From the original Rock Mattress would evolve the following:

- Futock, perfect for poorer-than-average college students
- Hammrock, bowl shaped rock tied between two Redwoods
- Outdoor Sleeping Rock, survivalist camping bed consisting of two stone slabs
- Cock, a small folding bed, popular with the military
- Memory Stone, lava bed that molds to the contours of your spine
- Lazy Rock, for that special grandpa who likes to keep one hand in his pants

Its translucent color so alluring and taste and aroma so gentle and mellow offer admiring feelings of a graceful lady.

Hot damn! I had to turn around and make sure I wasn’t in a sex store looking at a bag of gummy boobies.

When I got home I devoured almost the entire bag, until I came across an individual wrapper with some sort of white, soapy-looking powder in it. It got all over my hands. When I tried to rinse my hands off in the sink, the powder turned into a kind of oily substance. If it wasn’t for my love of apple-flavored grapes and my courage toward Chinese food toxicities, I would have thrown it away.

~~

Online dating sites can be a lot of fun, especially if someone who you have nothing in common with, besides a similar “racial” heritage, approaches you in the hopes of getting in your pants.

(2:13:59pm)hereforfuntimes:i haven’t dated an asian girl in a long time

(2:14:15pm)hereforfuntimes:do you embrace your asianness? i certainly don’t play the part

(2:14:28pm)hereforfuntimes:i mention my small penis [my emphasis] that’s as close to asian as i admit

(2:15:03pm)cuteladygirl:yeah, whenever i meet someone new i mention my affinity for school girl uniforms and hello kitty.

(2:15:23 am)hereforfuntimes:haha.. the guys must love you

(2:15:48 am)cuteladygirl:for some odd reason yes. i haven’t quite figured it out yet.

When you ask to borrow someone’s textbook, don’t proceed to wipe the snot from your face, pick at your zits and flick the debris.

After class, I’m going to gently wrap my book in the paper towels I took from the restroom. Then I’m going to put on some industrial rubber gloves and dip the pages in equal parts water and carbolic acid.

There are some things I just can’t joke about. One of those things is the intense stomach cramping that occurs when I think of Ayn Rand. I’m only reminded of my aversion because someone over at the Guardian decided to blog about it.

Putting aside the fact that Rand sucked at philosophy, the pain worsens when I think of the thousands of ill-informed people who claim to love her most famous novel, “Atlas Shrugged.” These people generally fall into two categories. The first are the laypersons who are merely drawn to the neat plot, who have made it a goal to “read more” and have little idea the implications of Rand’s pseudo-philosophical rants (see Angelina Jolie). However, there is hope for these people because they are naive to the theoretical fail that is Objectivism. They just need someone to enlighten them. Someone like a bored blogger.

The second group is far more hopeless. These are the radical libertarians who, no matter how unregulated markets have contributed to the global economic meltdown (and despite the fact that Randroid Alan Greenspan has apologized for his policy’s failure), are still convinced that laissez-faire capitalism is a Good Thing.

I also despise the poor writing, and the fact that Ayn Rand cites the incomprehensibly brilliant Friedrich Nietzsche as one of her inspirations. Perhaps I’m mistaken but didn’t Nietzsche crudely compare libertarians to cattle?

~~

In more light-hearted news, the Chicago Reader just gave the award for Best Douchebag Watching bar or club. I’m so glad that I now have the option of going to a place like Small Bar, where I can make more objective observations on douchebag mating behavior, instead of Wrigleyville where, without fail, some dude will ask me to shit on his chest.

For the past week I’ve had no more than five hours of sleep a night, and today I’ve crossed the threshhold between being so exhausted I’m useless to doing grand pirouettes in the living room while my roommates videotape me.

Until my Tylenol Simply Sleep kicks in, let me tell you about the vampires that live next to me. One is female, and when I first met her I was really excited because she had on a Morrissey t-shirt. A friend of His Highness is a friend of mine. The other one is a frighteningly pale, thin tranny, and I often hear them fucking in their bathroom.

Why didn’t I realize that the walls were thin enough for neighbors to hear me singing, when I can clearly hear her ass being whipped? I need to pay more attention to this stuff.

Like my neighbors, but not as freaky.

A couple days ago I was eating dinner with a friend and her paranoid, right-wing boyfriend. He lectures invisible audiences on the merits of laissez-faire and is preparing for the Apocalypse brought on by Obama the Antichrist.

I suggested jokingly (okay, a quarter jokingly) that  he had Schizotypal Personality Disorder, what with his paranoid ideations and avoidance of human contact and everything. To this, my friend pointed at him and yelled “See?! I told you! Dammit, Jake, you need to admit it already.”

I’m still not sure why he got so upset. It’s much better to be assumed a headcase who can’t help it then a free-willing gun-nut, right?

So for the last year-and-a-half I’ve been performing Andrew Lloyd Webber for the entire apartment building? Oh, hell yeah.

That’s me on the left.

I went to the dentist recently due to a lost filling. “How long has it been ‘open’?” he asked. 

“A year,” I said sheepishly. (It had been a year-and-a-half.)

My dentist shook his head in grave disappointment. “Tsk tsk! If you had gone a couple more months, you would have needed a root canal. You would have been crying.” 

The tsk-tsk-ing continued throughout the entire filling as if I hadn’t been shamed enough. When it came time for the cleaning, however, his eyes sparkled at my mouth’s sheer perfection. “How long has it been since you went to the dentist?”

“Three years.” (This is the truth.)

“I’ve seen worse in six months! Whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it.”

I think my last dentist should be investigated for insurance fraud. He claimed I had eight cavities and that I would have to get them filled one at a time. Thank God I lost my health insurance after the first filling, or I would have eight gaping holes in my teeth right now instead of just one. 

Which got me thinking, what is it I do that keeps my teeth so impeccable? I love sugar and coffee. I grew up in what I call a “Pepsi household.” (You know the kind; they also love to smoke.)

I found out the answer as I was getting ready for class this morning. As a daily motivator, I like to listen to Morrissey. I play him while I’m in the shower, as I get dressed, as I brush my teeth. There’s something about a guy wanting to smash someone else’s teeth that makes me… well, ready to take on just about anything!

I started brushing my teeth right as the frustratingly short ditty “Girlfriend in a Coma” began, and I was still brushing well into “Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This Before.” That’s like, three minutes of brushing as opposed to the recommended two!

Let’s do the math: (2 recommended brushings per day) * (1 extra minute) = 2 extra minutes! 

(2 extra minutes)/(2 recommended minutes of brushing) = 1 extra brushing!

(1 extra brushing) + (2 recommended brushings) = 3 total brushings!

I brush my teeth three times a day! Beat that.

On my way to a friend’s baby’s baptism, my roommate and I stopped at Target to buy a gift for the sweet nugget. As we were browsing the baby aisle, I spotted the lotion section.

“Have you ever masturbated with baby oil?” I asked.

To my incredulity, he told me he had never even heard of baby oil. Was it like whale oil, except made out of babies?

I explained to him that it was like really watery lube, and if he was too embarrassed to buy it himself I would do it. You know what? This is the last time I ever give him a gift. As soon as we got home, he locked himself in his room. We were supposed to see a movie. Some thanks.

~~

Prior to the baptism, the priest called upon all the boys and girls whose First Communion would be next week. After they stepped up to the altar, he announced to the beaming crowd that these little ones had chosen to follow in their parents footsteps and devote their whole lives to the Church. “Precious, guileless children, repeat after me. ‘I will live my life in service of an invisible, almighty sky daddy. I will be unnecessarily paranoid and self-denying. I will make stubborn, unreasonable moral claims that infringe on other people’s rights.’ Now put your hands in the holy water, just ‘cuz.

Very good. It is obvious you are old enough to make such promises of the heart and mind. When you sit down, say thanks to your mom and dad for indoctrinating you the same way their parents did. Now let us pray.”