The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘humor’

Happy (Belated) Clone Creation Day!

This is one of my favorite stories about my dad. Here are a few other stories about the pops. Now for another fun pops story …

Happy Clone Creation Day!

In the 7th grade my dad and I made a habit of playing a baseball game on the Nintendo. If I had to guess, I would say that my mom told my dad that he and I needed to bond, and to think up something. My dad, brother and I had played a whole season (which is fairly impressive) on Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball back when I was in the 4th or 5th grade. The baseball idea had come around again, this time with an upgraded system – the 64.

We played as the Arizona Diamondbacks, which was the first or second year of the team’s existence. I have no recollection of how often we played, but I remember sitting in the basement with my dad, playing that game.

  • He never swung at the first pitch. Usually not the second or third, either. He was always wanting to wear out the starting pitcher. With the game’s AI, you could expect with about 99% confidence that after three pitches you’d have 2 strikes and one ball on you.
  • The first two pitches were usually strikes. During them, he would sip his beer.
  • After the second pitch (which was usually your second strike), he would pick up his controller.
  • If he got a hit, then he got a hit.
  • If he struck out or had a bad pop-up the same sound would generally escape him – an aggravated, quick, “agh!”

On one particular day, we were playing the game and my dad was up to bat. After the usual ritual, he struck out. The familiar grunt/sound of exasperation came.

I smirked. My dad is a funny guy. He’s like a monkey over there with those crazy grunt noises. I thought, ‘ok, my turn … I can do better.’ After all, I’m young and I play a lot of video games – this is what I’m built for. I waited out the strikes like my dad, not because I wanted to necessarily, but because it was a good strategy. It’s a video game! It’s not the place where you exhibit patience and strategy! Nevertheless, I did it (when he was around).

What do you know – I also get out.

And what do you know, the same, “agh!” came out of me.

Holy crap, I realized, I am my dad.

All the times I’d laughed at him, poked fun at him (just in my head, not out loud) … those would all be coming home to roost. Shoot.

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Two Shades of Vague, Part IV

Two Shades of Vague

IV

We end up doing it a bunch, and every time it feels super duper. He does this weird controlling thing during sex where we’ll be doing something, and then he’ll say “red light,” and we stop, and then he’ll say “green light” and it kicks off again. I guess you could say he’s two shades of Vague. In fact, I might be tempted to make reference to that many, many times. On to a more pressing topic though, some weird descriptions of just how fantasmo the sexxins can be with him.

It’s like someone stuck a pleasure-grenade in my treasure chest, and exploded it using rainbows made out of love.

Imagine an earthquake, wrapped in a tornado, wrapped in a pancake, wrapped in an orgasm. And that’s what happened. You know. In my va-jay-jay.

Take three cups sugar, one teaspoon cinnamon, some boy body parts, and one hefty helping of oh baby oh baby, and mix. THAT’S WHAT’S UP.

While the sex is good, some things concern me. I am inexperienced with relationships, but certain behaviors of his I find off-putting. When a boy buys you a flower, it’s cute, I know that. So when the boy buys you a car that’s just like him buying you one million flowers. My inner goddess does the math and gives me a thumbs up. Although part of me thinks maybe that’s a bit much, my libido says “FEEEED ME.”

I ignore the warnings, and instead take a stroll to bone-town, and it’s awesometacular.

I want to call my best friend Susanna to talk about Shimper, but I’m afraid he’ll be angry at me – and he doesn’t want me talking about us to anyone. This worries me, but whoops, I just had an orgasm, and I’m suddenly less worried about this shockingly frightening red flag. I decide a relationship with cornerstones of fear and sex is ok, as long as I work on lessening the fear. In its place we can just have more sex. My inner goddess looks disapprovingly over her glasses, and I give in and decide to examine the pros and cons of Shimper and I:

Pro:
He’s rich (I don’t care about that … but yeah I do)
He’s grade A meat
He’s good at taking me to my happy place

Con:
He’s quick to anger
Being in control, big time control, is how he gets his jollies
I still have no idea what exactly he does and how he’s so rich
We haven’t had an actual conversation yet
He likes to keep people out
He seems emotionally stunted
He likes the idea of punishing me, by causing me physical pain, and he’s going to get off on that

I am interrupted while making this list with, you guessed it, some bouncy bouncy.

Exhausted by the massive amounts of sex, I go to sleep. I sleep for four days. (How could I not after all that? I mean sheesh.) When I wake up Shimper is finishing a surgery where he’s putting a tracking device under my skin.

“Shimper …” I say, hesitant to criticize him. Ya know, because of the potential for beatings.
“Miss Gasm, you’re awake … and I’m awake …,” he gestures romantically to his family jewels.
“I … I don’t know if this can work.”

I say this and immediately begin moving. If I stay in motion I won’t be able to talk, and if I keep from taking I’ll keep from breaking my resolve. My mind is made up! I can’t have a traditional romance with this man, he’s incapable of it!

“Miss Gasm …” Shimper sounds so hurt. So broken. I am tempted to go to him, hold him, comfort him. No. I can’t do that. My mind is made up.

Yep. My mind is made up. Until about a week later. Then we get back together, honestly, what else would happen? And I bet you’ll never guess what happens when we get back together …

YEP! He takes me to the BONE-ZONE!!

Fin

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Two Shades of Vague, Part III

Two Shades of Vague

III

Susanna is shocked, as are others, when I inform them that I’ll be having dinner that night with Shimper. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? First of all, why me? No, seriously. And secondly, I’ve never really dated. But now that I am having dinner with him – I am insulted by anyone implying that it is out of the ordinary for me to have dinner with the world’s richest/youngest/best-lookingest bachelor.

My inner goddess hears people asking questions doubting this dinner, and wonders in her best Samuel L. Jackson voice, ‘do I have to slap a bitch?’

I arrive at the hotel where Shimper is staying in my beat up old car. Sure, it’s a junky car, but it gets the job done. I guess you could say this car is representative of me somewhat, it’s not flashy, but it’s reliable and nice. Homey. Americana. You know, that kind of thing. I bet Shimper drives the flashiest, nicest car out there, to illustrate that he is rich, and therefore attractive. Where was I? Oh, right, just arriving for dinner.

I hand the valet guy my keys and I immediately assume he’ll steal my car. Just kidding! It’s a POS, but I love it. Have I mentioned that?

I go inside and Shimper is at the bar. He’s wearing a plain white, linen shirt, which is an inconsequential detail that I love about him. My inner drill instructor says, “ooh, girl!” at my casual use of the word love being used on something to do with Shimper. I’m shocked, too. Love? Could it be? My train of thought is interrupted when I notice Shimper approaching. I decide to put it aside to think more about later. In fact, I put it aside five times, so that I can over think it.

“Miss Gasm,” Shimper coos.
“Mr. Vague,” I say shyly.
“You look beautiful.”

I blush.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” Shimper says.

Fourteen minutes later I finish telling him what I was just thinking. Get it? Cause I have a lot of thoughts going on at once. I’m deep like a river. No, wait, an ocean.

Shimper leads me to a private room where we’ll have dinner. I am ecstatic over the idea of spending time with him, and I realize I’m too excited to even eat one bite. Maybe I can muster up the appetite for some mildly witty banter, I’m always hungry for that.

“It looks delicious,” I say, glancing back and forth between Shimper and the food laid out for us.
“I agree,” Shimper says, staring only at me.
“You didn’t look at the food …,” I whisper. “Oh, I get it.” I blush. Shimper’s eyes widen.
“Sit. Eat.” Shimper commands.
“You are quite bossy, sir,” I say in a confusing mix of complaining about something while acquiescing to it.
“I like it when you call me sir …” Shimper says. His jaw tense. His voice husky. His eyes widen. Yeah, that’s right, the trifecta.
“Oysters, hmm? What’s the big idea …?”
“Well, I want to bone. I didn’t bring you here just for dinner, ya know. Here are some papers about boning. What do you think?”

Operation Give a Dude a Bone

Article I

I’m creepy, don’t worry about it. Look how rich I am.

Article II

I will command aspects of your personal life. And we’ll bone a bunch. All of this you will find incredibly attractive. Oh and if I want to cause you pain, you’ll be into that too.

Article III

Did I mention … boning?

Article IV

Shhhh. Nobody needs to know about this.

_____________________
The boner: Shimper Vague
Signature:

_____________________
The bonee: Olivia Gasm
Signature:

I read through and am shocked! When I glance up I find that Shimper has been staring at me the whole time. Even though this should be unnerving, I blush and feel it in my koala refuge. You know, down under …

“Mr. Vague …” I say vaguely.
“Miss Gasm …” Shimper says orgasmically.

Then we do it. And it’s totally rad.

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