Страница 8 из 50
So I’m alone with a magical box containing two hundred and thirty-five thousand hours of pornography from across the globe and throughout time. I could spend the rest of my life looking at it, and believe me I’m trying, and still not see it all. It’s a wonderwall of debauchery — anal, interracial, vintage, German-stump porn — whatever you’re into, it’s there for you.
Sorry, fellas, for outing us, but ladies, if you ever get this call on your cell phone, you know your guy is ready to have at himself. “Hey, honey, just checking in. Where are you?” We usually don’t give a shit. But now we want the GPS coordinates and approximate travel speed. We’re triangulating your position to maximize beat-off time. “At the mall? Huh. Nearby mall or the faraway mall? Just curious. Just curious… oh, you just got there? Good. Take your time. Relax. Try out that massaging chair at the Brookstone. You deserve it. Don’t rush home. But when you do leave, just give me a call… so I know you’re safe. In fact, just let it ring once and then hang up. And then as you’re pulling up the driveway just give a toot-toot on the horn so I know you’re home.” We actually want to know when you’re pulling in the driveway so we can finish pulling on our penis and pull up our pants.
So alone with the porn-u-copia, you start having at yourself and god does the time fly. Seasons are changing outside the window. Fall turns to winter, like in a movie where calendar pages are flying away. Your pubes go gray.
When I finish with this spirited session, I’m immediately disgusted with myself. I’m in my refractory period, thinking, “Never again. What’s wrong with you? You could have invented something in that two hours! You’ll never get that time back! And that girl is probably a runaway. That’s somebody’s daughter. You sicken me.” So I angrily grab the mouse, click the browser closed and pow!
This is my computer. My desktop background picture used to be one of my cars, but when I wasn’t paying attention my wife swapped it for a picture of the kids.
Believe me, she knew what she was doing. I’m sure this shot was staged. I can hear Lynette coaching them, “Natalia, could you look a little more disgusted? And, So
Let me try to end on a more positive note. This one involves another bathroom interruption but, this time, there was a nice ending. I had gotten up early one morning to do a bunch of radio interviews. In between, I sipped on my coffee and munched on a fiber bar. Well, of course, the bowels got moving, so I plopped down on the toilet. I didn’t bother to close the door, as it was just me and the kids at home, no na
The bathroom I’m referring to is small and windowless. Thinking I was alone, and just popping in for a quickie, I left the door ajar about a foot and a half. Partway through my deuce dropping, boom-boom, out goes the light. (Bonus points to anyone who got the Pat Travers reference there.)
Someone had walked past the bathroom, flipped off the light and kept walking, wordless. I quickly did the math and yelled out, “So
CHAPTER 3
Don’t Be This Guy
AS THIS BOOK is filled with advice for my kids, I’d like to take a little time to list the people that I hope they don’t grow up to be. Kids, pay attention. I’m laying down a preemptive disownment if you become this guy or gal.
Zombie Guy: Not naming names, but one of the guys that I employ took a ration of shit from me one day because he was wearing an Evil Dead T-shirt.
I just don’t get the fascination with the undead. We’re all undead. Big deal. And I feel like any one of us could outrun a zombie. They don’t run; they don’t even jog. They shuffle. It’s like being scared of the eighty-four-year-old guy dragging his oxygen tank through a casino.
It feels like there are a hundred shows and a million movies about zombies. Are we not satisfied with this topic? I keep seeing shit about the zombie apocalypse. I’m pretty sure we have a military that could handle that situation. A bunch of decomposing guys ambling toward you, mumbling “brains,” aren’t going to be much match for an M1 Abrams tank.
I haven’t seen Evil Dead, so it’s not an issue with that specific movie. It is the fact that this dude is in his early forties. How are we so out of problems that forty-three-year-old educated men can be obsessed with the undead? I’ve long complained about adult males who are into this nerd fantasy bullshit, whether it’s zombies, comic books, Game of Thrones, whatever. When did it become okay for guys to start talking about how much they were anticipating the Silver Surfer movie, and how devastated they were when it didn’t live up to their expectations? We all have computers with porno and Wikipedia. You could become an expert on something in a weekend. Do it.
Foreskin Restoration Guy: Sorry for the cock talk, son, but if you end up as one of these assholes, I’ll know I did a shitty job as dad. Because that’s what this whole deal boils down to. If you complain about your foreskin, it is just another way of saying, “I hate you, Dad.” We did have you circumcised mostly for the hygiene aspect, otherwise you’d have to pull that banana peel back and do a little extra cleaning. Plus, I was hoping that you’d play a skill position on the football team, and every ounce of weight you can cut counts.
For some bizarre reason, out here in California there is a movement to ban circumcision. It should not be shocking to you that this movement is centered around ultra-liberal places like San Francisco and Santa Monica. And there are guys who go through various surgeries and attach weights and insert balloons to supposedly restore their foreskin. That’s a lot of calories burned just to freak out your next hooker. I know that uncut is natural, but it just looks weird. It’s like a Doberman with floppy ears. That’s how God created them, but they look fucked up.
These guys always make a big stink about supposedly being mutilated. I’m pretty sure we’ve been doing this for thousands of years. Heck, it’s a sacred rite in Jewish culture. Which is why they all become agents: They’re used to taking ten percent off the top. Half the world is cut and the other half is uncut, and it hasn’t made a shit bit of difference. So, So
Formerly Fat Guy: I think you’ll have a good metabolism like your mom, So