedicated to creative nonfiction and I didn't want to bring any porn biz here.  However upon reading and rereading this piece, it's message needs to be posted.  So, enjoy Live Long and Wank On.

Live Long and Wank On

Porn is an amazing way of getting to know yourself and lose yourself at the same time.  Strange as it may sound, I remember enjoying pornography a lot more as a teenager than I do as an adult.  I believe that what we find sexy, especially in the case of fetishes, awakens through exposure.  Hell, I didn't realize I was attracted to women just as I'm attracted to men until I saw a pair of the rather sexualized and perky tits of Kate Winslet in Titanic when I was seven.  Although watching Jack draw her like one of his French girls wasn't explicitly pornography, it was explicitly adult content.  It was also, indubitably deposited into my spankbank. 

It's know that there is a great camp of men and women, probably mostly women, who rally against the usage and distribution of pornography; however, it's usage is a safe and private way to understand your own desires and kinks.  The knowledge and understanding of which can lead you to more honest and hopefully orgasmic experiences.

Now comes the tougher part of this conversation--the good, the bad, and the perverted outcomes to pornography usage.  And to be perfectly clear, the usage I'm commenting on is the stimulation of one's own meat stick or land clam--masturbation.  The good that may come out of using porn is for the individual release.  Physiological, psychological, and perhaps even emotional release.  That release may mandate the usage of socks, tissues, or vibrating devices, but it's positive.  Not only does orgasms make people happy, but oftentimes post-O folks have a radiant glow about them.  But how does the usage of porn benefit the overall population?  Other than multiplying the amount of sexually gratified people in the population, porn benefits the overall population by providing a sexual outlet to those how can't or don't want to have sex.  Frankly, people masturbate for a myriad of reasons.  All sorts of folks masturbate.  It doesn't matter if you're young, old, married, single, divorced, or a cat.  You have probably wanted to or have masturbated.  

It's funny because as a teenager I heard from all the parents that too many people are having sex.  As an adult, I look around and I see a lot of people not having sex.  A lot of those people are in my cam room.  And believe me,  most all of them want to, but can't for lack of social environment, time, or money.  Kidding on the last. 

Pornography is the oasis during a dry spell of sex.

Now for those who wank it to the more deviant of pornography.  And by this I mean pornography that falls at least one standard deviation from basic boy girl, d in the v stuff.  Let's pretend one standard deviation is anal, and two is DP, and three is a donkey show with tentacles.  It's a truth worth mentioning that everyone's palates varies.  Some may be perfectly content with vanilla boy girl porn with missionary and perhaps even a cream pie if you're feeling frisky.  But some may desire BDSM, SPH, group sex, bukkake, incest, or even 2-girls-1-cup caliber kink.  Many people may turn their noses away in disgust, but these folks have the kinks and desires they have. 

Why completely defame an entire industry, in which all parties are willingfully partaking in creating content that you or anyone can enjoy?  Why completely cast hate and disgust on those viewers of nastier porn?

Because masturbating is a goddamn right, and there is an entire industry founded on the expression of that right.  As long as someone has physical access to the skin flapping between their legs, they are able to deliver unto themselves waves of visceral pleasure.  The  honest truth of porn is that like anything that causes or inspires pleasure--it's an escape.  Just as video games, books, fantasy football, or Netflix can be an escape from stress, work, life, or anything of the sort.  Who is anyone to judge anyone else's desire to watch horribly rated content, be it a television show or a live streaming sexfest?  Limiting someone's choice in pornography would be the equivalent of limiting someone's lurid imagination.  Just because their isn't porn of an athletic Asian doing squats in athletic, though crotchless shorts, doesn't mean you're not going to now imagine it and not touch yourself.

In regard to the perverted outcomes of the usage of pornography, those who judge need to ask themselves a question:  Who is anyone hurting by masturbating cumming for the umpteenth time alone in a closed environment to whatever content suits his or her fancy?  You'll realize that no one is being harmed by masturbation.  If you're a spouse, girl friend, boy friend, or partner of someone and you find yourself repulsed or betrayed by your partner masturbating to porn, fuck you.

How dare you try to control every fantastical thought any individual may have?  I often fantasize about eating ice cream while eating cake.  Does that mean I love cake less?  Fuck no. 

It's really none of anyone's business as to what anyone else is masturbating to.  It's all personal choice. So I say to you, as I often say to close my cam room...

Live long and wank on.