endofanera wrote:

Chapter Two wrote:I don't know if monogamy is possible without doing some weird damage to yourself emotionally. It takes strength to maintain such a state, a strength that is definitely admirable, but I think the best possible state of affairs is some kind of emotional monogamy, like you know the two of you work well together, love being with each other, etcetera, but that you're human and therefore going to want to fuck a lot of people in your life, as is natural. Otherwise: timebomb.

I'd like to think monogamy can work and be a good thing, but I'd like to think all sorts of things. I'd rather think what is true.

This idea is dependent on the highly suspect notion that sex without emotion is possible or if it is, that it's even desireable.

I contend that sex without emotion, while possible, is damaging to those who engage in it regularly and as a matter of course -- far more damaging than this odd monogamy-time-bomb damage youre suggesting takes place, which Ive yet to experience.

I also contend that sex sans emotion is simply subpar to sex with emotion, and that emotions are an inevitable outcome of sex sans emotion if it continues long enough. Then youre just playing chicken with your emotions. Hardly healthy.

If we're talking about "what is true," then I think this is closer to the mark than the fiction youve invented.

Chapter Two wrote:

Chapter Two wrote:I've also got myself in quite a bit of trouble here and there for not having the required moral perspective to stay away from other people's girlfriends. This is something I have had to learn not to do, not because it is morally wrong, but because it gets me in the shit. A rat can live through shit but probably would prefer not to.

I find it hard sometimes to be in the company of couples and not reflect on this idea they've both got of what it is they're holding to. It then becomes interesting to play with that.

I'm sorry everybody, this is going to sound very bad of me, but life just hasn't demonstrated otherwise than that one on one relationships are a left over idea from a more religious and thus warped psychological mindset.

But hey, good luck.

Dont try to play the "monogamy is outdated" card to make your entirely reprehensible behavior acceptable or cloak it in a "progressive" costume.

You are a predator. You are attempting to hurt those around you for your own selfish ends, whether that's to prove a point to yourself about the foolishness of monogamy, to prove your own attractiveness and superiority, or just to get some sex only you could say.

Monogamous relationships bring those who are in them great joy, but that doesnt make even the healthiest of them unassailable. The relationship's health, value, and meaning, and the ability of the individuals in them to withstand temptation or the relationship's ability to outlive assults on its integrity are two very different things. You are not watching relationships dissolve because they are outdated; you are actively engaging in bringing about their failure. That is, simply put, a dick move (yeah, a pun -- I'm not smiling) and it is "morally wrong," despite any of your assertions to the contrary. Since Im forced to assume you arent fucking your "friends'" girlfriends in front of them and with everyone's consent, then it's clear to me that you are going out of your way to violate the trust of both of your friends when you fuck one of them. You are a lying bastard if you do this.

I just have to look at this one more time:

Chapter Two wrote:It then becomes interesting to play with that.

Wow. What a "fuck you" to your friends.

I think the more amazing thing isnt that youre single, but that you have any friends at all.

PS-- Get some therapy. Seriously. Youre fucking up.

steve wrote:Open your dick-trap
and I'll stick my cock in
'Cause that's a lot nicer
Than sock-fuckin' a stocking
I'm in there anytime
Time be tick-tockin'

steve wrote:

brett eugene ralph wrote:When I was fifteen or sixteen, me and Bobby Whitaker were riding around in his fucking gorgeous red Chevelle, smoking weed and drinking beers. We ended up down at the boat docks (on the Ohio River), where people generally congregated to party on weekend nights. After prowling the parking lot for a while, Bobby spied this girl he was really into. He suggested that we get her and her friend to ride around with us for a while--the only problem was the girl's friend was big as a house. The hot girl was obviously not going to bail on her friend, so it was a package deal. He begged me to be cool and go along with it, and after hemming and hawing and making him kiss my ass for a while, I finally gave in.

So we rode around, smoking and drinking, and I proceeded to get totally blowed out. We ended up back at the boat docks, parked. Soon enough, Bobby and the girl were getting it on hot and heavy in the front seat. I tried to focus in on whatever was blaring out of the radio and ignore the fat chick sitting next to me, who kept trying to make conversation. When the moans and rustling in the front seat became unbearable, I figured, "What the fuck--I might get a hand job out of it," and started making out with the chick.

After a while, I had her shirt up and was slobbering all over one of her truly enormous breasts. The weird thing was, I couldn't locate the nipple. I licked all over that fucking thing before I realized that her nipple was still in her bra, which was pressed against my forehead. I'd been totally going to town, sucking on one of her fat rolls.

mrdfnle wrote:

DrAwkward wrote:

kerble wrote:

Seconded.

spaghettilee wrote:i like this one:

endofanera wrote:

Chapter Two wrote:monogamy, bah blah

FMajcinek wrote:For the embarassing moment I make a first post in Fake Italliano. Is better, no?

So. I play the poker very much. Very early in the poker career I go to the Harrahs di Indiana to play of the very small stakes Texas Hold Em with my friend who also play. They have a the Jackpot. You know this Jackpot? They take the monies from all of the pots and put into big pot and if you have the Aces-Full-Of-Tens or better and the cocksuckers beat you, you win half the Big Pot! And the others, they win the other half!

So we play the 4-8 Hold 'em. I play badly. I don't really know what the fuck! But my friend, Roberto, he know. He find the Holes of Aces. He raise. The other guy- guy I don't know- he raise again! Everybody scared. Everybody fold. Everybody but Roberto who raise again. Multi-raises later there is the flop: she come with Ace-King-King. Again with the raise and the re-raise and soon, nobody have any money left. Roberto, with no money left, shows the cards for every body. He has the Two Aces! The other guy, cocksucker guy, he has the two Kings! Roberto with The Aces Full of Kings loses the small pot but win Half a The Big One! And we all clap and shout because we all get a some money too!

And after a while we all a get the money and the game breaks up because What The Fuck? All now are rich and is now no more Half a Big Pot to win, so all go to play a The Big Games or craps. So Roberto, he say to me, Know what we should do with a this monies? I say, Play the Pot-Limit Omaha? He say, No, stupid. He say, We should get a very drunk!

Okay! So back to Chicago and to Famously Expensive Downtown eatery! We have the Big Steaks and the multi, multi bottles of vino! And then to the bar with the Lagavulin and other things for good times. And the bartender, he no like a the look of us because of the dirty jeans and bad hair and skin like poker players. But Roberto, he give him multi-dinero! So now all is amore and all are rich! Close wealthy men, we say how much we love another. I give anything you need, I say. We clasp and hug. You name it, it's yours, say Roberto. The man-love, she is overwhelming! I think I cry. Maybe cry tears of scotch, and vino, and man-love. I love a these guys of poker!

And Roberto, so impressive with the giant bankroll of hundred dollar bills! He flash for all to see. He buy a drink or two for beautiful ladies, who blush and say, grazie, to wealthy and generous dirtbag! And the ladies, they hang around us. Us! With the poker skin and not to shave for days and the homeless clothes. And one Lady, she sit on my lap! And she smell like the beautiful scent of Lilac and Rose and Whore! And all is amore, and all are happy!

But. I am now very very drunk and with the big head and heavy tongue. And the room, she spin like not-a-so Merry-go-Round. Also, I have wife who sleep at home. The Sleeping Wife, she hate the poker and the poker friends, and the man-love! She say, You no spend enough time with me! You wanna be married, marry Poker! I say, kind of with joke, I spend a more time with you . . . but you no play Poker! Funny joke to me. Not so funny to her. She warn, You play the poker, you do the bad things. Is no good for you, she say. Is no good for us, she say. You stick-in-mud, I say.

But even with drunk and Whore and plenty of dineri from the poker, I remember the warn, and I love my wife so much! So, off the lap with the Whore! Goodbye to new-bartending-friend! Goodbye to Roberto! Hello to taxi and home and sleeping wife!

Is maybe important now to say two things: 1. When I am with the very drunk, I am a thief. Not cunning, plotting bank heisting thief, but petty, accidental thief of the lighters and cigarette that maybe you leave on bar. I come home from the drinking with two packs of cigarettes and four Bics. I am sorry! Also 2: I do not remember taxi home! I do not remember stairs or doors or keys or nothing!

Remember only this: Wake. Still with the drunk because the head, she hurt so much! Also, still dark outside. Also, knees. My knees hurt so much! Knees hurt so much because I find that how I sleep is very strange. I am on couch, but my torso only! Over arm of couch I rest with knees on cocksucking hard floor and ass very high in the air! Also pants are in bunches around ankles! Shoes are on. So too are the underwears. Then noise. So much with the noise! Where the noise does she come from?

The noise she come from once-sleeping Wife now awake with much anger and confusion! She say many, many things that I can no answer or understand. She say What the Fuck! She say, Why you sleep so strange?! She say, why to piss in potted plant in living room and living room wall and own underwears and arm-chair? Why all the lights on! How do you have so much piss? Why do you smell like Whore? Why so many hundred dollar bills blowing in breeze from open window around living room and now some soaking in piss! Why does Roberto keep calling here?

But I am still very, very drunk. And no can answer or understand what the fuck? So I ignore. I crawl all the way onto pee-couch and sleep again.

Soon, am awaking again. Face damp with damp pee. Roberto standing over with with Wife! All are angry! Soon awake with much pain because of the vino in the head and Roberto, my close friend, who punch me hard in chest! He say You Cocksucker, and Dickhead, and What The Fuck?

Because I now know what the fuck. At the bar with Whore, I repair to leave quickly, and quickly I steal the Big Bunch of Monies he set on the bar for one second! And after I leave and with the black-out Roberto notice the missing dineri and accuse all of Theft! And then big argument, she ensue! And police come and Roberto is Shown Out and he has no money for Taxi because I take it all. And wealthy and generous Roberto he walk all night, not to his house, but to mine! Because with the police and the walking he is a drunk no more. And he knows me and knows about the Theft of Lighters of which I am very sorry!

And I say Sorry Roberto! And I do not mean! And Sorry to Wife! For she watch in disgust while I sleep and then in much disgust with rubber gloves she clean the drunken pee and remove the plant. And for months I can no speak to anybody for shame of drunk and Theft. And for months I no drink nothing or play with the poker. But my wife, she still tell how I pee on walls, and Roberto, though he forgive, though he understand, still tell all to hide the monies when I enter room.

So there.

clocker bob wrote:

mrdfnle wrote:

DrAwkward wrote:

kerble wrote:

Seconded.

FMajcinek wrote: Very funny, Dragon.

However, I am going to make you a promise: I promise that at least once, before your tenure at our little card-party is through, you will look at your cards and find that you have a nearly unbeatable hand. So delighted will you be that the Gods of Chance, Luck, and Binomial Distribution have blessed you with such an improbably great combination of cards that you will bet, son. You will be barely able to contain your glee as you cheerfully--nay, joyfully!--fling an unreasonably large portion of your bankroll into the pot. And all will recognize your blessed countenance and all will fold.

All, of course, except Scott. Who will not fold, but think. He'll pause long in thought and his eyes will be glassy and absent, and his lips will curl to form words that no human ears can hear. And you will ask yourself, "What, what, what could he be thinking about right now? For, clearly, I have The Hand." And Scott may lift an eyebrow your way, as though your silent reproach were made known to him.

Then one of the other players, anxious to get on with the game, may say, "Scott, you don't have to call." And your mind will call forth images of that helpful player being devoured by ants, or pelted with rusty nails, or set aflame and drowned in a river of gasoline because, you know, you know that you will be the winner, and that the curiously large pile of chips before Dread Scott rightly belong to you.

And your mind might even turn from the death of your collegue to the rote itemization of Things that may be purchased with the money you'll win. So while Scott--eyes now closed, fingers interlocked as if in prayer--continues his doomed "thought", you shall think: "minimum payment on the electricity bill, two days of lunch at Hot Doug's, toe-clips for my new bicycle, 8 minutes of phone-sex . . ."

But before these happy thoughts can be satisfied, Scott will say casually, almost indifferently, "Okay, I call."

And all of the chips will go into the middle and you will proudly show your hand. You'll say "straight," or "flush," or "aces-full," and you will eagerly await the exposure of whatever comicaly inferior garbage Scott is holding.

But the light will shift and all around you will cease to move. You will perceive no sound, save the steady thump of your heart in you chest.

And very, very slowly Scott will exhibit not mere playing cards. Nothing with numbers and symbols that betray any conventional value. No, Scott will show you pictures of your doom. He'll reveal an alien Tarot that you've never seen, but that you recognize instantly. Their faces--craven images of an ancient and crude iconograph--will display The Crouching Masturbator, The Hanging Critic, The Professor Without Eyes, The Chinese Necktie.

You will look upon these characters and know that you have lost.

You will recognize that there are more than 52 cards in a 52-card deck, and you will weep for your hubris. You will be forsaken, abandoned, utterly alone. The painfull emptiness in the pit of your stomach tells you that The God of Binomial Distribution has no influence in the twilight world of Scott's Tarot.

Despite your pain, you will feel vaguely lucky to be alive. You will stoically slide your chips across the table with all the passion of a man making a religious offering. Scott will accept them with a nod.

Then somebody will say "Tough one, man," and the next hand will be dealt before you've even sorted through all of the crumpled bills in your pocket, and calculated how many meals at Hot Doug's you'd have to forsake to buy in again.

Yes, Chris, that's a promise.

sunlore wrote:I love horses.


I spent five of my teenage years on a horse farm. I love riding horses. I also love to eat them.

Horses have the ability to basically crush any human being at will, but they will never do that as long as they recognize the human being as its superior.

It's maybe a "mind of matter" thing. What the fuck.

Charlie Chaplin once said that horses have the mind of a retard, and a head like an old shoe. Or something similar. He was right, especially in the retard-part.

But I love horses. They are mysterious. You can never really predict their behavior.

I smoked horse once, but it just made me sick.

Justin from Queens wrote:I think it's silly not to invest some of your money.

The objections to it, outside of aesthetic ones, don't hold water. Let's say you're a pretty left of center guy with a little bit of money to squirrel away. That would make you kind of like me. Perhaps you decide that you're against investing money on principle because there's big aspects to the free market economy that you don't like. So what are you going to do with that money?

Put it in the bank? Fine. But recognize that the bank is then investing your money. If the, say, $20,000 that you don't want to give to the world of stocks goes into a checking or savings account, the bank will send you a nice piece of paper every month telling you that they're probably making 7 to 10% on your money and keeping about all but about 1.5% of it.

Put it away under your bed? I can go into the reasons why on this, but simply put - holding cash is an interest free loan to the government. In addition, the value on the money will depreciate over time.

Lend it to a friend? Okay, but that's really just investing in another name.

Give it to the North Star Foundation? Good idea, but that's not really investing the money. That's giving it away.

So invest it. There are enough socially focused investment vehicles out there that you can find a way to put that money to acceptable use. The companies that you'll be giving money to will be doing something you respect while not putting your money at material risk. Find someone with a good track record of managing it, start investing early in your life, make sure you continue to meet your goals for investing money and leave your nest egg alone.

I mean, really. Why wouldn't you?