Good morning America, today is Wednesday March 5th 2016 — this is a blog post from the future. Deal with it. After being inspired by long-time comrade, TeeCoZee, I’ve decided to add another entertaining weekly mind fuck to the Baseball For Dinner enterprise. Of course, I chose the title “Wednesday Whinings” because
A. I have a natural gravitation for alliterations,
B. It was the first thing that came to mind so now I’m stuck with it, just like my sexual orientation.
I’m writing from a perched location overlooking Washington Square Park. What was once a haven for skater assholes (obviously not you, Dylan) and oregano dealing Rastafarians, has now become a marble slabbed, leveled out, lined up, NYU masturbation session. Which is fine, because I go to NYU and I love to masturbate. But of course all semi-okay things much come to an end and I find myself wondering what will happen to me once I graduate in May. Am I going to be shunned from walking through the blocks between Houston & Waverly? All the wonderful toilets I had access to, stripped away from me in my time of need. I will be left with just my adult diaper to pee in and no retribution for my sense of shame. Maybe I should get a day job at the school, just to keep my ID card alive. Those bathrooms are a godsend. And you know, after spending [insert expletive here] on the life long knowledge and wisdom that has been bestowed upon me, to have it taken away on May 23rd (my graduation date, care packages are welcome) is really just fucking assholey.
In other news, I am fully accepting of my period — this is a big moment for me. I am now on the journey of fully accepting bouts of explosive diarrhea. I found that sometimes the best way to accept something is to just let it go. I didn’t really have a choice, though.
Things to think about today:
–Should it be illegal to drink ice coffee when it is below 10 degrees outside?
–What’s the best way to trip a woman in stilettos?
–Is fat back? Or is it just back fat?
–When will I forgive my mother?
–How many pickles and olives can I eat before I start disliking the color green?
I play with my hair a lot. I actually had to stop playing with it in order to write this sentence. It’s a habit that keeps my fingers from incessantly scratching my vagina hole. So next time you see me twirling my hair, know that I am fighting an unexplainable urge to scratch. Also, please refer me to a good gynecologist. Mine disappeared in the blizzard of ’96 and I don’t think I’m seeing her again.
Speaking of vagina holes – condoms are wacky wack and that shit is on smack (don’t tell the kids). Here are some contemporary ways to prevent a baby:
1. Use Honey As Lube:
Winnie the pooh wasn’t just good at making friends and being too fat to fit through his own door hole. He was also really great at finding where that honey was at and sucking it dry. After sex, Winnie will suck the sperm out of your vagina. You can thank me later.
2. Upside Down Sex… In Space.
Anti-Gravity is your best friend here, when you’re on your head and the sperm comes out, it will immediately turn into little droplets and float out of your poontang. Why do you have to be upside down for that to happen? Because I said so, I know how shit works. Also Anti-Gravitational boobs look normal when you’re upside down… just trust me on this.
Sperms hate garlic. They hate it on pizza, on a salmon dish, fried up with onions, even raw with guacamole. Infuse your eggs with garlic and I promise that the sperm will be running AWAY from them. How do you do this, you ask? Well, first you take your eggs and put them in a Ziplock® bag. Crush some garlic and sprinkle it on your eggs. Cover in olive oil and thyme. Refrigerate overnight and then place back in your body. Enjoy the lack of babies in your life forever (and the sweet smell of thyme whenever you bone).
My best friend Margarita’s dog Charmy (a.k.a Charmonster, Mucifer, Chamoose, Moosymoose and Mooseface) is really sick, can’t walk and she’s lost control of her bladder. Let us all wish Charmy a fast recovery. I LOVE YOU CHARMY.
Well, that’s it for now. I have to go watch a bunch of NYC actors convince me that their 5 second appearance in Law in Order was super meaningful and showcases their ability as emotional performers. But in all seriousness, I love them. They don’t know me and they show up (those who show up), rip their hearts out for me in a tiny windowless room for no money, all the while knowing that I am judging them unfairly because of their hair color or something equally superficial. That takes some fucking guts, balls, and garlic-infused ovaries.
Until next week, or something.