One of the worst things that has ever happened to me was being recognized and having my name shouted out in the middle of a porno store. If you have never been in a smut hut there is a certain amount of unspoken etiquette that needs to be followed. Always look down or at the wall. Never make eye contact with anyone. Don't shout anyone's name out. And use the buddy system. Being alone in a porno store is a no-no. You'll find yourself drowning in movie covers of 40 year old sluts pretending to be hot and naughty babysitters, if the feelings of loneliness and being pathetic don't kill you first.
So right after my 18th birthday my friends decided to take me to the nearest porno store. Unfortunately the closest store was in fucking Fort Dodge, Iowa. If Iowa was a person, Fort Dodge would probably be the person's asshole. It's dirty, small and cramped, and filled with shit heads. So you can imagine what a porno store in the asshole of Iowa would be like. Seventy-five dollars to buy a movie and they couldn't use five dollars of that to buy a mop. It was also one of those places that RENTED porn. You have to be some kind of freak with a life supply of latex gloves to want to mess with a rented porno DVD.
So we walk into the store and begin to laugh at the movies. I am facing the back wall with my rear end pointing toward the front door. I am debating over which movie would be funnier, Zorho, The Blair Wench Project, or Anal Princess Diaries (all are actual pornos by the way) when I hear that massive scream behind me. "CASEY HUFF, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"
I froze. Because no one wants to be recognized in a porno store. It's just one of those things that is bound to stop time itself and end the universe. I just stood there in shock. I slowly turn my head and see one of my friend's dads...who just also happened to be a pastor. Apparently he had seen my very recognizable truck outside of the front door and come in to see what was going on.
This leads me to another rule of going into your local adult book store, make your friends drive or park a few blocks away. Because when your 1989 blue Ford truck is the only one in town with a Goonies bumper sticker, you are pretty much screwed when you park it in front of any place of ill repute, like a porn shop, a brothel, or a Younkers.
What made matters worse was that I also knew the cashier of said porno shop. The guy was gay and related to my neighbors down the street. The guy sees the exchange between me and the reverend and walks over to me and says to the pastor, "Chill out guy, he's 18 and he's getting a birthday present!" He then takes a big black dildo, still in the package thank god, and places it in my hand with a smirk on his face.
I, still stunned, say nothing, just turn back to the movies, and wonder if Extreme Teens 28 is better or worse then Extreme Teens 19. I assumed my friend's dad just walked away because an eon later, when I finally looked back toward the door, he was gone. Leaving me with a possible shit in my pants and a dildo in my hands. I gathered up my friends and as we were leaving the gay clerk decided to hit on one of my friends. I was just relieved that I was not the one getting hit on by the gay guy whose main source of income involved handling semen soaked rental DVDs of horny housewives. My experience of being hit on by a gay person would not happen for a few more years, but that is a story for another day.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Hot Late Night Action
Before I begin I want to make something perfectly clear. I like to crack jokes, poke fun, and generally try to find humor in many of the things I do. This, however, does not always mean then things I say or write will be amusing to you. It's my damn blog and I'm not here to entertain. I've often heard the remark made to me, usually from stuck up blond whores, that I am not funny or amusing. My reply to them is always, "Oh I'm sorry. I didn't know I was put on this planet for your amusement. I don't care if you think I'm funny, just like you don't care that I judge you on how many frat guys you screw. The only difference is my cracking jokes does not get me a vagina that looks like roast beef."
Anyway. So I had an interview in St. Louis this past week. On my way back I stopped in Iowa City to see some friends. It was good times. Iowa City is cool in that the campus is intertwined with this old shopping district. You can literally leave the biology building, walk a few hundred feet, and be in bar. It makes me think of my grandpa, who donated his body to the University of Iowa. A college frat kid studied and dissected Grandpa in the Biology Building, then proceeded to throw up because the frat kid was a pussy. After that the college pussy went 300 feet to a bar, drank, threw up again, looked like a pussy again, then got sympathy sex from some desperate ugly girl who probably ended up looking like my grandpa.
So my friends and I ate, hung out, watched movies, basically the shit I don't get to do anymore because I don't know anyone in Ames to hang out with, nor do I make the effort to get to know anyone. It got late and I ended up crashing on their couch. Now I am a deep sleeper. Apparently that same night I even slept through a tornado siren. So I'm sleeping on the couch and sometime in the middle of the night I start to have a dream that I'm making out with some girl. I don't get "wet dreams" but my libido definitely has an effect on my REM cycle. So I'm dreaming about getting hot and heavy when I suddenly realize that this dream chick is the worst kisser ever. It figures I would dream about making out, then get paired up with someone who sucks at it.
So then this girl starts to move up my face to my nose and eyes. I then feel a slight weight on my chest. Then I quickly think, "holy shit this isn't a dream." I jerk awake to find my friend's dog, sitting on my stomach, and going to town on my facial orifices. Damn it. The dog jumps down and runs to the couch across the room, and just looks at me with sad puppy eyes. I'm then thinking random thoughts to myself, "You're the sad one?! Do I sweat peanut butter? How many licks does it take to get to the center of me? What are they feeding this dog that makes me so delicious by comparison?"
So I, not willing to give the dog a second helping, turn on my side with my face nuzzled into the couch for protection. I hear the dog move, walk up to me, then proceed to lick the very top of my now showing ass crack and back. Mother fucker. Needless to say I just laid back and took it as this point. I could make a rape victim joke here but that would be in very poor taste. Rape is never funny, unless your Demi Moore raping Ashton Kutcher. Because I personally believe Ashton made a deal with the devil to become famous, and the devil got him back by making Demi Moore rape him every night. And that's why we stay away from the devil children. I could probably sell him my soul to find a job, but then what would he do to me? He'd probably force me to be licked by a dog every night with Demi Moore's head on it. Which is still a better deal overall compared to ending up with Demi Moore.
Anyway. So I had an interview in St. Louis this past week. On my way back I stopped in Iowa City to see some friends. It was good times. Iowa City is cool in that the campus is intertwined with this old shopping district. You can literally leave the biology building, walk a few hundred feet, and be in bar. It makes me think of my grandpa, who donated his body to the University of Iowa. A college frat kid studied and dissected Grandpa in the Biology Building, then proceeded to throw up because the frat kid was a pussy. After that the college pussy went 300 feet to a bar, drank, threw up again, looked like a pussy again, then got sympathy sex from some desperate ugly girl who probably ended up looking like my grandpa.
So my friends and I ate, hung out, watched movies, basically the shit I don't get to do anymore because I don't know anyone in Ames to hang out with, nor do I make the effort to get to know anyone. It got late and I ended up crashing on their couch. Now I am a deep sleeper. Apparently that same night I even slept through a tornado siren. So I'm sleeping on the couch and sometime in the middle of the night I start to have a dream that I'm making out with some girl. I don't get "wet dreams" but my libido definitely has an effect on my REM cycle. So I'm dreaming about getting hot and heavy when I suddenly realize that this dream chick is the worst kisser ever. It figures I would dream about making out, then get paired up with someone who sucks at it.
So then this girl starts to move up my face to my nose and eyes. I then feel a slight weight on my chest. Then I quickly think, "holy shit this isn't a dream." I jerk awake to find my friend's dog, sitting on my stomach, and going to town on my facial orifices. Damn it. The dog jumps down and runs to the couch across the room, and just looks at me with sad puppy eyes. I'm then thinking random thoughts to myself, "You're the sad one?! Do I sweat peanut butter? How many licks does it take to get to the center of me? What are they feeding this dog that makes me so delicious by comparison?"
So I, not willing to give the dog a second helping, turn on my side with my face nuzzled into the couch for protection. I hear the dog move, walk up to me, then proceed to lick the very top of my now showing ass crack and back. Mother fucker. Needless to say I just laid back and took it as this point. I could make a rape victim joke here but that would be in very poor taste. Rape is never funny, unless your Demi Moore raping Ashton Kutcher. Because I personally believe Ashton made a deal with the devil to become famous, and the devil got him back by making Demi Moore rape him every night. And that's why we stay away from the devil children. I could probably sell him my soul to find a job, but then what would he do to me? He'd probably force me to be licked by a dog every night with Demi Moore's head on it. Which is still a better deal overall compared to ending up with Demi Moore.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
An internal what?
Two Saturdays ago I started to freak the fuck out. I am taking blood thinners, and one of the warning signs when something is going wrong is when there is blood in your poop. Well two weekends ago I was relieving myself from the previous night's pork loin and I get the sense something is wrong. I check and the kids I took to the pool are definitely not ok. So I go to the emergency room.
The doctor in the room is cool about it, the finger exam feels like an eternity. To calm me down he tells me a story, while rooting around in an "Exit-Only" part of my body. He says, "It's a good thing you came in here. Once a guy came in and he had an apple stuck up his shit pipe, this is nothing compared to that." His story does make me take my mind off things while I contemplated the physics of apple/rectum insertion. Size, color, shape etc. Would a granny smith apple cause irritation because of the increased sourness? Anyway, he was not able to find anything, but told me if there was more blood to come back in.
So a few days go by and there is no more blood. Then about 3AM Thursday morning I get up to do my business. This time the blood comes, I mean a lot of blood. I had taken the Cosby Kids to a pool of red Jello instead of water. So I drive myself back to the emergency room. I get admitted, put on the hospital gown, and again with a doctor and the finger. The emergency room doctor this time ordered some blood tests. So a few minutes later in walks this gorgeous lab technician. I mean she is a fucking 10.
Meanwhile I am in a hospital gown and strapped into a hospital bed with oxygen and heart monitors. We begin a little small talk. I start laying on the charm. I tease her about the animal stickers she has on her carrying kit for the kids, and the gracefulness of her ability to suck the life blood out of me. She tells me I am actually funny and is laughing and everything!
As she is starting to leave I ask her if the TV remote is anywhere on the floor. She can not find it, but she stretches up and turns the TV on for me. I didn't know turning on Telenovela could be so hot. She asks if she can turn it to a different channel for me, but she is not making eye contact with me when she asks. She is looking a little farther south. I say ok and she hits the channel button two more times and is starting to look uncomfortable. I then realize what the problem is...
A good geometric math teacher or billiards professional would have been able to see it right away, but it took me a few minutes. The angle of the hot lab tech's eyes, adjacent to the television, gave her a precise perpendicular look at my taint and penis. I am a naked fat guy under my skimpy hospital robe, giving the world a clear shot at my twig and apple bag (at least my apples were not up anyone's ass, but that did not help the situation).
I realized what the problem was and I quickly told her the channel she had just turned it to was fine and she was good to go. She ran out the door and I looked up to the TV to see what was on. At full volume, I now found myself watching an infomercial for a penis enhancing pump. I couldn't change the channel because there was no remote and I was strapped to the hospital bed. It was another half-hour before anyone came in. By then I had learned all about the Pos-T-Vac Penis Vacuum Therapy system. To bad I don't have a job, otherwise I'd be on my way to defeating future erectile dysfunction and present small penis size.
So it turns out I have an internal hemorrhoid. I need to take a bath once a day for it to heal. Luckily my bathroom is free from hot lab techs...and apples.
The doctor in the room is cool about it, the finger exam feels like an eternity. To calm me down he tells me a story, while rooting around in an "Exit-Only" part of my body. He says, "It's a good thing you came in here. Once a guy came in and he had an apple stuck up his shit pipe, this is nothing compared to that." His story does make me take my mind off things while I contemplated the physics of apple/rectum insertion. Size, color, shape etc. Would a granny smith apple cause irritation because of the increased sourness? Anyway, he was not able to find anything, but told me if there was more blood to come back in.
So a few days go by and there is no more blood. Then about 3AM Thursday morning I get up to do my business. This time the blood comes, I mean a lot of blood. I had taken the Cosby Kids to a pool of red Jello instead of water. So I drive myself back to the emergency room. I get admitted, put on the hospital gown, and again with a doctor and the finger. The emergency room doctor this time ordered some blood tests. So a few minutes later in walks this gorgeous lab technician. I mean she is a fucking 10.
Meanwhile I am in a hospital gown and strapped into a hospital bed with oxygen and heart monitors. We begin a little small talk. I start laying on the charm. I tease her about the animal stickers she has on her carrying kit for the kids, and the gracefulness of her ability to suck the life blood out of me. She tells me I am actually funny and is laughing and everything!
As she is starting to leave I ask her if the TV remote is anywhere on the floor. She can not find it, but she stretches up and turns the TV on for me. I didn't know turning on Telenovela could be so hot. She asks if she can turn it to a different channel for me, but she is not making eye contact with me when she asks. She is looking a little farther south. I say ok and she hits the channel button two more times and is starting to look uncomfortable. I then realize what the problem is...
A good geometric math teacher or billiards professional would have been able to see it right away, but it took me a few minutes. The angle of the hot lab tech's eyes, adjacent to the television, gave her a precise perpendicular look at my taint and penis. I am a naked fat guy under my skimpy hospital robe, giving the world a clear shot at my twig and apple bag (at least my apples were not up anyone's ass, but that did not help the situation).
I realized what the problem was and I quickly told her the channel she had just turned it to was fine and she was good to go. She ran out the door and I looked up to the TV to see what was on. At full volume, I now found myself watching an infomercial for a penis enhancing pump. I couldn't change the channel because there was no remote and I was strapped to the hospital bed. It was another half-hour before anyone came in. By then I had learned all about the Pos-T-Vac Penis Vacuum Therapy system. To bad I don't have a job, otherwise I'd be on my way to defeating future erectile dysfunction and present small penis size.
So it turns out I have an internal hemorrhoid. I need to take a bath once a day for it to heal. Luckily my bathroom is free from hot lab techs...and apples.
Three Weeks and Fail
Back in the last week of April I got a phone call from a college acquaintance of mine. He said he had a job for me. I, being starved for a career change, jumped on it. I interviewed for the position of a community liaison at a nursing home. I was hired a few days later and began work that next week. I had no training, it was one of those jobs where the boss hands you a blue three-ring binder and an empty flash drive and says go to work. I had no office, no computer, no work phone, nothing. Three weeks later my boss calls me into his office and lays me off. It turns out the day I interviewed they found out my position was being eliminated. No one thought to tell me, however.
I had already resigned from my last job. I called them to ask for my old job back, but some high school kid had already replaced me. It was comforting to know my job was so important it could have been done by someone 9 years younger than me, and that it only took them two weeks to find a replacement.
So since then I have been spending time between my parent's house...sulking, my apartment...sulking, and the Iowa Workforce Development office...pretending not to sulk. The first time I walked into the IWD office there was a well-dressed gentleman sitting at the edge of a table, clearly he had lost his job earlier that day and came right from the office that fired him. He probably should have gone home to gather his thoughts before because he just sat there in a daze. I noticed that in order to be seen by an advisor you needed to take a number and sit down. I, being the nice prince I am, noticed the man had no number.
I asked the man if he was waiting and needed a number. The man replied, "I've been here all god damn day and no one has helped me, now shut the hell up." I took a number and sat down. A few minutes later a lady calls my name and I look back to the nicely dressed man. He looks confused and says to me, "Guess I should have taken a number then, eh." I thought about giving him mine since he had been waiting. I didn't and thought to myself, "should have read the directions on the front door dip shit." I sit down and spend some time asking questions about my resume, applying for jobs, and unemployment. The lady was nice, but kind of manish. As I'm leaving the office I see the same well-dressed man is sitting with some hot younger blonde advisor, a solid 8 at least. She does that standing move where her cleavage somehow is the first thing to hit the full height of her body before any other part, and she goes to make copies. As I walk by the man says to me, "Those tits were worth the damn wait." I should have let the man go instead of me. Fucking karma.
I had already resigned from my last job. I called them to ask for my old job back, but some high school kid had already replaced me. It was comforting to know my job was so important it could have been done by someone 9 years younger than me, and that it only took them two weeks to find a replacement.
So since then I have been spending time between my parent's house...sulking, my apartment...sulking, and the Iowa Workforce Development office...pretending not to sulk. The first time I walked into the IWD office there was a well-dressed gentleman sitting at the edge of a table, clearly he had lost his job earlier that day and came right from the office that fired him. He probably should have gone home to gather his thoughts before because he just sat there in a daze. I noticed that in order to be seen by an advisor you needed to take a number and sit down. I, being the nice prince I am, noticed the man had no number.
I asked the man if he was waiting and needed a number. The man replied, "I've been here all god damn day and no one has helped me, now shut the hell up." I took a number and sat down. A few minutes later a lady calls my name and I look back to the nicely dressed man. He looks confused and says to me, "Guess I should have taken a number then, eh." I thought about giving him mine since he had been waiting. I didn't and thought to myself, "should have read the directions on the front door dip shit." I sit down and spend some time asking questions about my resume, applying for jobs, and unemployment. The lady was nice, but kind of manish. As I'm leaving the office I see the same well-dressed man is sitting with some hot younger blonde advisor, a solid 8 at least. She does that standing move where her cleavage somehow is the first thing to hit the full height of her body before any other part, and she goes to make copies. As I walk by the man says to me, "Those tits were worth the damn wait." I should have let the man go instead of me. Fucking karma.
It Starts
I am going to start receiving unemployment checks. I'm not happy about it but I've begun to accept it as an inevitability. The state sent me a one page green letter toady telling me how much they are going to give me. It's a fair amount for someone whose last job lasted only three weeks.
I finished my master's degree last December. I now get the letters MFCS behind my name. It is supposed to mean I am now a Master of Family and Consumer Sciences. I can never remember the letters, however. So when someone asks me what my Master's Degree is in I have to think to myself the following phrase "I am a Mother Fucking Cunnilingus Supreme...MFCS." Then I am able to remember what my degree is.
One time I accidentally whispered the words loud enough to an old lady at church who asked me what my degree was in. I think she was in disbelief as to what I said. I then replied louder, "Mother Fucking Cunt..." I then realized what I was saying and I just kind of quickly ran away. I probably could have told her something else to cover my ass because she was old and probably hard of hearing, but I'm not that quick of a thinker.
Don't worry if you haven't heard of Family and Consumer Sciences, no one has really. Basically a few feminists decided they didn't like their Home-Ech classes, so they branched out and took a bunch of stuff from other majors and combined them together...like cooking in a Home-Ech class. Anyway the major itself was ok, but since no one knows what the major is it's hard to get possible employers to understand that I want to work with people and not bake a chocolate cake.
I finished my master's degree last December. I now get the letters MFCS behind my name. It is supposed to mean I am now a Master of Family and Consumer Sciences. I can never remember the letters, however. So when someone asks me what my Master's Degree is in I have to think to myself the following phrase "I am a Mother Fucking Cunnilingus Supreme...MFCS." Then I am able to remember what my degree is.
One time I accidentally whispered the words loud enough to an old lady at church who asked me what my degree was in. I think she was in disbelief as to what I said. I then replied louder, "Mother Fucking Cunt..." I then realized what I was saying and I just kind of quickly ran away. I probably could have told her something else to cover my ass because she was old and probably hard of hearing, but I'm not that quick of a thinker.
Don't worry if you haven't heard of Family and Consumer Sciences, no one has really. Basically a few feminists decided they didn't like their Home-Ech classes, so they branched out and took a bunch of stuff from other majors and combined them together...like cooking in a Home-Ech class. Anyway the major itself was ok, but since no one knows what the major is it's hard to get possible employers to understand that I want to work with people and not bake a chocolate cake.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)