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Day Twenty-Six.

I guess this is my last post for a while. Traffic on this blog has been pretty scarce and it seems like I’m recycling my own content over and over.

Maybe blogging isn’t for me. Maybe there’s something better out there for me. Like, today I googled the phrase “Tums Pie” because I wanted to make a pie out of Tums. Well, wouldn’t you know, GlaxoSmithKline don’t make no Tums Pie. They also don’t provide instructions on their website as to how to make a Tums Pie. There’s a form you can fill in with requests (or questions) at http://us.gsk.com/html/contact-us/index.html . I tell them they are big pussies every single day.

Thanks to my loyal readers; you have been loyal like dogs. It has been an absolute blast just entertaining all you filthy animals these past few weeks on this wacky old corner of the internet I like to call Daddy, and I hope you can all be the keepers that this island needs. It just seems I’m recycling my own content over and over, and now it has gotten to the point of compiling garbage colloquialisms together with some cusses thrown about, all whilst skewering the very language— English , fucking turkey Christ—that I love so very much.

But before leaving, I figured I’d give you guys a heads up of where this could have gone.

Day One-Hundred and Six.

“Why haven’t you made a move on me yet?”

It was a good question. I didn’t try to hold her hand during the movie— and we were already on our second date. She seemed like the perfect girl: she had seen Star Wars and could even do the cry of the Wookie. That would make things kinky, later on, I thought. She was the first person to actually bring up an attraction to social manipulation at dinner. And she even, and I quote, “Loves to give blowjobs”. Wookie blowjobs are awesome.

Oh wait, that was the reason I still hadn’t made a move.

“I love to give blowjobs,” she had said in the passenger seat.

Zip.

“But I can’t give them anymore.”

“Is it because of your teeth?” I asked. Personally I didn’t know what teeth had to do with it especially since I’m a “no teeth guy”— except when it came to that dead fuck, Phil— but I needed to say something to fill up the awkward silence in the car since it became clear a blowjob wasn’t going to do the same.

Now on our second date in as many days, I knew this would be the last one; I had to tell her the truth and I thought the truth was blazingly clear this time around.

We were at a sushi bar that she said was one of her favorites, which seemed a bit overreaching on her part because we had to print out directions to get there. Nay, she had to print out directions to get there. I don’t need to print out directions to find my favorite places but that’s mostly because I’m not a huge fan of the clitoris.

Maybe I can lie to her, I thought. I could tell her that it was scary that our first date was at another sushi bar but she had neglected to inform me that she was deathly allergic to horse-radish. What if I had taken her to a sushi place that just used green-colored horseradish for its wasabi? Hell, I didn’t even know how to positively identify green horseradish from wasabi. And then if she ate it and I had to perform CPR on her? Not to mention then I would get HPV from the her. Save a life and damn your own, right?

But other than the HPV thing, she was the perfect girl for me. Where Katy and I were polar opposites, this girl and I weren’t. We both enjoyed Star Wars where-as Katy hadn’t seen any of the movies. Katie had an aversion to social manipulation where this girl actually brought it up on the first date. And where Katy was a college graduate— this new girl was dumber than a cum-sock. A match made in heaven, we were.

In fact, the only downside to this girl was that she wasn’t a fan of spicy or hot food but that was partly because she was allergic to horseradish. Actually another downside— I was going to be moving to Truckee in thirty days and she was going to be dead in less than 30 minutes. But we were determined to make something of this relationship, HPV be damned.

“Seriously, why haven’t you made a move?”

Now I’m thinking about my teeth comment from earlier. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that; that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Probably left-over Phil thoughts, God rest his dead soul.

I thought it was pretty obvious her having HPV was the reason I hadn’t made a move. We were a done deal: if I made a move then she would soon be blowing me in the parking lot, making Wookie sounds. And like, I know that statistically I’m going to end up with HPV but I’m moving to Northern California in 30 days; I can’t can’t go being the Johnny Appleseed of sex diseases.

Obviously I didn’t say that to her because I was still— some part of me was at least— still holding out for that blowjay. What would have been the worst that could have happened, though, if I let her down truthfully? I maybe I could soften the blow. Honk honk.

All this time thinking and I hadn’t given her a reason, I guessed.

“Listen, Jane: there’s a reason you’re dating online and this is your first date with somebody you met in person. There is a reason you live in your hometown yet you have to use OKCupid to date people in your area. In our area.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“The irony that we’re both red flags never hit me until now,” I said. “I need somebody to anchor me down. To be my rock, you know?”

“I don’t…I don’t get it.” Her eyes were starting to well up.

“Like St. Peter. Jesus needed St. Peter in a different way than St. Peter needed Jesus. But that imbalance worked for them.”

Tears were now streaming down Jane’s face. I would have offered my napkin but it was covering my boner; a woman in tears gives me some raging wood. “I’m looking for Peter…not…you,” I finished, rather smoothly, if I do say so, myself.

“Is this it? Are you b-breaking up with me?” she stammered.

“What? No. No— we were never boyfriend and girlfriend int he first place.”

Her eyes continued to pour streams of hot and sexy liquid all over her face. And her eyes were getting really red now. And her face was starting to swell up— kind of like how Katy’s would when she was angry.

Oh no.

“Did you eat the wasabi?” I asked.

“I tried it just for you,” she said.

Oh Christ.

“You’re allergic to horse-radish,” I said, “why would you try to eat the wasabi?”

“I thought—” she started coughing, “I thought you were interested in girls that try new things all the time.”

“I am,” I told her, “I’m interested in girls that are interested in trying new things that aren’tdying.”

“But it’s just wasabi.”

“It’s fake wasabi. It’s green-colored horse-radish.”

“Grrrrrrrrreah!”

“Wow, that is a pretty good wookie.”

Zip.

“No I— I think I’m dying.”

Zip.

What was I going to do? I obviously called for the paramedics but the girl had eaten nearly half a roll of quarters’ worth of fucking horse-radish. She was going to die, right there in front of me. And she did. This was the second person to die in front of me in nearly fifty days— if you consider Phil a person, I mean. I don’t, but you might.

They weren’t able to save Jane in time. Nothing could save her at this point— not even pumping her stomach.

“She has HPV,” I told the paramedic before he started performing CPR on her.

“Son, get out of the way!” he said

“I’m just trying to help you out, bro. From one bro to another, you know what I mean?”

And then she died. Just like that. Her heart stopped, like mine did when Katy broke up with me nearly sixty days ago. The bitch.

____________________________

Actually, now that I think about it, I think I’m going to see this blog through to its end; I could get a blowjob out of this.

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