Gross!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Well, technically my second article for The Hive should be up this morning but Buzzscope’s been acting up all night so I don’t know if it’ll be there. I hope so, trying to build some momentum with this bitch. UPDATE: It's up!
I’ve been busy. Busy, busy, busy. Some of your have been contacted, some have not been (but you will be) and some of you will have words with me at New York Comic-Con whether you like it or not. Busy man – exciting things. Tease, tease, tease…
Updated my business cards for NY, coming to town with a fresh batch. Suit’s in the dry cleaners and ready for that Saturday. I still need to go get a new hat for the suit, I’m thinking I might get a kangol to go with it. You really don’t give a shit about any of this, get on with the story you say, we’re almost done, next week is the last week.
The Moose is almost out of the fucking closet…
___________________
Today’s story is not for the faint of heart, prudish, or squeamish. Everything today falls under what Chris Piers would call “too much information”. It’s not even a story, really, just a collection of little tales that are meant to make you laugh a bit and perhaps remind you that you’re not alone in this world – we all have our gross moments.
Like when I was thirteen and had diarrhea and thought I could hold in. Instead I sharted and it ran down my leg and out my pants, left a nice little present on the living room floor which I didn’t notice and instead kept on walking, tracking mud as I went. Five minutes later I hear my mom yell, “ill” and telling my dad that Elizabeth, my sister, had an accident on the floor. It took me all of three seconds to put it together and check the inside of my pants – sure enough there was a mudslide running down that I was somehow oblivious to. I didn’t speak up, though, it’s not like they were going to punish an almost-two year old for shitting on the floor.
Oh, I’m just getting warmed up. Wait until you hear about the love sock.
But first, how about I tell you about the vat. The vat was this gallon jug half filled with apple juice my roommate and I kept in the close freshman year in college. As part of a year long science experiment we tried to see how disgusting we can make it’s contents. We threw everything in there – cigarette butts, pieces of bread, banana peels, bugs – every once and a while one of us would be holding something in our hand and we’d decided that it NEEDS to go into the vat.
We’d have to lift our shirts over our noses because the smell would make you puke. We quickly take off the cap, throw the object in, put the cap back on, mix it up and leave the room for several minutes to let it air out. The fucking vat became its own ecosystem eventually, new strains of bacteria and molds were springing up daily – you’d look inside it and see shit moving and wonder how it got in there –the stuff we were putting into the vat was spawning new life
Eventually my roommate wanted to get rid of the vat but I refused to let it go. There were only a couple of months left in the school year and there was no way I was willing to pull the plug prematurely. Besides, I’m pretty sure if I tried to get rid of it the vat would revolt.
On the last day of school, before we were kicked out of the dorms, we blocked a sink in the bathroom and filled it with the contents of the vat. I still feel bad for the poor fuck that had to clean that shit up.
And sometimes you don’t realize how gross something is until someone tells you…
My Grandpa John – he gave me handkerchiefs one year for Christmas. It’s such a weird present, the kind of thing a kid would only get from some old man that doesn’t believe in tissues. Not wanting to waste the present, I started using the handkerchief.
It was all good until I got a nasty cold, my nose was running like mad and every five minutes I’d pull the handkerchief out of my jacket, blow my nose, fold it up and put it back in my jacket. I was dating M at the time and after watching me take this crusty, snot filled rag out of my jacket pocket ten times or so (and even then after using it for a week straight) she stops me and tells me that what I’m doing is quite possibly the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen and I should use a tissue like a normal person.
I didn’t use the handkerchief after that. It lasted an entire week – unlike my torrid affair with the love sock.
Ah, the love sock. When you’re just hitting puberty and learn the joys of masturbation you try new and exciting things out. Usually these new and exciting things are along the lines of, “hey, I wonder what jerking off is like standing up?” or “hey, I wonder what jerking off is like if I invert my right hand so it’s like an upside down left hand?”
Every once and a while us guys (or me, at least, really putting myself out there), go all MacGyver and try to figure what we can stick our dicks in so as to emulate fucking. I don’t remember every object I tried to have sex with at that young age – I think toilet paper roll is standard, I know of several other guys who tried that. Rolling the blankets into a tightly packed ball never worked. Shampoo bottles always seemed ideal – you screw the cap off and there’s a natural lubricant in there, luckily for everyone in my household I never rocked a pencil dick – what I don’t have in length I make up for in girth (and my dick is above average length which means it’s girthy as all fuck if you’re doing the math).
Turns out the best item in the household I could use for a jerk-off assist was a nice, cozy sock – my thermal socks, actually.
The thing is, I was paranoid that my mom would catch on when she pulled my sock out of the hamper and it was stiff as a board. So the only logical thing to do (to a young teenager, that is) was to keep using the same sock. I’d hide it under my mattress and take it out when I needed a little “extra” attention – it was like a special treat. Well, a year into that and the sock was practically walking on its own – I finally decided to throw it out.
That sock was by far the most disgusting thing to ever exist. The cum was so crusted that the fucking thing made this scraping noise whenever I put it on – little white flakes falling on my muff and making it look like I have pubic dandruff.
God, it was so gross.
Oh, and I was also a picker/sticker as a kid so the wall behind my mattress was caked in boogar, in case you wanted to cram one last image in your head.
I’ve been busy. Busy, busy, busy. Some of your have been contacted, some have not been (but you will be) and some of you will have words with me at New York Comic-Con whether you like it or not. Busy man – exciting things. Tease, tease, tease…
Updated my business cards for NY, coming to town with a fresh batch. Suit’s in the dry cleaners and ready for that Saturday. I still need to go get a new hat for the suit, I’m thinking I might get a kangol to go with it. You really don’t give a shit about any of this, get on with the story you say, we’re almost done, next week is the last week.
The Moose is almost out of the fucking closet…
___________________
Today’s story is not for the faint of heart, prudish, or squeamish. Everything today falls under what Chris Piers would call “too much information”. It’s not even a story, really, just a collection of little tales that are meant to make you laugh a bit and perhaps remind you that you’re not alone in this world – we all have our gross moments.
Like when I was thirteen and had diarrhea and thought I could hold in. Instead I sharted and it ran down my leg and out my pants, left a nice little present on the living room floor which I didn’t notice and instead kept on walking, tracking mud as I went. Five minutes later I hear my mom yell, “ill” and telling my dad that Elizabeth, my sister, had an accident on the floor. It took me all of three seconds to put it together and check the inside of my pants – sure enough there was a mudslide running down that I was somehow oblivious to. I didn’t speak up, though, it’s not like they were going to punish an almost-two year old for shitting on the floor.
Oh, I’m just getting warmed up. Wait until you hear about the love sock.
But first, how about I tell you about the vat. The vat was this gallon jug half filled with apple juice my roommate and I kept in the close freshman year in college. As part of a year long science experiment we tried to see how disgusting we can make it’s contents. We threw everything in there – cigarette butts, pieces of bread, banana peels, bugs – every once and a while one of us would be holding something in our hand and we’d decided that it NEEDS to go into the vat.
We’d have to lift our shirts over our noses because the smell would make you puke. We quickly take off the cap, throw the object in, put the cap back on, mix it up and leave the room for several minutes to let it air out. The fucking vat became its own ecosystem eventually, new strains of bacteria and molds were springing up daily – you’d look inside it and see shit moving and wonder how it got in there –the stuff we were putting into the vat was spawning new life
Eventually my roommate wanted to get rid of the vat but I refused to let it go. There were only a couple of months left in the school year and there was no way I was willing to pull the plug prematurely. Besides, I’m pretty sure if I tried to get rid of it the vat would revolt.
On the last day of school, before we were kicked out of the dorms, we blocked a sink in the bathroom and filled it with the contents of the vat. I still feel bad for the poor fuck that had to clean that shit up.
And sometimes you don’t realize how gross something is until someone tells you…
My Grandpa John – he gave me handkerchiefs one year for Christmas. It’s such a weird present, the kind of thing a kid would only get from some old man that doesn’t believe in tissues. Not wanting to waste the present, I started using the handkerchief.
It was all good until I got a nasty cold, my nose was running like mad and every five minutes I’d pull the handkerchief out of my jacket, blow my nose, fold it up and put it back in my jacket. I was dating M at the time and after watching me take this crusty, snot filled rag out of my jacket pocket ten times or so (and even then after using it for a week straight) she stops me and tells me that what I’m doing is quite possibly the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen and I should use a tissue like a normal person.
I didn’t use the handkerchief after that. It lasted an entire week – unlike my torrid affair with the love sock.
Ah, the love sock. When you’re just hitting puberty and learn the joys of masturbation you try new and exciting things out. Usually these new and exciting things are along the lines of, “hey, I wonder what jerking off is like standing up?” or “hey, I wonder what jerking off is like if I invert my right hand so it’s like an upside down left hand?”
Every once and a while us guys (or me, at least, really putting myself out there), go all MacGyver and try to figure what we can stick our dicks in so as to emulate fucking. I don’t remember every object I tried to have sex with at that young age – I think toilet paper roll is standard, I know of several other guys who tried that. Rolling the blankets into a tightly packed ball never worked. Shampoo bottles always seemed ideal – you screw the cap off and there’s a natural lubricant in there, luckily for everyone in my household I never rocked a pencil dick – what I don’t have in length I make up for in girth (and my dick is above average length which means it’s girthy as all fuck if you’re doing the math).
Turns out the best item in the household I could use for a jerk-off assist was a nice, cozy sock – my thermal socks, actually.
The thing is, I was paranoid that my mom would catch on when she pulled my sock out of the hamper and it was stiff as a board. So the only logical thing to do (to a young teenager, that is) was to keep using the same sock. I’d hide it under my mattress and take it out when I needed a little “extra” attention – it was like a special treat. Well, a year into that and the sock was practically walking on its own – I finally decided to throw it out.
That sock was by far the most disgusting thing to ever exist. The cum was so crusted that the fucking thing made this scraping noise whenever I put it on – little white flakes falling on my muff and making it look like I have pubic dandruff.
God, it was so gross.
Oh, and I was also a picker/sticker as a kid so the wall behind my mattress was caked in boogar, in case you wanted to cram one last image in your head.
Labels: mitc
posted by Jason at
12:17 AM
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