Braving the Slut Mine of OKCupid

okc_profile_pic_3.0What a stud!  With the weather warming up, my shedding a few pounds, and women shedding a few layers of clothing, it’s time to get back into the dating game.  Since I’m a tech tard, and I don’t have a tinder account, and since I don’t really have enough patience for pickup artistry, yet I want to guarantee that I’ll be able to sleep next to a warm body more than once every three months, I don’t typically go to bars with the hope of picking up ladies; after all, with the flowing booze, mixed signals that women send, and the cost of liquor, it can really be a liability. Don’t get me wrong; I HAVE picked up women at the bar before, but the “going out and seeing if I can get laid” investment seems to have hit the point of diminishing returns. Therefore, it seems like the only practical choice is braving the slut mine of OKC in spite the fact that it seems to have all but entirely been picked clean of anything worth picking.

And because I’ve become the expert at OKC dating with a reasonably high success rate, I’ve come up with this handy guide on how to work OKC for maximum results.

Your entire purpose of getting onto OKC is to convince a complete stranger to meet up with you so that the two of you can fornicate; I actually have to thank many of the ladies who haven’t been spooked by all of this rape hysteria out of letting me pick them up at their homes.  One thing is clear, though; if a woman doesn’t sleep with you the first night, she absolutely is not interested.  Even if she DOES sleep with you the first night, that’s no guarantee that she’ll be interested.  So, let’s just say, the whole purpose of getting onto OKC is for you to find someone who wants to fornicate the night you meet her; all you have to do is not give her a reason not to.  You can worry about what happens between the two of you later; that’s not what OKC is for.

Next, you have to get it out of your mind that you’re looking for anyone in particular.  Getting a girl from OKC or getting a girl in general these days is less contingent upon what mutual interests you have and more based on whether or not you’ll feel disgusted with yourself after waking up next to her the following morning.  In other words, if you message three girls because you see that they’re all huge Magma fans or they’ve seen all of John Cassavetes’ films and you think you’ve found the love of your life, you will rarely if ever get a message back.  In the dating market and basically in every other aspect of life, women have the upper hand.  The market is saturated with lonely and horny guys, so you have to be open minded even if she is a Harry Potter fan.

You have to have an iron will.  Your hunt for women has to be completely emotionless and based purely on your desire to find someone who will let you put your penis inside her, and you have to send out message after message after message to God knows how many women before any respond.  Getting pussy is like looking for a job.  You don’t send out two resumes to your favorite jobs and hope one of them bites.

Best bet is to have a template that you have saved, so you don’t have to keep typing the same stupid message over and over again.  For example:

“I see that you’re a big fan of _____.  What do you think of _____?  I’m actually a really big fan of _____.  Do you have any thoughts on that?”

If you see she’s a fan of horses, you can write:

“I see that you’re a big fan of horses.  What do you think of saddle sores?  I’m actually a really big fan of Freddie Got Fingered.  Do you have any thoughts on that?”

Or, if she’s a collector of old lawnmowers:

“I see that you’re a big fan of lawn mowers.  What do you think of riding mowers?  I’m actually a really big fan of hiring illegal immigrants to do my yard work.  Do you have any thoughts on that?”

Or, she comes from a family of taxidermists:

“I see that you’re a big fan of taxidermy.  What do you think of having your own body stuffed when you die and having someone put it on display for people to commemorate your life?  I’m actually a really big fan of filling dead cats up with lard.  Do you have any thoughts on that?”

That shows that you have read the profile so you’re not JUST going off of what she looks like.  Unfortunately some women have so little imagination that they put things like “hanging with my friends”, as if you assumed that she doesn’t have any friends.  Also, most women these days claim that they’re “sarcastic” or that they’re really good at “sarcasm.”  What that really means is they have carte blanche to say any disgusting, obnoxious or unpleasant thing they want and, if you want some sugar that night, you had better put up with it, bub!  I talked to one women who said that, if she didn’t like me, she would pretend to go to the bathroom and leave me.  Oh, that is SO funny and totally not indicative of something she actually does.  I did, in fact, tell her that that “joke” was quite the turn off and cancelled the date.  See, ladies, men can be put off by things that YOU say as well, and we’re not the ones buying all the Prozac.  So maybe learn some manners, k?

Make sure to say enough about yourself in your profile so you legitimately seem like an interesting person that a woman would want to hang out with, and make sure you look cool in your pictures.  Get a female friend to snap a few good shots for you.  Some tips I have are don’t smile in any of them and make sure to have at least one where you’re actually doing something so girls think you’re an active person.  Oh and, if you can’t figure out NOT to put something like “all you women are looking for is a good time with my money, why am I always friend zoned, wah wah wah” or “why do you bitches always go with the the assholes when I’m such a nice guy” on your profile, then you probably should have your internet taken away from you and be forced to interact with real people.

The girls on OKC can be broken down into three basic categories; attention whores, horny trollops without children and horny trollops with children.  Let’s expand on these:

Attention Whores: Basically, if a girl is super, fuckin’ hot, like an eight through a ten, and she’s on a dating site, she’s an attention whore.  There’s literally no reason for her to be on OKCupid other than to continue to feed her narcissism.  She never responds to messages but always “complains” about how her inbox is full, and she’s got tons of little satellite men who are more than willing to be friend zoned by her to catch a whiff of her anal vapors.  Yet she doesn’t go out with ANY of them because none of them have been truly able to scratch that itch.  You have to be like someone super important, like the creme de la cock to be with this type.  In other words, she’s the most chaste person ever until a popular indie rock band comes to town.

Horny Trollops Without Kids: Believe it or not, these ladies actually might want a relationship.  The highest level of attractiveness any of these ladies ever reaches is a seven, but since when was a slightly overweight, curvey seven, who is also really pretty, that bad or shameful to be with?  Or a girl with a hot body, but has the face of ET?  Especially in the age where better than average looking guys have to settle for less and less.  My only tip on how to get these ladies is just learn to be fun and sociable, learn a tiny modicum of game (like, I mean, don’t be a pussy and go for the kiss) and don’t unload your spergy, in depth knowledge of every Hawkwind album on her unless her OKC profile explicitly says that she’s a huge Hawkwind fan, and you’ll be in like sin.  I’m not kidding; when I put the work in, I can nail someone about every other week to once a month and, if one doesn’t work out, I just go for another.  The only exception is during the cold months.  Then women tend to flake more often, either not answering your texts or coming up with bogus excuses to not meet up with you, since they’d prefer to snuggle by themselves under a blanket, than go out for a couple hours and end up snuggling with another human being.  And once they break the date, don’t try to reschedule because, if a woman is “too sick” to go out that night, she just isn’t interested.  At least she spent 20 seconds to come up with an excuse and didn’t just stop responding!  Don’t take it personally.  Women can’t even stay loyal to their own friends, let alone someone they’ve never met in person.  It’s pretty tough these days for me to take what a woman says at face value unless she’s giving me directions or something trivial like that.

Horny Trollops With Kids: You might think that, because a woman is a single mother, she would want a man in the house to help take care of and raise the kids, ya know, so the kids are raised by a complete family.  You would be wrong.  You just have to ask yourself where the actual father is and why she didn’t stay with him.  The answer: what difference does it make where he is as long has his check arrives on the scheduled date and he can play babysitter every other Saturday?  Believe me: single moms LOVE this arrangement.  They get to play act at being moms – i.e. be “heroic” –  a few days a week, then get to slut it up on the weekends.  The last thing they need is a long term relationship to screw up that arrangement.  But at least you get laid!  Too bad these mothers are raising a generation of neurotic freaks.  Also, they tend to flake a bit more; ya know, “couldn’t find a babysitter.”

You’ve been advised about how to OKC, you’ve been given the crash course on how to start a conversation and you’ve seen the three types of women you’ll meet.  The rest is up to you.

Here are three, final tips before I depart:

  1. Be EXTREMELY wary of a woman who looks surprisingly good, yet is overly eager to go out on a date with you.  She’s either aged severely or put on weight since the pictures on her profile were taken and assumes that once you’ve had enough alcohol or weed in your system, that you’ll overlook these minor details.  DON’T BE TRICKED!!!
  2. Although this seems obvious, overly eager guys, of which I’ve been at times, seem to forget; if a woman ONLY takes closeups of herself and doesn’t have a single full body shot, she is fat.
  3. Although your level of tolerance might be higher than mine, I’d highly suggest avoiding women who use words like “polyamorous”, “pansexual”, “non-binary”, “cis-gendered” or “heteronormative.”  They’re just fancy ways of saying, “daddy didn’t love me, and now I’m getting back at him by being a slut.”  Obviously avoid feminists.

And there you have it.  If you’re willing to put in the work, you should soon be having sex with moderately attractive women, some of whom have real jobs and real concerns, who you’ll be able to maintain a relationship with for at least a few weeks.

 

Goodbye, Grand Rapids

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This weekend I drove two and a half hours to Kalamazoo, MI to see Eyehategod, which was super fun, except for the part where Mike Williams looked considerably skinnier since the last time I saw him and like he was about to nod out right onstage.  Anyhoo, the following day I drove north on 131 to check out my old stomping ground, Grand Rapids, both to go shopping at Vertigo records and to pick up four more boxes of 16mm films, which were part of a set of fourteen boxes and two projectors, that I purchased several years ago from the Corner Record shop.

When I arrived in town, I got pretty nostalgic about all of the people that I’ve met and subsequently discarded or was discarded by during the course of my time there.  I thought about all of the countless hours spent at the few local hipster hangouts, the amount of dough I blew on booze, records and gigs and, above all else, all of the pussy I got.

I swear, to a man, there wasn’t a better pussy paradise than Grand Rapids.  But, then again, I was five to ten years younger, probably about twenty lbs. lighter and had considerably more hair on my head.  I dressed like a Sid Vicious/Johnny Rotten clone with spiky hair, black denim and a cut-off t-shirt, which 99% of the time, had Motorhead on it.

I remember when I first got good looking; it took a whole Summer of starving, weight lifting and a lot of fucking running.  But, it paid off and I was skinny, toned and super good looking.  I banged a few girls here and there before I dated Melissa for about ten months.  During that period I experienced my first true “taking it for granted” era of my life.  If I knew then what I know now, I may have acted differently; or maybe not.

I mean, we’re older now and she still gets to run around with reckless abandon because she’s an attractive woman and, in spite the fact that she’s in her 30s, is given carte blanche to shack up with hapless guys with too little sexual experience to see her for the train wreck that she is.  If you read this, Melissa, I think you’re cool as a friend and pretty funny, but as a romantic partner, you suck.  Not least of all for fucking Dave “Oderus Urungus” Brockie from Gwar back in ’04, but also from the many fun stories you told me later, like the one about how you cheated on your boyfriend who you just started dating while you were at a party because why not?  You did call him and tell him, so that’s commendable and, like a true mangina, he completely accepted it with no problem.  What was his other choice?  As far as you knew, he was a virgin.

But, back to Grand Rapids.  After the run with Melissa was done, there were like so many others.  Well, there was Melissa’s friend Becky, who I actually had two runs with, about three years apart, but I think she’s a Lesbian now.  And there was adorable little Emmy, who was 4’9″, and had one of the best asses ever; I remember dropping roughly $50 to get the morning after pill.  But, I think I learned the most about who I was from Jo.

Man, where do I start with her?  Let’s see.  I went to the Drink Ultra Lounge on a Thursday night to check out 80s night and, within the first hour of me arriving there, while sitting next to my former friend Tiffany, this hot, blow-up doll-ish bimbo just sits on my lap and gives me a lap dance; turns out she used to be a stripper.  It was so bizarre because I had never experienced someone being so forthright with me.  I feigned disgust or at least confusion because that’s what you’re supposed to do, rather than express joy or excitement.  I mean, ya know, hipsters.

Then, we chatted it up for a few before she blatantly asked me if I wanted to go home and sleep with her.  We went home and did the thing, and that’s when I learned that girls no longer care whatsoever about using protection.  Okay, not totally true.  Some of them will act slightly more responsible and ask if you have a rubber, but, in most cases that I’ve experienced, they pretty much just wing it.  Whether you pull out or not is completely negligible, and many aren’t even on the pill.  They just think, “eh, well, what’s the worst thing that could happen?  I mean, isn’t a child a miracle and aren’t abortions still legal?  Is AIDS even a thing anymore?”  What’s crazy is that, when I broached the topic, Jo responded with, “Are you asking me if I have AIDS?!  That’s crazy!”  Not sure how she figured that I would just assume someone who so willfully sleeps with someone right away wouldn’t have AIDS, especially since women are eight times more likely to get it than men and since she was far from insistent that I use protection.  I wonder how many gallons of semen a year a woman allows into her body via oral, anal or vaginal cavity and how often she makes sure that semen doesn’t give her potentially life threatening or womb destroying diseases.

Jo was a lot of fun to date even if she didn’t have too much going on upstairs.  With her fake, but bouncy boobs, slender, yet curvy physique and open mindedness to virtually any sexual activity that crossed my perverted little mind, she pretty much wiped away any notion that I or any man really cares about much more than whether a woman can offer  contentment and sexual satisfaction.  All that intellectual mumbo jumbo, whether she reads a lot or knows fuck all about what’s going on in the world is just window dressing.  Only I didn’t want to admit it then.

Anyway, aside from sex, there were other things I remember about Grand Rapids.  There were the punk shows, really mediocre basement and house punk shows.  One of the bands was the Drunk Upstarts, who epitomized punk rock stupidity, complete with mohalks, tie-dye jeans and Doc Martins.  I did not like these guys at all.  They were such arrogant pricks who thought they were the hottest shit ever, and many of the people they hung out with were some of the biggest idiots I’d ever met.  Just dumb.  I mean, “beer crushing on the forehead” dumb.  I mean “Hey! Watch this, guys!”, “whack!” dumb.  Three of them are dead now; two hung themselves and one was killed in a motorcycle accident.  There were other bands and other shows, but I don’t really give a fuck about remembering all of the bands I saw.  Let’s just say some were better than others, and I’m glad that the British punk rip-off thing from the early 00s is dead.

I also watched a fuckton of movies in Grand Rapids.  That’s where I developed my love for old films; classic silents, Hollywood tawkies, French New Wave, Italian Neo-Realism, you name it.  When I wasn’t bangin’ sleazy hoes or going to mediocre punk shows, I would join my smart friends at the house of Scott Rosendall, whose big “claim to fame” is playing Hank Preston, a character in the 2011 Hollywood comedy Horrible Bosses, which is the only roll in a major Hollywood picture he’s received since moving out to L.A. in 2007.

I remember it like it was yesterday; we’d show up at Scott’s house, usually with some booze and another movie and he would always ask the same exact questions; “Is it in black and white?” “Are there subtitles?”  “Was it made before 1960?”  Answer “yes” to any of these questions and you knew that the movie would be torture for Scott.  But, we made him watch them anyway.  Why?  Because we’re dicks.  I remember getting hardcore belly laugh when Scott said, “The lady vanishes as my patience vanishes.”

Did I mention Scott is disabled?  Yep, he’s relegated to being in a wheelchair because he has that disease that Samuel L. Jackson had in Unbreakable, where your bones are very brittle.  Scott also dated this ugly, fat cow named Michelle, who hated my guts, partly because she thought I was taking Scott to parties, where he’d bang other women.  Don’t have to worry about that Michelle.  Scott’s big bitch about Hollywood is how they employ able bodied actors to perform rolls of people in wheelchairs.  There’s a cause for you to fight, liberals.  Why weren’t any disabled actors honored at the academy awards?

One time, we took Scott to Grand Valley, where I went to school – did I mention I got a degree in statistics? – and had him pretend to be a quadriplegic.  I was pushing his wheelchair and pretended to let it go down a hill while shouting, “oh my god, I dropped Scott!” as the people around us stared in horror.  Then, when Scott stopped himself, we all had a good laugh at freaking everyone out.

Anyway, I retrieved four more boxes of films at Corner Record shop, then went to Sparrow’s coffee shop to kill some time time polishing off The Redneck Manifesto (yeah, I’ve been reading it for a week, I have a job, go fuck yourself) and just happened to meet a Trump supporter named Anthony, who was from Boston and happened to know Jim Goad.  Didn’t expect to meet one of my guys at a place like that!  Funny how, when I was younger, I got super excited when I’d see another kid wearing, I dunno, a Stooges t-shirt or a Misfits t-shirt.  Now I get excited when meeting someone who knows all the Takimag writers.

After that I had a couple beers with my friend Jenne (yep, spelling is correct) and went to Vertigo, where I bought Mystery to Me by Fleetwood Mac, Forever Changes by Love, Looking Into the Future by Journey and You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw by Spooky Tooth and, with all of my official business done and no more friends left in Grand Rapids – either they left me, I left them or they’re in another part of the country/world – I hightailed it back home.

How I Stopped Being an Elitist

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I was a bit surprised when, in both Bernard Chapin’s video review and Matt Forney’s online review for Aaron Clarey’s latest book, The Curse of the High IQ, they mention how Clarey refers to sports entertainment as “sportsball”, a popular colloquialism that is typically used to describe sports as entertainment for the plebes.  I was under the impression a person like that would have a less cavalier attitude towards people who love sports and other popular entertainment, and that it is people on the left who judge people and call things “sportsball”; not to mention calling the people who enjoy it “dumb bros.”

Let’s get one thing straight; I may have tattoos, I may listen to weird underground music that nobody’s ever heard of, I may watch a bunch of cult films that nobody’s ever seen, but, when I go out, I would rather hang out at my local sports bar, watch sports on the TV, drink a stout, scarf down chicken wings and have said beer and wings served to me by a hot waitress, who wears black tights and a low cut tank top.  I’m over the era of my life where I want to sit in a dimly lit quasi dive populated by arty hipsters.  The fact that said bar will have a jukebox filled with the music of hip bands like Can, Captain Beefheart and the Fall DOES NOT MATTER to me AT ALL.  I literally DO NOT CARE if other people share my taste in music, and chances are these same people probably wouldn’t jam out to ZZ Top, Aerosmith, AC/DC, Ted Nugent, UFO, the Scorpions or Deep Purple, bands I like just as much as the approved “cool” bands in the post-punk, post-hardcore, kraut-rock and noisy indie rock genres.

Furthermore, I do not care if a girl I sleep with/date is a total “sportsball” loving, reality TV show watching bimbo, a military history buff who shoots guns, a tattooed metal chick with an Acid Bath patch on her denim vest or a glasses-wearing book nerd.  I’ve had all of these varieties and realized that the only things that matter to me are whether the girl is attractive and fun to be around.

So, where am I going with all of this?

I realize that, at age 31, I was smarter, cooler, funner and more accepting of people when I was in high school, than during my college years when, all of a sudden, I attempted to be an elite “cultured” person.

I was reading a negative review on Netflix of Luis Buñuel’s 1972 classic The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and, while I believe whoever reviewed the film had the wrong idea that it was explicitly meant to diss the “bourgeoisie”, I believe that a good amount of younger people who are fans of the film believe that it is in fact supposed to be Buñuel’s “fuck you” to the rich, rather than just a charming series of surreal vignettes.

Y’see, arty hipstery people are leftists and they hate the rich, the 98%, yet, at the same time, fail to realize that the average working Joe would prefer to watch a super hero, CGI-filled Hollywood blockbuster rather than The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, and that, in effect, would make the very people leftists are allegedly trying to help the target of their ridicule; in other words, the rank ‘n’ file are all idiots who would rather watch that “sportsball”, yet we want to help them.

And, sadly, though I was never a full on leftist, I had a similar view of people who I went to college with that didn’t share my tastes; people who didn’t watch countless hours of films by Godard, Truffaut, Fellini, Tarkovsky, Passolini, Bergman, Herzog and Bresson or read thousands of pages of Faulkner, Hemmingway, Doestoevsky, Proust, Joyce, Camus or Balzac or didn’t spend thousands of hours filling their ears with the sounds of Can, Kraftwerk, Neu!, Faust, Public Image Ltd., the Fall, Devo, Miles Davis, the Birthday Party, Einstürzende Neubauten or Captain Beefheart (ya know, smart people music).

On top of that, I convinced myself that I had to date “smart”, arty hipster chicks who wore the black rim glasses, had a pixie cut and wore skinny jeans and T. Rex t-shirts.  I cannot believe how hot the girl I was dating back in 2007 was.  If I could turn back the hands of time and do it over again, I would have been waaay more grateful for what the arbiters of sex had given me; a hot, blonde, boob enhanced ex-stripper, who wore a super short, denim skirt that revealed killer, worked out legs to boot.  She had the comforting personality of a stripper, the kind where she puts her hand on your knee and leans in to talk to you, sending shivers up and down your spine even though she only means it as a friendly gesture most of the time.  And she was like the ultimate bedroom slut.  Without getting too graphic, virtually nothing was off limits.  And she was ready to bang ANY time!

But, at the time, I thought I was above dating a blonde, former stripper airhead – just so you get an idea of how much of an airhead she was, she did fill-in puzzles, crosswords puzzles where they just give you the words, in her spare time and virtually knew nothing about politics, history or what was going on in the world – so, I didn’t take it seriously, just biding my time, while secretly feeling I should be with that kinda cute, nerdy looking hipster chick.

BOY, would do that over!

And then, after I left school, I began to realize how stupid all of that was.  Well not right away; what really helped me realize that I was being an elitist mangina was when I lived with Chris in Ypsilanti.  He took being an elitist, hipster, feminist pandering mangina to whole new heights that I did not think were possible.  At an age where I decided that the Bergman and Fellini can rest alongside the John Carptenter and Wes Craven, that I can be a fan of Can and Public Image Ltd. along with Slayer and Metallica, Chris, who is several years older than me, would still make snarky comments about my musical taste and try really hard to appease some of the local feminist hipster bitches.  On top of that, he would try to make me look stupid for having a sex drive!  Once he was talking about going to a “burlesque” show, a form of entertainment that allows manginas to look at naked women with impunity, since there’s an “arty” context behind it; burlesque shows have old time-y clothes, old time-y jokes, old time-y music and the women do an old time-y strip tease, rather than the pole dancing and dick riding that goes on at Deja Vu’s.  I say to Chris, “oh cool, do we get to see Amy naked?” and he responds with, “you’re into that sorta thing, aren’t you?”  Like, aren’t you, dude?  Last time I checked you are a heterosexual?  I know this because I actually played matchmaker in one case.

But, I digress.  The point is that people like that make you realize how dumb it is to look down on people who have different tastes from you.  I actually respect people who can nerd out on sports statistics the way that I can nerd out on bands or movies.  Although I made the point in an another article that, given the law of large numbers, you should judge a book by its cover, you might be surprised by what different people can show or teach you if you have an open mind and quit judging people by their tastes in music, movies, literature, women or their love for “sportsball.”

 

Am I Turned on by Fat Women?

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In the globalist/leftist/elitist bid to teach women that all bodies are good by pushing “body positivity” so that men are forced to lower their standards or drop out of the mating game altogether, I have to ask myself if I’m actually attracted to thicker/bigger/fatter women.  My penis, not the media, decides what I’m attracted to, so I decided to compare my best sexual experience with my absolute worst.

My best sexual experience is also debatable.  If we’re going by quality and uniqueness, then I’d say either my ex Melissa, who cheated on me with the Gwar singer backstage at the show at Harpos in ’04 (And, because Dave “Oderus Urungus” Brockie was possibly the least classy man in the entire punk/metal/whatever scene, he had the nerve to write a song about it!  Some of my friends try to deny me the glory, but I maintain to this day that the 2nd and 3rd verses of “The Ultimate Bohab” are at least partly about me, you jealous fux!) – man, if she used her brain like she uses her ass… – or Theresa, the white trash Marilyn Manson loving goth skank, who was 34 when we slept together in a hotel room after the Mastadon/Ghost/Opeth gig four years ago; she gave me probably the best blowjob I’d ever had.  Unlike most girls who don’t understand the concept of keeping a good rhythm or think that aggressively going up and down on the penis as if their mouths are lubed up vacuum cleaner tubes equals good oral sex, she managed to have the right combination of shaft pumping and tongue massaging until I felt myself erupt like a geyser after which, she jumped back after the first couple of squirts to admire her work, as each subsequent shot of semen fired out my urethra like bullets out of an AK-47.  Theresa was thin with a bit of curvature and some over the hill stomach flab.  I could have easily gone for another round of that, but the bitch ditched me the following week after inviting me out to Detroit’s gay goth dance club, Leland City Club.

But, I digress.  If we’re going by quantity, that is a man’s animal-like drive to want to fuck merely minutes after the previous session – sorry girls, the session ends when the guy blows his load, but most of you probably already knew that – then, I’d bestow that award onto Nikki, who would easily fall into the overweight category on the BMI chart.

We met on OKCupid, set up a date for a Friday, met and she definitely had a double chin regardless of how darn cute/pretty she was.  However, this didn’t bother at all when I saw what came with the double chin.  She dressed in the slutty rock ‘n’ roll attire, wrapping her dual basketball size ass in tight black leggings, wearing spike covered high heels and, in spite wearing a t-shirt, barely concealed her football size tits.  Plus she wore glasses and had a Canadian accent, so that was kinda cute as well.

After I got us duly wasted, I drove (real smart move, man) to a hotel and, while we were a bit drunk that night and only managed to get one fuck in, that morning was a marathon session.  I awoke naked next to this adorable person, who was curled up in a ball and also waking up, and while her enormous tits were staring at me, the first thing she said was, “I love waking up next to a horny boy.”  We did it over and over again, mainly dog style because I have the black man’s taste in big booty, and still had the double bonus of admiring her boobs from the side, which made me even more horny as I fiercely pumped away.  The fact that she had a little belly fat was not an issue, and to be perfectly honest, I prefer looser, flabby stomachs over tone ones.  I totally could have gone for another round of that as well.  It also didn’t hurt that she described the time she scissored with her roommate; that one still gives me wood when I mull it over in my brain.  Unfortunately that would be our only encounter because she didn’t like the idea of my not being legally able to drive into Windsor on account of my DUI (don’t drink and drive, kids).

So, does this alone make me a fan of fat women?  Do I have some secret fetish?  Am I secretly shilling for big brother and trying to convince guys that all women are attractive?

No, no and no!  I am NOT a fan of fat women.  I’m a fan of curvy, pear shaped women, whose genetics dictate that they have narrower shoulders, wider hips and their fat accumulates in the ass and thigh area.  Usually pear shaped women have smaller breasts, but Nikki just lucked out that the gods gave her such huge boobs.  Don’t ask me why I like looser stomachs; in proportion I find them cute and, personally I find them more feminine than overly toned stomachs.  Ladies, focus on the squats; you can do crunches, but not too many.  Oh, this also reminds me of why, in most cases, I’m for breast augmentation.  That means that, in the bidding war of genetics, women were given the pear shape and a smaller chest, which is fine.  I don’t like it the other way around where a girl is super top heavy and has no ass.

But, back to the point.  To prove my point that I don’t like fat women, I’m going to now tell about my worst sexual experience.  I was friends with a hickish beast named Jessica.  I hadn’t seen her in years, but we got to talking and messaging a lot.  Her FB pictures obscured the fact that she is possibly one of the least attractive women I have ever known; when she said she was “chubby”, I thought she meant a few pounds past curvy, but oooh no; she has an apple shape body, a type that absolutely cannot afford to let even a few pounds slip.  Her entire love life is a metaphor for political correctness; whenever there’s a problem, such as the black population’s failure to leave the ghettos, the left will find every reason imaginable except for the main one.  Similarly, when Jessica asks why all the skinny guys she likes “date” her for a day and then “disappear”, I just didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s because she looks like a blob set atop two drum sticks; I usually hem and haw before defaulting to the typical, “I don’t know, guys are weird.”

And I know what you’re going to say; “are you that stupid where you didn’t realize she wanted to start a romantic relationship with you?”  Well, I’m not, I just, once again, didn’t know how to politely back away.  So, in what I consider a purely selfless act, I bang her in a motel room (noting a pattern here?).  To a man, it was the most nauseating experience I’ve ever had with a woman.  She too has huge tits… and a huge belly and a huge pregnancy induced underbelly and narrow hips and no ass to balance any of this out.  I got on top of her, we fucked, but I didn’t cum at all.  She laid back with her eyes shut, resembling a grandma falling asleep in her reading chair, except that she had those huge boobs, which were no consolation for the horror beneath.  After we were “done”, she got up and, out of sheer, morbid curiosity I peaked at what I had just done.  Needless to say that, when she came back, I got up, went to the restroom and re-calibrated my brain by thinking of attractive women while jerking off.

Unlike the other guys that pumped and dumped her, we remained friends (until she unfriended me on FB for not being a Sanders supporter) and I even came back to Grand Rapids to meet up with her and see Weedeater.  I brought my sleazy friend Ian, and thankfully he took one for the team by fucking her while I was drunkenly passed out on the bed at the motel room we stayed at after the gig. Prior to this she got angry with me that I didn’t tell her I started seeing someone as if we were ever together.  She was still mad the next day!  I don’t get it!  She had two skinny guys give her a decent-ish roll in the hay within a two week period!  What else could she possibly want?

Anyway, the point of all this is to show that all this “body positivity” nonsense is a crock.  Rather than just teach women to be healthy, eat right and exercise, while, at the same time, maybe discuss how some men prefer different sizes within an acceptable range, rags like Huffington Post encourage obesity.  Rather than point out, as many scientific and health journals do, that, for each body type (pear, apple), there are different styles of eating, dressing and exercise to remain thin and healthy, they print nauseating articles that show skinny dudes with gross ass women and claim that “everyone is beautiful.”  Well, they’re not, so live with it.

 

15 Sexuality Terms That Will Make You Know More Made Up Sexuality Terms

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Expressing one’s sexuality has become a complicated affair.  A long time ago, what was an oppressive, patriarchal world, full of strict labels that forced people to confine themselves to “normal” sexual acts in which a man’s only option would be to stick his genitalia into only a limited number of orifices – sadly all human – and a woman was expected to only allow acceptable items to be inserted into her vaginal cavity, has, thanks to sexual liberation been opened up (no pun intended) into a world of whole new possibilities.

But, before we go on, let me apologize for my crass and insensitive labeling of “man” and “woman.”  These no longer exist.  What I meant to say was “humans who were assigned male or female genitalia and a male or female societal role against their will.”

Now, one may say, “do we need labels at all?”  After all, if a person of undisclosed genitalia and gender identity wants to go fuck a horse, then this person with undisclosed genitalia and gender identity should be allowed to fuck a horse!  That is this person’s right and, as long as it doesn’t harm another (and even if it does), we have no right to judge.

However, we use labels for all sorts of reasons so I’m not sure why some people get bent out of shape about the neologisms for sexuality.  So for myself and for those of you who don’t understand or even know about the rapidly changing “word world” of sexuality, here’s a primer on the subject, using something that is a little easier to understand: a list with definitions.

1.) Bedpansexual – This type of person gets really turned on by bedpans, whether it’s jerking off into bedpans, bathing in bedpans or pouring the contents of bedpans all over one’s head.

2.) Craniosexual – Back, in our less enlightened days, we called this skullfucking.  But, somewhere down the line, “skullfucking” became an ugly and discriminatory term, almost as if it were deviant behavior.  Nowadays, if you notice a heteronormative couple and the one who looks like the holder of the female genitalia is wearing an eye patch, you can giggle to yourself and say, “I know what those crazy cats were up to last night!”

3.) Breadsexual – Someone who gets turned on by the prospect of cooking a warm loaf of bread and fucking it.  Okay, let’s face it; we’ve ALL been breadsexuals at one point.

4.) Bionosexual – Few would consider RoboCop or the Terminator to be sex symbols, but few people have heard of the sexual attraction to beings who are part organic and part bionic.  In real life, unfortunately, the result of this attraction has been quite disastrous, as one might expect from being jerked off by a mechanical claw, but I’d be prejudiced against bionosexuals if I attempted to dissuade them from this lifestyle.  I hope they’re at least using some form of lubrication.

5.) Autopsosexual – DO NOT confuse autopsexuals for necrophiliacs. This is a pure act of prejudice, but don’t worry.  You weren’t aware.  Autoposexuals only get turned on by corpses which are being cut open, taking the sentiment “I wanna feel you from the inside” quite literally.

6.) Allosexual – A person who experiences sexual stimulation from sticking one’s head into the mouth of an alligator.  Unfortunately the majority of the people who get turned on this way are eaten before they can achieve full sexual fulfillment.

7.) Pierced-stomachsexual – Person who experiences sexual attraction from seeing someone having his or her stomach filled with liquid, having his or urinary tract blocked off and have his or her stomach pierced with a sword, like what happened in Caligula.

8.) Decaposexual – Person who gets wildly turned on from watching another person get decapitated; it’s probably safe to assume this person would have been aroused during the filming of John Landis’ segment of Twilight Zone the Movie.

9.) Assbladesexual – Person who experience sexual attraction from seeing a knife stuck into another person’s anus.

10.) Assbleedsexual – Although this one can overlap with assbladesexual, this is a person who enjoys the sight of another person bleeding from the anus; the reason for the bleeding doesn’t make a difference.

11.) Immobilesexual – Person who is turned on by another person’s lack of mobility.  Of course this could be divided into a myriad of sub-categories, from someone who is attracted to paraplegics and quadriplegics to a person who gets turned on by watching those commercials in which old people fall and can’t get up.

12.) Spergosexual – Person attracted to anyone on the autism spectrum, but especially those who can keep a thoroughly detailed one-sided conversation going for four hours without stop.

13.) Flagosexual – Person who is incredibly aroused by self-flagellation; whether it’s the classic self-whipping along the back, running head first into a wall or constant self criticism, any will do as long as the person constantly feels guilty for something and is punishing himself for it.

14.) Peptosexual – Person who enjoys watching another person get heartburn.  This is the type of person that gets sexually aroused at another person’s torment caused by the ingestion of spicy food or hoppy beverage.  One does not know if he or she is on a date with a peptosexual until the person notices the other person’s discomfort, at which point sexual arousal occurs.

15.) Cystnormative – Person who gets aroused by watching someone having a boil drained.