It was shocking

I work with electricity. I've never been afraid of it. It's probably the most dangerous thing that I work around. I'm not an ax man or an ice road trucker. I don't have to worry about real hazards. Electricity usually works how it is supposed to, and so after a while you stop worrying about it.
Yesterday I had an encounter with electricity, which was rather interesting. I was parking a scissor lift, and plugging it into to a 12ov circuit to charge it. While doing this, I had the ac chord in my right hand, and with my left one, I completed the circuit against the metal lift. When you are working with electricity, it is generally a good idea, to only use one hand. That way what happened to me, won't happen to you.
Your body is 70% water. Water is a great conductor of electricity. Anyone who has ever committed suicide with a toaster, in the bathtub, could tell you this. If only they could talk. Water molecules are very stringy and they always stick together. There is practically no resistance.
So as I touch the metal lift, with my left hand, while holding a broken ac chord in my right that just happens to be plugged into a 120-v 20amp circuit, my body was a perfect conductor of electricity. You may think I'm an idiot for doing what I did. The truth is, I've done this a million times before, because as I stated earlier electricity always works the way it is supposed to, so you stop thinking about it.
So I wasn't thinking about it, I was thinking about the next thing I was going to do. As I look down, at my hand a rather bright arcing bolt of electricity reached out and "tagged" me. Luckily for me, I hadn't plugged in the lift yet. There would have been 10-12amps through my body if I had. Amps are what kills people, not volts. Luckily I just had around 120-volts go through me quickly, for like 2 seconds, until I moved my hand away. It didn't even really phase me, and I kept doing what I was doing. I guess it takes electricity a few moments to attack.
About 5 seconds after the arc left my body, I fell to the floor. I just sort of lost control of myself for what I think was a few seconds. I just collapsed. And then I came to. I was really weirded out. It is hard to explain, and I still cannot wrap my mind around the sensations I was experiencing. A co-worker that saw what had happened, and who had heard the "pop"ran over to me with some water.
When you get electrocuted, you need about 25 minutes to recover completely. Unless you're dead. Then even after 25 minutes you'll still be just a fried corpse. 120-v is nowhere near fatal. Actually you can have many thousands of volts in your body, and be fine. If a couple of amp's sneak in though, you could die. Like I said before the amps are fatal.
It was a little scary at first. Only because it had never happened to me before, and I was feeling really out of sorts. After I calmed down, it was all better. You know that phrase "I was scared shit-less?" It is a cliche thing to say, but it actually has real meaning. After I went to the restroom, I felt much better. :)

This is my new blog

You've probably been reading my Myspace.com blog, or you're a close personal friend of mine, if you're reading this anyway. So I won't waste your time with introductions. You know me. And if you don't there isn't much to me anyway. Just a few house keeping details and then you can get onto the blog.

a) This will be the blog from now on. It will be here. Not "there." Let's all make commitments to never go "there" again.

b) I've uploaded a few of the best of the best from "there" to tide you over until I write more for "here".

c) So sit back and enjoy a few laughs from the past. Oh yea and welcome to my new blog fuckers.

Barber Shop Blues

I've got to look corporate for my interview tomorrow. I've been letting the hair grow to a nice hippy mop, and I was sad to see it go. So I find this little barber shop, and sit there and read Men's Health as there's no penthouse forums to browse.

This barber is fucking slow, but after waiting for a half an hour, was I really going to leave?

Years pass, governments are formed, generations of mankind pass before my eyes. I'm reading relationship advice, from guys who obviously have no clue. I hear razors clipping in the background.

I'm reading about how to survive a break-up. My strategy for the longest time has been to avoid relationships at all costs. Apparently if I were to meet a girl, and we were to become a hot item, and then she dumped me (no fuck that it's my blog I dump her) I should completely erase her from my life. Take all of her belongings down to good will or have a mutual friend take them back to her. And I shouldn't let her talk me into "being friends" because if she wasn't cool with me, after all of that time, then I should move on. I should erase that desktop picture of us in Costa Rica, and look up other hot girls in bikinis on the Internet. I should get out and go to the gym, and not drink my problems away. I should get on with my life.

Who are these men that need to read this article I'm wondering? How small is there cock? Why do they feel they need to define themselves through women? Girls are great don't get me wrong. I've always been a big fan. But how close can you really get to someone? Don't they know that they're going to die alone? You can't become one with another person, and I'm pretty sure that love doesn't exist. Don't they know this? It seems to me that this magazine is pretty girly. Maybe I should be writing articles for a similar publication. Telling men to not let women claim them. To not let the upswing from the women's movement sweep them from their throne. To eat raw meat sometimes because it's good for you. To do some fucking push-ups. To continue being men like our fathers were and their fathers were. To walk tall and carry that big stick. To stop taking penis enhancement medication, and how to impress girls with the giant bulge that is your ego and your confidence. Tell them that being completely buff and ripped isn't how men are supposed to look. That self image starts in the mind, and that when you break up with a girl, that you obviously were co-dependant on, that you should bang her sister and or room mate.

Then I read yet another article giving advice on how to meet that girl. The girl that just broke your heart on page 49. Well we find out how to meet her on page 67. There was a lot of good advice in that column, if you want to trick a girl, make her think you're a man, and then wonder why girls always leave you. I've got an idea as to why they leave you, because you put out this big front, but then you're not a man underneath it all. Because men don't read magazines to get advice on meeting women. Because the only time real men ever read a magazine without centerfolds is when they're in the slowest barber shop ever. How much hair did this guy have when he came in I wonder?

So I finally hear the clipper stop in the background. And 7,000 scissor clips later, it's my turn. I wonder if I've already missed my interview tomorrow as I sink into the chair and get tucked in. For the entire time I was waiting for my "world's longest hair-cut" not a soul had entered the shop. As the barber starts slicing my mop, this dark skinned "male" enters. He sits in a chair very close to the one I'm getting my hair cut in. And he, just sits there. I want to scream at him, "hey dood it's going to be hours maybe you ought to pick up one of them there magazines." But what does this Nancy Boy do? He sits there the entire time, and watches me get my hair cut. Which was kind of weirding me out. Then to make matters worse the barber keeps turning my chair towards his. And this flint won't stop locking eyes with me. It was getting very awkward, except not for him. As if my hair cut was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. I'm obviously, to anyone who understands the subtleties of body language telling him to fuck off. But he just kept staring. I mean come on dood.

Am I un-normal? Would that weird anyone else out? Having to sit there three feet from somebody, who's staring at you get a hair-cut? Even if I was the best looking thing in the world to him, that still wouldn't be normal would it? And if he was seeking my number, he was going about it all the wrong ways. (ha)

Anyway somebody get back to me with a similar story to make me laugh or something.

What happend to porn?

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Jokes about your pussy and poems about Herpes

Ok so what are you still doing reading this? Get the hell out of here. Well alright if you must.

Herpes Herpes

everywhere

Herpes- Herpes

in her underwear

Herpes Herpes

on the wall

why don't we just touch them all?

Herpes Herpes

everywhere

in fact there's some

right there... and there!

Everything would

seem so clean

I mean

If I had herpes

you and

yes she.

One less worry

one less concern

one more lotion

rub rub

oh! it's warm

--------------------------------------------------------

this is poem number 2.... oh dear lord stop reading.

Honey,

The baby fell on

the herpes today.

Do you think the baby

will be ok?

I just put him to sleep

and called it a day

what a day

cuz the baby fell

right on my herpes

So I just left you

this note so you

don't kiss his nose

or touch him there

ever! or expose

your skin directly on him.

Because nobody knows

See when he touched he

sorta of rolled and tickled

and giggled then licked it.

I guess we'll know

once he's grown

and we ask him

So we'll know

yeah we'll say

to him someday

"johnny you licked

mommy's herpes"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok before this next section. I've met some very funny girls over the years, but they're not funny like me. I'm trying to give you a lift to a higher echelon of comedic carnage here. I possessing both cock and nut sack could never say these things in public. That's a lie, I think I could pull it off, however I'm not that desperate yet. I've got other material that I can say out loud. Damit, I want a chick to say these things. Damit girls pick up the funny. You want to make me laugh, you know what to do.

Here are a few jokes about your pussy to get you started. I want to hear more by the end of the week, bitches. I know you girls tell them. Shut up, yes you do. There's a lot of good dick jokes out there. Haven't really heard any about a pussy in a while. Maybe you girls wait until the guys aren't around. Maybe you were telling them to me and I wasn't paying attention, anyway... here's some more things I wish I would hear girls say.

and action...

My pussy's been battered like New Orleans.

My pussy has a table of contents.

My pussy's got an old lady that accepts donations to tell you the "entire" history of the pussy.

My pussy has a tattoo of a dick on it's ass.

My pussy has been raped 4 times......................................squared.

My pussy is bloody, right now .....................Like.......................right now. Does that make you un-comfortable.

My pussy eats a bowl of cereal in the morning.

My pussy yields a high performing yeast which makes a frothy dark ale.

My pussy's fine, but my nipples are all crusty.

Last night I popped a pimple on this guy's nutsack with my teeth.

The time I shit my pants.

I write this as a way of coping and for others who may be going or have gone through the same thing. Plus it's hell of funny. And if you hold it against me, you're going to hell.

It was a hot August day. Actually that's not where the story begins. It begins the night before when I was drinking 12-23 heineys on a cool August night. I had to help my parents move in the morning, and I knew that the next day was going to be a bitch. At that point the only thing I knew for certain was that I was going to be hung-over.

I showed up at my parent's house to help them move. They had twenty years of stuff to pack into a moving truck, and it was about 365 degrees outside. I was dehydrated and sweating. Not a good combination. As the truck was filled, I had probably lost around 10-25 pounds.

As we got to their new place we began unpacking. We were all very hungry but all we had to eat was some spicy chicken sandwiches. I ate two of them, because I wanted to get extra fat that evening.

I finished helping them organize the garage, and move in the big items, and then I departed. I was still very dehydrated, and exhausted. I had a 40 mile drive ahead of me, and I just wanted to GET THERE. Where was there you might ask? My bed.... my comfortable extra large extra comfortable solace.

I had a new car that day. A car that I wasn't quite yet familiar with. I knew where the gas pedal the brake was, but that's about it. About 5 miles into my drive I felt the combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and smoking cigarettes all day kick in. Or maybe it was the chicken sandwiches, something kicked in that night.

6 miles into the trek, I knew what was doing the kicking. I had to take a dump. And we're not just talking rabbit pebbles either. A dump that would rival the largest feces of all time, either ape or gorilla. I had to drop all the episodes of the Cosby show off at the rental store.

Most days, I would have just pulled over and dropped trow. Simple as that. But on this day, because of my impeccable bowel control, I decided that I was just going to "MAKE IT." Because I'm a man, and men don't pull over. Men get there. We only brake for gasoline, and I had a full tank.

So I clenched up tight, and continued my drive. I got closer to the outer limits of Sacramento, and I was doing OK. I had almost forgotten about the pestilence in my pants. I was doing like 10,000 on the freeway, swerving to and fro.

A light went off in my head: "Why don't you take the shortcut home?" Of course, the short cut. I had recently discovered this under-traveled gateway toward home. When the exit for the shortcut came up, I diverted from the direct route, and entered a sublime one.

As soon as I got on the shortcut I was reminded by my stomach that he had to fill 1,000 orders of double double fudge. I was feeling the pressure. I was tired from all the clenching. I had been holding in a trans-Atlantic mudslide for 40 miles and the tension had built up. Something was going to give soon.

A mile and several hundred feet away from my house, something happened that made me question my decision to just "Make it." The longest train in the history of trains, made me come to a complete dead halt. And I was sitting there counting the cars creep by .... "1,009....1,010....1,011..." I almost lost everything.

I don't know how I made it through that train stop. I prayed to any deity who would listen. I hummed quietly to myself. I bit my lower lip. I was screaming at myself "Don't shit your pants! Don't shit them Jason! We're almost home." And with that little bit of encouragement, and with the passing of the train, I was on my way once more.

I did mach 18 down the streets of my neighborhood. And I saw my house. I pulled up the driveway. And I reached for the handle. A handle that, because it was dark, and because I was under so much pressure, and because it was a new car I was unfamiliar with, I couldn't find.

"WHERE IS THE HANDLE?" I screamed. I couldn't find it. And it was time; I had a second to decide my fate. I grabbed everything, in everyplace that I could think of, but nothing would open that damn new car door. I was starting to cry. I knew that by not finding the handle I was never going to get out of the car. And I knew that.... something was about to happen.

AND THEN...

There's a moment that you get right before you shit your pants. It's a moment of peace and reflection. It's a moment where all the pressure is lifted. It's a nice moment, one that doesn't last for very long. You give in, you have to, and you can no longer resist temptation like this. Then you proceed to do the unthinkable. You shit yourself.

It starts. I had been holding it in for so long. What was once a mole-hill is now a mountain range. I'm shitting, and shitting, and shitting, and shitting. I'm crying, I'm mortified. I'm shocked. I'm scared. I'm afraid of what they're going to think of me. I'm afraid of what's going to be the fate of my favorite pair of pants. What's going to happen to my car seat? Does my insurance cover this? At the same time, I'm feeling GREAT. I'm smiling, and it feels good. If I were not sitting in my car, but sitting on my toilet, this would be the best shit ever!

It creeps down my leg; I feel it in my socks. I never had a contention plan for this. I didn't know what to do next. I took a minute to just sit in my shit and contemplate.

You'd be amazed what two showers, two loads of laundry, and a garden hose can clean. You'd be amazed at how quickly you can make yourself normal again. You'd be amazed at what you can do, when you have to do it quickly, so that nobody ever finds out.

I lived through this experience, and so can you. You can shit your pants, and like it. You can do it. I know you can.

But if you don't think that you can. Heed this: If you have to go, go then. Don't procrastinate with your bowels.

Nina's Cock parts 1 and 2

So I'm chatting with this chick last night on the Internet. And one thing leads to another, and she's like "Would you like to view my web cam?"

And so I do, because I'd already seen Sports Center earlier in the day.

And she's Asian. And she's kind of hot. And she's wearing something skimpy. And I want to assure you that my hands are nowhere near my pants. Because I was working on some music files.

I was really just watching this girl in the background, between beers. So she tells me that there are like 15 other doods watching her as well. And I wasn't that jealous, because of the above reasons.

She starts posing like a porn star, and such. Showing off her thong. Leaning in close to the cam, kind of rubbing her tits in my face and such.

And then she sort of positions the cam on her crotchu-lar area.

So out of my curious nature, I being to pay more and more attention to Nina and less and less to my ongoing project.

After the camera settles on her cash and prizes (thanks dane cook) she tells me that there's a little secret that she forgot to tell me about.

So now I'm a little creeped out. I think that's what a transvestite tells you right before she's about to whip out her cock on you.

I called her out on it. I was like "Oh did you forget to tell me about your cock?"

But I've been staring at her crotch for like 10 minutes now, and if there's a cock in there inside of the mini skirt, it's not a big one. So I being the comedian that I am, ask her how hung she is.

And she tells me that she's somewhere between 8-9. She's a 8:30.

But she's sitting with her legs crossed real tight.

And I'm only rocking a solid 5:45 myself, and I know that I couldn't sit with my legs crossed like she's got hers if a billion dollars depended on it.

So I call her out on that too. I'm like "Hey if you're rocking that kind of heat, WHIP IT OUT." "I wanna see that big hunk of junk."

And she gets all fluttered and instead of whipping it out, she shows it to me under her skirt. After she obviously put something under her skirt. Like a cucumber, or a mailable dildo.

And I tell her that I don't believe that she has a cock. And that I think she's really funny. But that for me to believe that she actually has an 8:30, I'm going to need to see some proof.

Which she never produces.

She cut off her cam, and ran for the hills.

Which leaves with me with more questions, than I would have had if I were to see a Transvestite's cock.

If she would have just whipped it out, I would have been like, "wow nice cock." And then went on with my day.

But I don't really think Nina has a cock.

I think Nina is a weird girl. Who pretends to be a Transvestite to make men feel bad about thinking that she's hot. Like she enjoys putting the "Am I gay?" question inside of men's heads.

Maybe I would have felt bad if I was touching myself and she showed me her cock. But I doubt it. I've seen a dick before. I've watched some porno in my day. I don't think it would scar me like she thought it would.

Plus, she's not a Tranny. She's a she! Which is the most confusing part of this entire evening.

I wish she'd come back online and talk to me so I could pick her brain. Because if it is all just one big giant joke, I'd love to know the back story.

She's so funny. Nina and her cock.

Nina's Cock part two

Since I broke the story last week there have been several new developments in regards to Nina's cock. So I've decided to share them with the many of you that I know will care.

I must tangent for a brief facetious moment. I guess I didn't know what the readers of my blog were into. There have been 250 views this week. That's the best week ever. All because of transvestites. So, now that I know what you guys are really into, I may just have to write about them more often. I might be putting out a book next year called "Everything you've never wanted to know about chicks with dicks." Look for it at a half priced books near you.

Back to nina...

Nina read the blog. And she was upset. But fuck her, I will never take it down. I thinks she's most upset about the fact that I busted her operation wide open.

Also Nina is curious about me. Because I'm the first person to ever confront her problem head on. I think that challenges her in ways she's never been challenged before.

As nina put it "I've showed my cock to several hundred guys before and you're the first one who actually realized it wasn't mine." That statement alone let's you know so much about her, and how deeply rooted this problem is. "I've showed MY cock" She calls it her cock. She's taken ownership over an appendage that she never ever had. Isn't that ridiculous? It's like reverse phantom limb syndrome.

So we've been talking, I've been picking her brain and putting together a profile of who this girl actually is. And we've been becoming, I dunno friends.... online buddies? What's the word? Cyberly connected. That's it.

It took a while for me to break her down emotionally. But Nina has finally talked to me about why she does what she does.

Nina is a girl. And that I now know. Which makes me feel a little bit better. About the whole thing. About everything. About my sexuality. Whew.

She thinks it's really funny to flash men her fake cock. Because she's a giant attention whore. And the biggest tease on the planet.

I think she's destined to be a porno actress or a stripper. Maybe she'll do them both. And I for one hope she does. Because Nina is drop dead sexy. Especially without her huge cock.

But is it really that funny though? As Nina tells it "you'd have to be there." I'm assuming that "there" would be in the room while she's flashing her dick to men.

Nina lives in my town.

And I'm probably going to meet her at some point. Because this story is just too huge to do over yahoo. I need to go in for an interview. I need to see her set-up, and figure out what she's using as a fake dick.

I've never met anyone off of the Internet before, and I'm kind of worried about it. But There could be so many more blogs that come from getting to know Nina. I bet she does a million other things that are way worse than this. Things that are fucked up, on a scale larger than you can even imagine right now. So I'm doing this for you people. Because I love you.

And because I want to fuck Nina's brains out. I want to give her the cock she's never had.

See she's a really messed up girl. And I've just got to get the bottom of it all.

She's so funny. Nina and her cock.