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I’m sure everyone out there feels that one of the benefits of having a regular ‘significant other’ is that you hopefully get the chance to teach this person the things that make you happy.

I’ve always made a habit, for good or bad, of taking that benefit to extremes. One thing that most of my past lovers will attest to is my penchant to train them toward my likes and dislikes, rewarding good behavior and correcting bad behavior. I might be likened to a sexual Cesar Milan, my ‘calm, assertiveness’ often times leads to running a young lady around the room like a Lipizzaner.

One of the most interesting result is the development of certain keywords or commands that may be uttered out in public. They always seem to give rise to curiosity, so in the interest of disclosure, here are a few of the more common…

“Mouse Hand/Feet” – This is usually called out as a warning and is the result of the young lady leaving an appendage uncovered for some time and then trying to surreptitiously slip it near a toasty part of my body to warm it up.

“Kitten Time” – This act often manifests on the couch and involves the young lady trying to curl up into a ball on my lap. I’m much more conducive to this behavior with the addition of liberal ‘kneading’.

“Releasing the Dragons” – This is fair warning of the imminent release of flatulent gas. It evolved from the blaming of fart noises on frogs, however as the noise and smell increased, so did the animal emitting it.  It has so been incorporated into the vernacular that we’ll often warn each other of any passing stench by simply calling out “dragons”.

“Butt Love” – Far more innocent than one might assume, this typically involves some basic bare ass scratching. Mind you sometimes a warning is in order if the lady happens to pull an ‘Iceman’ and stray into the “Danger Zone”.

“Lady Blanket” – This behavior is one of my favorites and is most often called out from my stomach at which time the young lady will drape her body directly over  mine for some given time and then will slowly raise herself by walking her hands down my back, often leading to some ‘alignment’ cracking. There is a variation where I may be on my back but this most often ends, as one might suspect, in coitus.

“Blues Harp” – A variation on the classic fellatio involving the young lady cupping my whole package in her hands and then running her mouth along my undersides like John Popper on meth (OK, very poor imagery, but I’m sure you get the idea).

Needless to say there are several more but perhaps I’ve encouraged some people to make their own specialty erotic dim sum menu.

In other news, I’ve started work on another web project which I’ve become a bit passionate about, stay tuned for more updates about IrrationalChurch.com

I admit, the last few months I’ve been a bit more of a consumer than producer. It’s not that I haven’t had profound and hilarious things to say, I’ve just found it much more gratifying to mumble them into a pint of Boddington’s than post them on the internet. It’s also had a bit to do with this weather. This is the first time in 3 months the temperature has reached 60 degrees. I now realize why bears hibernate through all this white stuff.

I tweaked my back recently which due to the mysteries of the human body led to a good deal of chest pain. You may not know this but when a 350lb whining baby complains about chest pains people get nervous, numbers get dialed, lights flash, sirens blare, adhesives stick to chest hair… and who wants that shit? So, I’ve been seeing a Physical TheRapist, if you’ve ever been in the service of a PT you know that they are definitely wearing the wrong uniform for the job. She cured me, I no longer complain about my chest pain, I know better now… Mistress.

The truth is, the last four to five years have really devolved into an experiment. When I moved back to Orlando, I told the nurse that I wanted to attempt to have a real relationship. I wanted to experience a normal life, I wanted to know what ‘rush-hour traffic’ is all about, I wanted to go to work like a regular person, regular car, regular house, regular problems, a real regular life.

I think I got my wish, as awkwardly as usual, but now what? Give me a hint!

T minus 3 days until Amy and I are married. It’s true, we have been talking about it for months but it is finally coming to pass. I keep on repeating it to myself to take the weirdness out of that statement. Why? Well I swore a long time ago that I would never get married, but I was talking to a theoretical physicist last year and he taught me mathematically that there is no such thing as ‘never’. It changed my life and allowed for the possibility that I could get married. Fucking Physics.

After a while, Amy finally convinced me that it was actually cheaper to get married than to draft ‘Power of Attorney’ papers in the case of some ‘catastrophic situation’, and if you have ever ridden a motorcycle with me, you would understand what that means and Amy’s desire to want the power to pull the plug on me and collect a sizable life insurance policy. Actually it all sounded a lot less sinister when Amy explained it to me the first time.

We scheduled the wedding for the middle of the week in a town we don’t even live in so the only people who could come were our more fanatical family, a few stalkers and the habitually unemployed. It’s also not that amazing how many strippers can apparently get Wednesday off work.

I’d give you more information but I’ve decided to stay inebriated and silent until its all over lest I inadvertently sabotage the proceedings by opening my mouth. Sometimes words collaborate in my mouth for nefarious reasons, they are not my friends.

Dear Sirs,

When I first got Sirius I always commented that the one thing it was missing was a regular Industrial/Punk channel like XM. I was elated when Sirius started a Punk channel and thought it was some kind of practical joke when just a few months in, it became the AC/DC channel. WTF!!

Then, when XM joined Sirius, I thought that we would finally see XM’s industrial/goth/punk catalog mated to Sirius and we would have a channel dedicated to this genre and provide some reprieve beyond the smattering of songs on Faction between the endless insipid yapping and the token show on Sunday nights at 10PM on 1st Wave.

I don’t tend to write in complaints but I guess this has finally seethed to the surface, I know I can’t be the only one. Please give this silent group something of our own and consider a some kind of dedicated goth/industrial/punk channel, I know there is no shortage of material on your Prophet system.

Thank you,
CHRIS

I happened to turn to the TV to find out I was watching “America’s Next Top Model”. I think it was some kind of rerun of the season opener since there was an inordinate amount of girls crying. I don’t mind the occasional girl crying on TV but I realized I have a limit of 20 women crying, anything over that drives me to writing inflammatory tweets.

I wasn’t really paying attention but I was told it was ‘fierce’, I don’t know what models and ‘fierce’ have in common. I’ve never known a clothes hanger to be fierce outside the grip of Joan Crawford. I once met a girl who did some modeling who happened to be fierce, but that had more to do with the black eye she laid on me then her ability to deliver a convincing GRRR! face.

I was also educated that fierce isn’t just an adjective, but apparently ‘fierce’ can be any part of speech. It’s true because someone on TV said it. I won’t get into that rant, but I am confused about the show. Am I wrong or is the whole program based around making people who think they are models look completely ridiculous, I mean this show seems to be very self-serving and doesn’t appear to have anything to do with fashion other than being driven by women with daddy issues and men who have no particular use for women.

Don’t you think straight men should have some influence in an industry primarily designed to be utilized to get their attention? Why does this all seem wrong? Should I get involved?

I decided to test my medical insurance the other day with one of my comprehensive annual exams where I prove I’m as healthy as a horse.  Guess what, I am, a very fat and lazy horse.

I like people who think out of the box so it was no surprise when I asked for a referral they knew exactly who to send me to, ‘Dr. Brentley’ is young doctor, younger than me and his practice is brand new. He was familiar with TCM and was eager for new patients, in a world where you could wait 6 weeks for an appointment I thought this was exactly what I was looking for…

My surprise came during the exam, you see Dr. Brentley is probably 120 lbs with shoes on. He grabs the little earlight and when the thing didn’t work he muttered “Shit”. He was mortified as he discovered I had overheard his outburst and went on a 5 minute apology asking me not to tell on him. I explained that probably every doctor says ‘shit’ occasionally. I was a little concerned that I was the one comforting him, I thought that was his job. But that didn’t last as he informed me that I had reached the age where it was important to check my prostate. I informed him that Amy spends a good deal of time down there, but he insisted that it was medically necessary. It was at this point that I was curious about his training in alternative medicine.

I included a picture of  the procedure.

In other medical news, I took my Irish bartender to the hospital the other day. He broke his hand being Irish. I’m afraid that the diagnosis was terminal, he will undoubtedly die of being Irish.

I’ve been following the White House Blog and was interested in their views on Health Care reform, here’s the article for your perusal.

To start I want to reiterate how much I appreciate my little slice of heaven. I have it good, I have it good enough for two men my size. Actually, there are times when ‘the nurse’ will even make the excuse for me, she often blames my bad behavior on ‘THAT BASTARD’. I think this is why I live this double life, mild mannered media cog by day, dastardly bastard by night.

After ‘watching The Watchmen’ however, I’ve been struck with the dread that I should be lying low. Recently I’ve been having a series of nightmares where I’m being pursued by authorities for having a secret identity. Speaking of which, I’ve never been sure what they meant by Secret Identity, take Batman for instance, is Batman his Secret Identity or is it Bruce Wayne. If his Secret Identity is his public identity, how come Batman has to wear the mask. It all just seems so silly. I mean, Supervillians don’t seem to have Secret Identities, if they do, I’m sure they are way more fun to be around then some stuffy hero.

Of course it’s not enough to run around with some sinister alter ego, you have to have some superpower or something that justifies donning spandex besides your typical Saturday trip to Walmart. I have a superpower, although it doesn’t seem terribly dangerous. My superpower has proven to be somewhat useful when it comes to enjoying a simple night of drinking myself under the table. I have the uncanny power to guiltlessly drive women away crying. It’s not enough to drive them away, no I seem to only drive them away crying. I would probably be willing to trade powers, however I don’t want something stupid like the ability to make cheese smell worse, no I want something cool like the ability to make everyone nekkid. Yeah, that’s it….

Of course, I suppose I should do a sit up or two in case I inadvertently get caught up in my own reign of bare-er. Oh that was horrible, I’m getting rusty, I better make a quick getaway… hey look, nekkid people!

Speaking of girls, I was at the bar the other night (I know, no surprise) with my friendly neighborhood Irish bartender, a young couple was in discussion with an older woman sporting Dyke Haircut #4 (I’ll explain another time), they referred to a female friend of theirs as a ‘unicorn’. I’m afraid I might have picked the wrong time to shout out, “I love unicorns!”. At that point I became aware that despite the metaphor relating to a unique single woman, their metaphor might have been a tad more innocent in nature. This might have been the trigger that incurred the wrath of the self proclaimed “retired lesbian” (don’t ask me). Sometime later I realized that the “feminist” was yelling at me, so out of sport I engaged her. She spent most of this time labeling herself while drawing conclusions regarding my character.

I expressed my feeling regarding the church’s insistence that marriage is a product of religion and is solely between man and woman and how this is unlawful and unconstitutional. I feel that if church dictates the standards of marriage, then legislating the act is a violation of the First Amendment. However, I think civil unions are legal to legislate and totally understand the desire and the need for any number of reasons including the determination of power of attorney, visitation rights and probate.

However, after a few hours of banshee screech about this strange, unique and violated ultra niche of lesbians, I can see where rational people might not want her to get married. I finally decided she was right, and invited her to my wedding, so she can drive our hot lesbian friends straight.

That’s right, the rumors are indeed true, The Nurse and I are getting hitched soon. September of 2009 in fact. Several of my best friends are making parole arrangements as we speak. We agreed on the obligatory midgets, transvestites and strippers, otherwise known as our friends. However we’re having a difference of opinion on venue, she still insists on getting married in a heart-shaped hotel jacuzzi while my preferred Sunday place of worship is any number of gentlemen clubs or the random paintball field. However since the girl has already been married once, this is MY special day, and I get to be the bridezilla this time. If you think I’m being gay, I counter that all marriage is gay marriage, ask my mother and her partner, who proudly rocks Dyke Haircut #2 .

OK, so I rarely mention current events here but sometimes these things just write themselves.

Over the weekend the UNC basketball team held a clinic for Special Olympics athletes.

This is also known as ‘Recruitment Day’.

I’m sorry, that is cheap. However, if true, I have some other suggestions for potential athletes.

Anyway, to apologize, here’s another potential Tarheel.