A gChat About the Legend of The Chode
5:50 PM Count Cenci: Chodes have fascinated me for years, mainly because I’m pretty sure they don’t exist.
me: Well I can say that I’ve never seen one.
Count Cenci: As heterosexual man, I have encountered penis in the locker room, but it’s not something I have studied.
5:51 PM me: It’s probably best…
Count Cenci: Here’s why I think they’re a complete fabrication: I’ve never even met a girl that HAS seen one. Except for those girls that always say things when you’re at the bar to make them sound exotic, when you know they aren’t. I used to argue vehemently that chodes did exist…mainly because I don’t want to live in a world where they don’t.
me: I concur.
Count Cenci: Just for the readers, a chode is penis that is wider than it is long. Picture an ashtray or something equivalent to that. A tiny penis is not necessarily a chode.
5:55 PM me: As a woman, I can’t see how this would be satisfying, even in porn.
Count Cenci: Can we agree that a chode almost always has to be small? Actually not even almost always; always always.
5:56 PM me: Judges? They’ll allow it!
Count Cenci: Excellent. Now to continue.
me: Have you seen a picture of one?
Count Cenci: Beat me to it, forgive the pun. I have searched the interwebs high and low and seen more tiny penises than I ever wish to. Actually more penises than I would ever want to, and not a single chode.
5:58 PM me: Well, well, well. Google doesn’t seem to have all the answers after all. I’m sure this would be a unique differentiator for Bing. Perhaps a corporate letter to tip them off – again (p)unintended. Google needs to be taken down a peg or two.
Count Cenci: You can find everything online now. I actually found some porn of a woman sticking cockroaches in her snatch. I mean everything is out there. I even asked a buddy with more Internet knowledge than I and we both agreed: No chodes on the Internet. Maybe all the poor saps that have chodes are pulling a Murdoch and demanding Google pay them.
6:00 PM So let’s making the sweeping generalization that chodes aren’t anywhere on the Internet.
me: Not even: http://chode.com/ Although that yielded interesting results…
6:01 PM Count Cenci: Yes, it did. Maybe http://chode.org? Again a strange site.
me: Yes, still not very helpful. But perhaps The Chode is like God. You can never prove its existence, but some just believe.
Count Cenci: WOW. That’s the best explanation in all my the chode conversations I’ve ever had.
me: Now we’s gettin’ deep.
Count Cenci: Was that another (p)unintentional pun?
me: If you please!
Count Cenci: I have a hypothesis about the few women who have claimed they’ve seen chodes. Again, these women said such things probably to appear more exotic. They probably encountered an unusually thick and short penis. They’re out there. Right now I am pushing my fist into my palm, where it immediately falls out. That’s the hand movement I am implying.
me: First, who in their right mind would actually admit to that? And second, well that second part made no sense.
6:10 PM Count Cenci: The penis is too thick and short to actually penetrate the vaginal wall (in this analogy my palm–and my fist being the squat dick).
me: Yes, yes I see the problem.
Count Cenci: A serious problem that probably makes less secure women feel terrible and even more insecure.
me: Sort of a round hole square peg problem. Only the square peg is just an abnormally thick cock.
6:12 PM Count Cenci: Correctamundo! 1000 Starwood points for The $@bs. You’re doing a good job cutting through my endlessly rambling brain.
6:13 PM me: I must admit, until today, I had never heard of The Chode. Frankly, I’m embarrassed.
Count Cenci: My theory/postulate/whatever is that the chode was actually invented by these women, who, when faced with a particularly think and short penis decided, “Nah fuck that. Let’s just call it a chode and make people think there are penises out there which are wider than they are long.‘ They. Do. Not. Exist.
6:17 PM me: Pls hold
6:18 PM me: And we’re back
6:19 PM Count Cenci: That was like gChat blue balls. Now I just want a camel light and a cold shower
6:20 PM me: ROFL. My apologies! But bake to chodes. I wouldn’t be sorry if they didn’t exist. I’d be fucking scarred for life if I ever actually saw one in real life. An animated one might be ok though… something by Disney?
Masturbation Tips II – For Her
I’ve never met a man that doesn’t masturbate. I have, however, met scores of women who don’t. It’s no wonder so many women have never had an orgasm – how can you possibly tell someone how to get you off if you yourself don’t know how? I rub one out religiously before bed, which must make me some sort of a sexpert, right? This being said, I’ll throw in my own two cents (more like a quarter: inflation) with some of the information I found online.
If there’s one thing I learned from my research, it’s that vaginas are like snowflakes, no two are alike. Everyone likes something different and you just have to try new things to determine what works best for you. Here are some ideas:
- Toys – I don’t think anyone would disagree that props make the play better. Vibrators are a cheap and easy way to start off. When you’re comfortable with the basics, you can then graduate to The Rabbit. Many friends have recommended dildos, but personally I don’t like anything foreign up there (unless he’s Dominican – booya)!
- Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb – Don’t underrate the power of your own palm. Sometimes the right friction can only be done with a hand… and your own, at that. I recommend rubbing over any thin fabric instead of directly on your clit – panties work perfectly, as do sheets. One site suggested tracing the entire alphabet on your hot button – this seems rather tedious and requires entirely too much thought, but let me know…
Shower to Shower – An untold secret in many happily ending masturbating stories. Removable shower heads are ideal, but even spreading ‘em under the bathtub faucet will do the trick and the compromising position can be a plus. In the summer, sometimes a pool filter can provide a good gush that will do the job – less accessible, but then you can tan while you play. It’s a win win!
Girls, I leave you to it: WOMANOAH!
Hair: What Is It Good For?
Absolutely nothing. And yet I can’t get over the amount of time the average human being spends either trying to remove, or else regrow hair in choice spots of the body.
This might be kind of an overshare, but since it is what I do best, moments when incessant grooming matters most are farther between of late, and it’s just a lot less work. May I also add that it’s much less painful; anyone who has received a Brazilian wax knows what I mean. There’s an unspoken agreement that beauty is pain: Waxing, threading, certain foot apparel, it can all feel very unpleasant.
Add to that the fact that I just switched to a gym close enough to shower at home; no hardly reason at all to pick up a razor as often. Why bother when no one sees anything other than my face and hands? Wait, if I start wearing a burka, I wouldn’t have to tweeze either…
Updates to Tickle Your Funny Bone
Well, they don’t really make you laugh as much as make your eyes roll to the back of your head and stay there. You know the updates of which I speak:
Whether on Twitter or Facebook, updates such as “Having my morning coffee“, “Off to lunch“, “Spaghettios for dinner tonight“, “Listening to (insert dumb song here)” just don’t seem to have much of a point. Why are you clogging up my stream with your nonsense? (That’s what she said?) If you don’t have anything interesting to say, why say anything at all?
So What If I Am?
Call me judgemental if you want to. Call me whatever you want to, just don’t bother leaving a message. I have very low tolerance for nonsense from anyone that isn’t:
1. very young
2. very old
3. mentally challenged
Please note that there isn’t a fourth option for those who are merely stupid. I honestly wish I were dumber. I think I’d be much more at peace if my IQ/level of consciousness was knocked down a couple of pegs (and I’m only slightly smarter than the average bear). If ignorant is bliss, then it would seem to follow that intelligence is hell; particularly in a world full of morons.
It’s with pricks in mind such as the one who set afire the Xmas stocking previously adorning my front door that I address this remark, provided he could read (which I doubt). I’ve only ever had a handful of physical confrontations in my life: I’m a lover, not an idiot. But it’s a wonder how more people don’t die in larger masses more frequently, either by being strangled by those unfortunate enough to have to deal with them regularly, or out of their own sheer stupidity.
Can I get an amen?
As you might have noticed, I haven’t blogged since before Christmas. During my vacation, I would check my email and note that my inbox was inundated with my google alerts set to ‘penis’, ‘testicles’, ‘vagina’, ‘masturbate’, and ‘naked’. I saved them to go through the content at a later date, but suddenly I realized that I just didn’t care any more.
Is it news that there are morons and perverts in every corner of the globe? No, it’s not. But more importantly, it’s not even entertaining enough anymore for me to simply cover their histrionics. For a long time my first priority has been hits and web traffic, but the content has been much less fulfilling. I barely wanted to read my own blog and was exceedingly bored with my posts.
I’ve often warned against the dangers of what I call ‘subjective blogging’, since I don’t care what the stupid kids of mommy bloggers the world over are doing. There MUST be something in between writing about my boring mundane life and writing about the sordid sexcapades of others. But even if there isn’t, caring about what I think others might want to read isn’t worth a shit if I, myself, don’t want to read it. After all, it’s my world (you’re just a squirrel… tryin’ to get a nut).
To be continued…
My Main Man (in the Mirror): MJ Tribute Post
I was born in 1977, just one year old when Michael Jackson starred in The Wiz with Diana Ross. He was one of, if not the first celebrity I was ever conscious of, and no one ever seemed so ‘larger than life’. I’d see clips of people at his concerts crying hysterically and fainting, the likes of which I’d only ever seen the Beatles bring about.
I grew up in the shadow of his stardom. My world stood still when the new Thriller video came out in 1982. I was highly concerned when MJ’s hair caught fire during the filming of a Pepsi commercial in 1984. My best friend and I would watch her Moonwalker video on Friday afternoons incessantly, debating over whether or not MJ was gay. Back then I could never have imagined a world that Michael Jackson didn’t rule.
Years later, having lost my star struck inclinations to post pubescent self absorption, I’d hear about MJ involved in various types of controversies: that he purchased the Elephant Man‘s bones, that he owned a pet chimp named Bubbles who used his toilet and cleaned his bedroom, and of course that he was a seriously disturbed child molesting perv. In the mean time, MJ’s skin tone continued to fade. It only made sense that the more f*cked he became, the whiter he appeared.
I stopped listening to all of the media because I realized I just didn’t care. I was never interested in dating Michael Jackson, I just like his music and think he was a kick-ass dancer and amazing performer; that’s all I ever cared about. Aristotle said “No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness”, and the Master of the Moonwalk is no different. Whatever he did in the privacy of his own home was none of my business, well unless it was with my own children… otherwise, cha mon.
$@bs
Kettle Corn: Centuries of Tasty Fiber Fun
I’ve recently taken the time to determine when and where every street fair in NYC will be occurring this summer and Kettle corn is entirely to blame. I don’t know why I didn’t know about Kettle corn sooner, since it’s been around since the 1700s, but it’s only been in the last couple of years that I’ve developed a serious addiction.
If you’ve never had it, the flavor of kettle corn is the perfect combination of sweet and salty and has less fat and sodium than most flavored popcorn. I’ve tried to make my own, with limited success. I stopped trying after the first few times I set off the fire detector. I have a history of burning popcorn. Once I set off the fire alarm in my whole dormitory and everyone had to evacuate the building at 3:30 am one Tuesday morning. Needless to say the results of my attempts didn’t compare to the product sold by my preferred vendor, http://kettlecornnyc.com/. To conclude: me luvs!
$@bs
(Loose) Change is Going to Come
I don’t know why, but I really get off on giving exact change on purchases. I save my change in a little bank my great aunt gave me (pictured here). It locks too, but you have to put in 50 dimes in order to open it again. My great aunt boasted how I’d be able to save up to $5 in there. Vintage.
I used to save up my change in a big empty wine bottle and take it to the Penny Arcade at TD Bank (formerly Commerce Bank). I especially liked guessing how much money was in the bottle. You win a prize if you guess within a certain range, Price is Right style. Last time I played, I won a pack of tissues. Actually I was pleased to get them since it was February and as I had a cold, my nose was running (a marathon). Otherwise, tissues would have been an utterly disappointing prize.
Now the penny is the most useless of all coins. I mean, why do we even still have it? To repair the Statue of Liberty again? (Who remembers that?) Can’t we just round everything up to the nickel? That would seem to make more sense to me; it’s not like you can buy anything with a penny, or even a hundred pennies. If you tried to pay someone in pennies, you might get punched in the face. Actually we may have to set this up. To be continued…
$@bs
Rites of Passage: A BS Birthday Post
It’s my birthday today – woot woot! In celebration of my 32 years on this planet, I searched the term ‘birthday’ in Wikipedia just to see what I’d find. Of particular interest, Wikipedia stated that birthdays are traditionally marked by a rite of passage or transition. Some of the rites of passage mentioned were:
Breeching, Bar Mitzvah, First Haircut, Gempuku (among the samurai), Quinceañera, and Scarification.
It suddenly occurred to me that I haven’t had any rites of passage thus far, except maybe the first time I found a grey hair. I Scotch taped it into my journal, whereupon 3 new ones sprang up to mourn the loss of their friend. Aside from that, I never had even so much as a Sweet Sixteen. Way to drop the ball on that one, Mom and Dad!
So, I’ve been thinking of what rite of passage I can incorporate into my life. I was not much excited by the idea of scarification, my first haircut has long since passed, I can’t remember the first time I wore pants and ever since my decision not to become a samurai, a Gempuku is out of the question. I’m thinkin’ a Native American style vision quest, but haven’t been able to score any peyote. Any other ideas?
