Twice as pissed and not a bit less retarded Teenage Sex She wants ewe, baby. You know what I don't get about sex? Everyone thinks it's a big deal. Sure, it's a big hobby for anybody with pubic hair, but I'm beginning to wonder why. A common topic of conversation right now in my life is who's had sex. Suddenly whether you've put your penis in a hole or not is important. There are boys and girls in trailor parks every day that lose their virginity at the age of twelve. Why don't we praise them? They're having sex. That's cool, isn't it? Or do they have to be drunk when they fuck? Alcohol is the perfect alibi if you're a teenager. "Yeah, I made out with her. I was drunk, so it's ok." and "Dude, there's a sheep in my bed. But hey, I was drunk so it's all good!" are common things said by all high school students. Especially the thing about the sheep. Liquor Commercials I think liquor commercials have gone from slightly goofy to severely inbred. Booze ads had their talking animal phase. We had those frogs that would piece together a beer name so we all knew what to drink. Hell, if a bunch of amphibian puppets think it's cool, then it must be worth drinking. I don't think I ever saw that commercial where the penguin said "Dooby dooby doo buy this alcohol now" or whatever and I'm guessing that was just as effective when tricking people into purchasing booze. Recently, I saw that commercial for Bailey's where a girl is with three guys playing pool. Normally when a woman's chilling with three men we call this a gang bang. Mmmmmm. Tastes like thick, creamy promiscuity. This girl, or "slut", makes a shot in pool that makes all the other guys think, "Wow, I better get this bitch drunk so I can hump her face." The fact that they're impressed by her pool skillz is shown by the way they lift their eyebrows and shake their heads as if to say, "You crazy bitch!" in a casual I'm-not-going-to-hit-you-yet way. So to congratulate her on leaving the kitchen, one of the sneaky guys drinks her glass of Bailey's. The woman, who shall be referred to as the "Billiards Whore", then puts her tongue in everyone's mouth until she finds the guy who drank her alcohol for her. When she finds him, she sucks his face as if to say, "I want my alcohol back. And I'm a slut. A big one." Mission accomplished, Billards Whore. At the end of the commercial, while the camera zooms out and shows us what we're supposed to buy to make out with people we hardly know, the announcer man (or possibly God) says "Always drink responsibly" as if watching a hot girl put her tongue in everyone's mouth is responsible. You can't drink and drive, but you can suck the delicious brain poison from someone's mouth without anyone complaining. That's like some guy in an orange hunting vest jumping inside your television and unloading an automatic weapon on a box full of kittens right before an NRA spokesperson tells us not to shoot people. Do this stupid thing, not that one. Thanks, advertising. I'm pretty sure that being told to drink responsibly will remind me not to do something stupid like run over some bald eagles even though I just watched some girl slut around for booze. Kids, remember to drink responsibly if you can figure out whatever the hell that means. The story of Assley As a high school freshman, I made a lot of mistakes. For example, I turned what used to be a lifelong 4.0 GPA into a disgraceful 3.5. If I was a smart kid like all of those standardized tests told me, I would have drawn a steak knife and committed hara-kari upon receiving the report card where I discovered I wasn't anywhere near as much of a genius as that kid who became a doctor when he was only a zygote. Instead, I went on to make more blunders as a confused teenager. For example, as a freshman I was addicted to heavy levels of rubber cement for three years. Yes, three years of adhesive addiction condensed into two semesters. I soon found out, however, that getting only medium-good grades and eating sticky grey stuff was the least of my problems. I soon met a girl named Ashley. Only because I now hate her, I'm going to call her Assley because it allows me to insult her by only changing one letter of her name. Trust me, though. If it were possible to replace one letter and get "Evil Horned Bitch From Satan's Rectum" the insult would be much more accurate and infinitely more satisfying. Mind you, I was a naive freshman who believed women are nice people and they were incapable of doing wrong. Hell, just look at TV. The bad guy is always a white man. How could I ever suspect a girl to do something that isn't volunteer work or the laundry? Looking back, I laugh at how stupid I was. Yes, I laugh and laugh and laugh. And then I get a little relaxed and fart. Then I leave the room, because damn, that one was nasty. She could talk, she had boobs, and she could spell any word with under six letters. What else could I have wanted? Assley was able to wow me with her charm, her brain, and her boobs. Later I found out her boobs were actually an illusion created with prisms and strobe lights, her brain was a Speak & Spell, and her charm was just her boobs again. But until I saw her for the worthless harlot that she was, she was what consumed most of my life. I couldn't look at a phone without thinking about how she talks. I couldn't eat without thinking of how she eats. I couldn't take a crap without thinking of how she craps. Just kidding! I found out later she was bulimic and bulimic girls don't crap. They puke a lot and then they die a lot. Unfortunately, this bulimic girl didn't die early enough. I was soon subjected to an inner circle of hell even the Dell Computer Guy would never see. I didn't get to see Assley very much because she was often a busy girl and she lived in a local women's penitentiary. Because of this tragic fact, any time we got together resulted in horrible porn-worthy dialogue and a mouth full of tongue for both of us. This happened a couple times until she grew tired of swallowing my face while I groped the boobs that were really holograms. She wanted more, while I wanted her to stop bitching about wanting more. Eventually, the will of Assley overcame mine. After all, I was merely a bemused little boy while she was the Black Angel of Death with more venereal diseases than you could shake a stick at. In the event that you feel the need to shake a stick at her, please put a condom on the stick. You don't know where she's been. Hell, neither does she. And so a lustful insanity possessed Assley. At the time, Assley and I were on the couch making out like two kids who had no idea what they were doing. Or rather, one kid who had no idea what he was doing and a slut who had the experience of a thousand trampy women and a few men. Regardless of how we were making out, Assley still craved more action than I could provide. It was then that she pried my face away from hers and nodded her head toward the air hockey table in my basement. What happened next will be presented in Dialogue-O-VisionTM. ME: "What? You want to make out on the air hockey table?" ASSLEY: "No. I want more, baby." ME: "You want to have sex on that air hockey table?" ASSLEY: "More than that, baby." ME: "Then what the hell are you talking about?" ASSLEY: "I want to fuck that air hockey table." ME: (In a voice similar to what a confused dog would sound like) "Whaaaaaaat?! Then she left me and started totally making out with it. She used her tongue, her fingers, and parts of her body I didn't think could be used to stimulate the genitals of an air hockey table. Hell, I didn't know air hockey tables had genitals to stimulate. I watched in horror as she kept on going until she realized my basement was full of things she could make out with. And now, more Dialogue-O-VisionTM. ASSLEY: "Hey! I'm sick of this air hockey table so I'm going to have sex with that chair now!" (Dry humps it) ME: "My grandma died in that chair!" ASSLEY: "Yes, now tell her to get out of it so I can continue having sex with an inanimate object because I'm a slut!" ME: "Grandma, please stop being dead long enough to leave the chair and die someplace else." GRANDMA: "Sure thing, sonny!" (Laughs, walks away from the chair, and then dies again) ME: "Thanks." ASSLEY: "I'm still a slut! Look at me slut around! I'm putting Legos in my underwear now! (Puts handful of Legos in her underwear) ME: "God damn it! Get out of my house! And take those Legos out of your vagina!" (Escorts her slutty ass out of my god damn house) ASSLEY: "You never told me you had a lawn! I'm going to try to give it a handjob!" And that's how I left her. With her pants down and a disgusting humpy look on her face as she desperately tried to make blades of grass ejaculate on her face. So with a broken heart and a scarred psyche I calmly closed the front door to my house, locked it, and hoped the Devil Slut's body would be overcome with AIDS in the near future. But no, her reign of terror continued long after the police came to my house and magically whisked her back to prison. An example of how personality can affect one's perception of the physical appearance of their bitch ex-girlfriend. It turns out that the delusional whorebag thought she left her glasses at my house. But after the "incident" I did my best to avoid her. If she called, I hung up. If she tried to instant message me, I called her a bitch and blocked her screen name. If she came back to my house to have sex with my lawn again, I let her have her fun until the police came again and hit her with stuff. Anyway, back to the glasses dilemma. She was under the impression that she left her glasses at my house. To be honest, I don't remember the bitch wearing glasses. And hell, if you saw the way she stripped at the drop of a hat (or a dollar) you wouldn't remember her wearing anything, really. Not even a smile. Just a slutty grimace and week-old semen on her face. I don't even know whose semen it was. Rumor has it that she enjoyed the jizz of vikings. So there's a good chance that was the semen of seamen. Get it? Ahahahaha please kill me. Because I was smart enough to erase her from my life, she felt the need to contact everybody who might go my school and ask them if they knew me, if I might have her glasses, and ya know, what's up? Apparently she sent out a barrage of emails to everyone who said in their AOL profiles that they lived within a radius of 50 miles from me. For the next couple years I met people who asked me if that girl ever found her glasses, to which I replied, "I don't even think she wore glasses. That girl was fucking crazy." And damn it, most people agreed. A Quick Review: Things Assley Had Sex With 1. An Air Hockey Table Early in our story, Assley left your studly narrator to attempt to copulate with the old air hockey table I had in the basement. Had she tried to fuck the air hockey table pictured above, she would have most likely included those three children and that picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in her sexual romp. 2. The Rocking Chair My Grandmother Died In Assley had no respect for the dead. And if you were paying attention when you read the previous story, you should note that she had no respect for the living, either. You ever seen a girl give a chair dance to herself? I assure you, this wasn't the kind of softcore sex with furniture you see on Showtime late at night. This didn't even try to throw in a plot. Assley said "Hi Chair." And the chair didn't talk because it was a chair. And then the sex started. Nobody dressed up as a butler or anything. All because the air hockey table stopped putting out (I unplugged it). 3. Some Legos Remember when you were in kindergarten and a lust-driven teenager stuck your building blocks in her most sacred of holes, completely ruining your Batman Fortress? Probably not, but if you did I'm sure you could relate to the tragedy that transpired in my basement and in that girl's panties. Too bad there wasn't a pile of cyanide-coated Linkin' Logs nearby. 4. My Lawn, Damn It It's hard to explain what this sort of spectacle looks like without shuddering in horror. So instead, I'll annoy you with a barrage of lame puns. Man, she sure had sex with that grass for a lawn time! And she was a real pain in the grass! I would have gladly slit her neck with a blade! Also, she was a total fucking skank. Sure, the puns may have stopped there, but the truth kept on coming. I hate you, Assley, and I will see you in hell. We can hang out, reflect on old times while being tortured by demons, and maybe have some coffee. I hope you like it hot, bitch! If you're reading this then the rants have stopped. Look below at the links with your eyes and move the mouse with your hand and click it with your finger to proceed or I will kick your ass with my fist faster than you can say "Ninja Cheesecake." Back to the Main Rantings Page Back to the Main Not-Rantings Page