Wednesday, March 28, 2012

The big race as I see it

Monday, March 19, 2012

"Do I look fat?" Trap or Opportunity?

Sometime "More cushin for the Pushin'" is
actually a wrap-around sectional.

Ah, the truth.  A double edged sword if ever there was one.  And what better way to impale oneself then to whip it out unnecessarily only to trip upon it?

Once was a time I would relish the opportunity to drop a truth bomb on anyone who asked for it, reasoning "They're asking for it!"
Once was a time I esteemed myself for being the true friend who would tell you the truth when nobody else would.
Once was a time I'd warn people with pride "Don't ask me if you don't really want to know."
Once was a time I was quite a prick.

This was before I realized that "How do I look?" really means "I'm insecure right now and could use a boost."

I have grown since then.  Not in girth, but in wisdom.  Okay, some girth.  But it's where I keep my wisdom; warm and safely padded -anyway, moving on... ...and speaking of girth.

What if your woman is large enough to generate her own gravitational field, puts on her new dress that may have been formerly used to cover the Superdome during Katrina, and she asks the most loaded question in the history of questions (or loads, for that matter), namely: DO I LOOK FAT?

How do you answer?  You may think to look at her, take it all in so to speak, before weighing the facts and...
BIG mistake.  She didn't come to you to have the facts or anything else weighed.

I don't care if NASA just awarded her planetary status.
I don't care if she sucking Cheetos through the air down a hall from a bowl two rooms away.
I don't care if crumbs from the Cheetos she's already eaten have taken up orbit around her equator.

The answer (and not just if you want to live) is "No."

And later if you're worried about size yourself and ask "Does size matter?" she can return the favor.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Female sex moans; Fact or Fake-tion?

"Oh baby, that was (almost) great!"
According to's latest bubble-bursting 'health' article, not only are many a female orgasm (hereafter called a femgasm -you heard it here first) faked, but even a woman's bedroom moans and screams during the build-up are usually fakedUnless her vibrator has shorted and electrocutes her -those screams are real.  Other than that they're probably either false or at least not everything they sound like.

That's damn depressing.  Almost too much so for me to even finish that article.  All that time I thought I was digging for gold, to find I was merely digging in a coal mine long after the canary had died.  But I soldiered on, equal parts intrigued and outraged, ready to drop a few bombs in their comment section ...when the news got a little better.

Apparently those sounds are meant as encouragement and appreciation for the effort. And I immediately thought "Oh, like when the 'slow' kid draws a picture of a car or his house but it looks more like a two-headed duck sodomizing an apple and everyone says Oh how pretty!" -Also damn depressing.  Especially for the apple.

But I read on and it seems it's more of a bonding thing.  So I think it's more like making extra yummy sounds when somebody goes to the trouble to make you an extravagant meal and asks "What do you think?".  Some of those mmmm's might be for liking the taste, but a lot is for liking the person.  And them liking you back. And that's not so bad.  Deep down, the cook surely knows it's a mix but appreciates any mmmm they can get without thinking about it too much.

The Orgasmatron from SLEEPER; silly movie prop
or the most desperately needed invention ever?

I think the same goes for any Oooooohhhhh you hear in the dark.  Some of it's "I like that." and some of it's "I like you."  Both are good.  An Oooooohhhhh's an Oooooohhhhh, just take it and be happy!

Honestly, as it turns out, is not always the best policy.  Would you really prefer her to say "That was... nice.  I'd give it a 5.  But I like you so I'll let you have a few more tries to see if you can actually get me there."  Because that's no pressure.  I think six out of every half dozen successful relationships would tell you a tender lie beats a cold truth any day.

This is all making me rethink that age-old dilemma that bested Lincoln himself.  How does one answer "Do I look fat?" if she does?  Let's tackle that 800lb gorilla in the room next time, kay?

Disclaimer: IIWG does not recommend tackling gorillas of any size.
Caveat: But if you do, please have a friend video it (from a safe distance) and forward it here.

Steamy pic credit: macbayfoto

Thursday, March 8, 2012

You can't heal injured furniture with an ice pack


But that didn't stop my 2 year old from trying. 
Ours is something like this.

I have to lay this one off on my wife.  Every little kid wants their boo-boo's kissed.  I'm sure we all get that.  But at some point my little one fell hard enough that a kiss wasn't deemed soothing enough.  My wife offered her an ice pack that fateful night and she nodded 'yes' probably without even realizing what an ice pack was.

My guess is it was just validation of a boo-boo that really hurt.  Now she asks for one all the time.  She can trip on the carpet, land on its softness and even though there's no visible scrape, bump or bruise, whisper through trembling lips "ne-ed ice!"

Fast forward to last night.  She's coloring a Dora picture on a tray table while sitting on our tan soft fabric couch.  It wasnt' long before the paper was on the couch and she was coloring there, which of course organically led to her coloring the couch itself.  My wife caught her one thick twelve inch green line too late.

I'm not going to say I went ballistic -I am not an intercontinental cruise missile.
I'm not even going to say I yelled.
But I guess I must have been loud.  She started crying. (Okay, so I yelled.)  I lowered my voice and tried explaining that she can't color on the couch.  But she just kept crying.  What a baby, right?

My couch is a lot like this one.
Hot chick sold separately.

So I tried to explain that she hurt the couch and can't ever do that again.  "Hurt" is something she understands.  She also understands what one must get for a "hurt".  She asked her mom for ice and I joked "For hurt feelings because I yelled at her?"  But she went over to the couch and put the ice on its green boo-boo.

It was so adorable I couldn't bear to keep her in the punishment closet for more than two hours after that.  That's quite a reduced sentence for cute behavior.  (I never got sentence reduction when I was a kid.  And I was cute as hell! How do you reduce a caning anyway?)

I'm kidding.  Of course, I'm kidding.  What kind of irresponsible parent do you take me for?  Any true disciplinarian will tell you anything less than overnight in a punishment closet is too short to make an impression.  A full 24 hours if you really want to be sure.

I promised her the day she was born I'd try my best to be a good dad, so 24hrs it is!  Now that happened about 6:30 last night....  The closet door didn't get locked until 6:50 or so... what time is it now?

Friday, March 2, 2012

Gay marines, dumpsters and closet slaves

They're not all part of the same story (though that would be interesting).  These were just some of the fascinating news items this week that got me thinking.

Marine Corps Sgt. Brandon Morgan (right) greets his boyfriend with a passionate kiss at an on-base military-family homecoming. A friend photographed the embrace, which was posted on the "Gay Marine" Facebook page. (Courtesy of Facebook)THE GAY MARINE KISS UPSETS MANY
   Hard to believe things like this are still an issue.  The hubbub is no more than old fashioned bigotry rearing it's aged head again.  There was the same outcry when interracial couples first publicly crossed the smooch barrier.  That's not an accepted bigotry anymore and it's a bit immature of us as a culture that this still is.
  Obviously there is love here, and they have every right.  That's absolutely true regardless of who it make uncomfortable.  On the other hand, Ewww.
   I'm not a hypocrite.  Don't you be one either.  If they have a right to their feelings for each other
-which they do- then I have a right to my feelings as well, okay?  Okay.  To wit, my feelings are Ewwwwwww.....

   Can't afford a 'real' place in these hard times?  Just as there's 'if the world gives you lemons make lemonade' now there's 'if the world gives you dumpsters make a dumpsterdwelling.' 
   It puts me in mind of the old quote "The Lord helps those who help themselves." Which is either indicative of an empowering god who really believes in the 'rise above' ability of his creations, or a lazy deity who can't be bothered to get his omnipotent ass off the couchcloud.
  If I were He, I'd have this invention become the latest hit in the micro-house market and let the inventor make some bank.

   Obviously the dumpster life isn't for everybody, but it beats being a slave in a closet.  As the breaking story goes an immigrant from India came to live as a maid and nanny for the owners of this palatial mansion.  These wealthy bastards then basically enslaved the poor woman, forcing 17hr days 7 days a week for the past 5+ years.  When investigators got wind of this and began closing in the 'lady' of the house called the woman's relatives in India to enlist their help in persuading the victim to help in the cover up.  The relative taped the calls and passed them on to the authorities.
   It's the phone calls that really got me.  This person was so used to wealth and privilege that although she understood what she'd done was illegal, she didn't really feel it was that wrong.  Otherwise she'd be too ashamed to contact her maid/slave's family in India, much less try to enlist their support in a cover up.
   There is such a thing as having too much money.  That's what this story means to me.  One can have so much compared to other people that one comes to believe they're above those other people and the laws of common decency as well.
   The solution (if I were god) is obvious; have them switch places.  As Sting sang so long ago Then you'll find your servant is your master
   I'm a fan of divine justice, especially the poetic kind.

Lastly but not leastly I've just received a Lobster award from Angie of Angie Uncovered.  (And when she says 'uncovered', oh boy!) It's my first award from a pole-dancer, and as such I was surprised, honored and horrified in equal parts. 

Surprised, since I didn't even know that I was qualified for the coveted lobster. I can only assume it's for how well my generous tail tastes in butter.

Honored, because nude women don't usually take note of me until after I've climbed in the bathroom window and yanked the shower curtain aside.   

Never accept a secondhard award like this
if they've never even bothered to wash the
lube off it first.  Lesson learned.

Horrified, because well, it is a second hand award.  Angie got it before me, and I guess her awarder got it from the person before her and so on back to patient zero.  I'm not normally a germaphobe but this thing's been passed around more times than Lindsay Lohan at a biker rally.  I bought a 55 gallon drum of anti-microbial soap to give it a full immersion treatment before actually touching it, and rinsed it off with water fired from my department's deck gun just to be sure.  So, thank you Angie.  (Use of the deck gun was free, but you owe me $87.50 for the soap.)

When you've really, really, REALLY gotta
hose something down -use the deck gun.