9.20.2006

The Reason Why My Parents Don't Know About the Blog.

I recently had the pleasure of hanging out with an old friend, who for all intents and purposes we will refer to as John-Who-Sells-Porn, because his name may or may not be John, and he may or may not sell porn for a living.

My history with John-Who-Sells-Porn extends way back to high school, back in the days before he ever considered becoming a porn wholesaler. In those days, he was known as John-Who-Sells-Pot, which may or may not be accurate because if you ask him about that today, he'll tell you, "I wasn't a drug dealer. Those were FAVORS!" I don't know about y'all, but I wish my friends would hand me wads cash every time I did them a "favor".

Back then, our school district only had two high schools, and they were connected. John-Who-Sells-Porn went to school H and I went to school E, and although there were over 10,000 students between the two schools, we still somehow knew eachother. This was NOT because he was my "favor" dealer, because the only pot this fucking band nerd was familiar with was the kind in which I boiled my Virtue soup. However, John-Who-Sells-Porn and I ran in the same circle of friends, mostly because we were both involved in theatre and were both- YES, GO AHEAD AND LAUGH- Thespians. That is, until John-Who-Sells-Porn got caught doing a really, REALLY big "favor" for the stage manager of a professional production and instead of calling his parents, they called his theatre director, who cried and then promptly evicted him from the program. Anyway, back then I wouldn't exactly say that John-Who-Sells-Porn and I were really all that friendly. Practically the only time I saw him was at parties, because whenever there is a gathering of horny, unsupervised teenagers (especially THESPIANS), there is somehow always an unfathomable demand for "favors". And somehow, John-Who-Sells-Porn was always available, equipped with the finest "favors" this side of Amsterdam.

My next encounter with John-Who-Sells-Porn was several years later. I happened to be visiting my boyfriend at the time in College Station, and I'll be damned if John-Who-Sells-Porn wasn't his roommate! He actually wasn't selling porn yet at this point, either. During this phase in our lives, he was known as John-Who-Sells-Parliaments-and-Prophylactics at the local convenience store. And from what I could tell, he also still sold "favors", too. During my frequent visits to College Station, John-Who-Sells-Porn and I used to sit around the living room together, discussing obscure biblical underpinnings in The Big Lebowski, taking shots of whiskey out of hairspray caps, and watching episode after episode of Girls Gone Wild. Don't ask me why, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I shudder to think that those early, pre-porn Girls Gone Wild days simply set the stage for his current career.

It's been at least five years since John-Who-Sells-Porn and I spent our late teenage years locked in a house with the windows blocked out by tinfoil, waiting for my boyfriend to get out of class, watching otherwise hetero women lick eachother's titties just because Snoop Doggy Dogg asked them to. Although those days will forever be etched into my mind as the biggest waste of time in the history of wasted time, John-Who-Sells-Porn was taken aback when I reminded him of our shared bond.

Me: "Dude, you used to make me listen to TOOL with you! How could you forget that?!"

JWSP: "Look, that was a very dark time in my life; most of it has been traumatically erased from my memory. I worked at a convenience store, for Chrissake! Wait a minute... you dated [insert ex-boyfriend's name here]?!"

Me: "Yeah, for like nine months."

JWSP: "I totally had no idea."

After recently rekindling our friendship, I found out about John-Who-Sells-Porn's newest profession- duh, porn selling. And as if it's not disgusting enough that he sells niche porn (ie: midgets, fat girls, granny trannies), the icing on the perv cake is the fact that he drives this creepy child molester van with the wire mesh partition used to keep your pre-teen victims enclosed in the back while you drive them to a dark alley of your choosing.

When some friends and I drove up to John-Who-Sells-Porn's SexOffenderMobile to drop him off, I loudly (and drunkenly) announced, "YOU DRIVE A CREEPY CHILD MOLESTER VAN! JESUS CHRIST, WHY DON'T YOU JUST GROW A MOUSTACHE AND GET A MYSPACE ACCOUNT?!"

As my roommate's boyfriend got out of the car to rifle through the porn stash in the back of the Heavy Petting Wagon, she and I began discussing the differences between women and men when it comes to sexuality.

Me (instigating): "Why does [your boyfriend] need porn?"

Roommate: "Yeah, good question. Why DOES he need porn when he has ME?"

Me (instigating): "You should ask him that."

*potential porn-viewer in question enters car, empty handed*

Me: "Where's your porn?"

Boyfriend: "Aw, I couldn't make a decision. I felt rushed. I like variety, and I like to be able to browse through the selections at my leisure. John only has fat girl and tranny porn. I'd rather look at hot Eurobabes on the internet."

Roommate: "Are the Eurobabes hotter than me?"

Boyfriend (flustered): "Uhhh, no. I mean, I just use that to, like... you know... I mean... okay, let's just be frank here. What do you ladies use when you're taking care of business?"

Me: "ONE HAND AND A HEALTHY IMAGINATION."

Roommate: "This is the difference between men and women. We like to imagine being intimate with the person we most want to be close to, and you guys are always looking for the biggest set of tits."

Me: "Why don't you just look at Playboy?"

Boyfriend: "Because I need the visual AND auditory stimulation."

Me: "Well that's why I have a vibrator. Visually, it LOOKS like a penis, but frankly I could do without the auditory stimulation. Unlike a man, my vibe doesn't fart, snore or belch. That's all the stimulation I need!"

Suddenly, I look down in my lap and realize that my cell phone is lit up. Is someone calling me, I wonder? I look at the screen and realize that my phone had accidentally dialed someone in my phone book, as it sometimes does, without my permission. The person it chose to call? MY DAD.

MY DAD HEARD ME TALKING ABOUT VIBRATORS. MASTURBATION. PENISES. PORNOGRAPHY.

It was one of those "kill me now" moments. Seriously.

Comments:
HAHAHAHAHA! And I bet it's recorded on an answering machine for posterity. someday the grandkids will hear it.

Well, at least now your dad knows what a WHORE you are. I bet he stumbles upon your nudie flickr account next...
 
oh dear Lord, I feel for you.

I used to have a friend like JWSP, but ours was a boy named, get this, Claire, mmhmm, and wouldn'tcha know it, he was gay. He would get drunk and strut around in shiny lame underpants that hugged his huge banana, but only for us "friends". To everyone else, he was Claire-Who-Sells-Meth. He was, to be quite frank, incredibly popular with the hetero boys, but I'm sure its because of the meth...I hope. Man, this memory has now seriously got me thinking about all of my hetero guy friends and why they REAAAALLY loved CWSM. Hmm...
 
How in hell did you crotch dial your dad's number? I would die, I would just die. But since this didn't happen to me, I will laugh :)
 
So---what did your dad say? I bet one of your long tits fell into your lap and dialed the number.
 
HAHAHAH MARIT. Even I had to laugh at that. Actually, you know how your phone will be in your purse and then all of a sudden it's dialing someone? That's what happened. It was in my lap, in my purse, but I could see the light from the screen on so I picked it up to check it out. My dad called me the next day to find out why I called at midnight, and to make sure I wasn't in jail. and I asked if he answered the phone. He said no. Thankfully, I don't think he knows how to check his voicemail. Yet.
 
a have a razor phone and it does this a lot. my phone is dangerous.
 
Colleen Gill? Is that you, talking about your SHAVER phone? If so, leave megan's stunt cock alone.
 
I would die.

My mother and I were talking about what a dick my ex-husband was and decided to list all of his bad qualities.

Mom: 1. Wife Beater
Me: 2. Stole my mother's wedding ring and pawned it.
Mom: Can't work for more than 4 months ata a time.
Me: Total lack of head on his dick.

I thought I was going to throw up.
It's bad enough that I married the man with a pussy duster moustache, but to say that in front of my MOM, she who believe that my sister was a virgin, was the worst feeling ever!
 
Hmmm, the question seems to be, how much of a prude is your dad?

Is he likely to have a good laugh about this but not ever embarrass you by referring to it, or is he likely to turn purple and have a seizure .... and not ever embarrass HIMSELF by ever referring to it?
 
i don't have a razor phone or a shaver phone and that wasn't me. as far as the stunt cock, well....ooops! my bad.
 
As long as he doesn't revoke your Daddy's Little Girl status.
 
imagine your dad is dead and he KNOWS EVERYTHING!!! you've ever done. ever. in your whole life.

my dad is pissed!!! : )

(i know this sounds sad, but it's not supposed to be)
 
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