Thursday, June 10, 2004

Cheetos and porn

Last night I meditated while watching a bad porn and eating cheetos. This is my usual Wednesday night. Also my Thursday and Tuesday sometimes, but only on if I'm bored. But it occured to me last night that I've lost the inspiration I once found in watching porn. Rather than getting off to it, I analyze it. Would a woman really bathe outdoors with her eyes closed, humping the water jets with a big smile and say to the first rustling sound to come along, "Jimmy, is that you? I'm so horny, Jimmy. Come lick my coochie." And then Billy, who's pretending to be Jimmy only because there is a naked, wet, DDD cup writhing before him begging to be ravaged, takes his pleasure with the erotic, eyes-closed, vixen. Ten years ago I would have sworn to you that was possible. If I could just get into the right parties I'd discover a whole world of horny, hot women writhing in the sun with their eyes closed mistaking me for their hung boyfriends and begging me to show them the world. I, of course, not only would deliver, but I'd leave them, 17 seconds later, panting for more.

Now I watch porn and the pimple on the blonde's ass creeps me out so much I have to look away. Makeup! Can we get someone over here from makeup to touch up this woman's ass, please?

So from here I began to ponder sexual attraction from the start. I believe men are obsessed with protruding body parts. Initially, it's our own bodies we are obsessed with. Any man out there who tries to tell you he doesn't cup his genitals periodically during the day, just to make sure they didn't fall off after he took a shit, is a damn liar. Once we're adults we don't play with them the same, but we're still obsessed with them. As a kid I used to grab mine by the head and stretch it out just to see how far it would stretch before it became uncomfortable. Then I'd snap it back and rotate my hips to watch it swing around. "Wee!" As a teenager I did that to make it longer. I was sure if I tugged on it enough I could stretch it and they'd call me Dirk Diggler. Okay, that was last year, but I've grown since then.

Our johnsons are so special to us we name them. It's like going to a party with another person. "Come on, Big Jay, let's get you hooked up tonight."

That protrusion factor explains our obsession with breasts, A.K.A. tits, tiddies, knockers, hooters, melons, breasticles, rack, the girls, the twins, puppies, chi chis, jugs, the jiggly ones. I can't tell you how satisfying it is to grab a tit in each hand and just shove my face between them and go, "brrbrrbrrbrr!" Ever had one of those stress balls filled with goo? That's how I think of tiddies. I want to just methodically squeeze and massage them while chanting, "Ahmmmmmm, ahmmmmmm."

I honestly believe Buddhists are two tiddies away from finding enlightenment.