you can’t find it in you like you think you can

Hey there, Internet. I’m sorry I’ve been neglectful of you recently, but the truth of the matter is that my life has been one pointy toe shoed kick in the nuts the past several weeks, and I’ve been all out of funny. True, some might argue that I’ve always been all out of funny, but to those I would say “look, I don’t care how long we’ve been married, if I wanted my wife’s opinion, I’d have sent you a text message asking for it.” I like communicating with her via the text because I find the shorter the message, the less of the boring.

I had a dream last night I was giving some sex advice to this hot teenager. She had asked for it, mind you — I don’t go about randomly offering unsolicited sex advice in my dreams, not usually anyway — and being the warm and compassionate person you all know me to be, I was doing my best to help her out. But after a little while I sort of half woke up and realized it was a dream, and I began to wonder why I was dreaming about helping the hot teenager give her boyfriend the hint that she’d like him to go down on her (that’s what she needed advice on) when, instead, I could be dreaming about banging her myself. Right? Right.

So I went back to sleep and, just when I was going to make my move, her teenager boyfriend showed up. Talk about awkward. But then he went down on her, and it really made me feel like I’d done something to help her out. It was as if my selflessness and, dare I say, personal sacrifice directly resulted in someone else’s pleasure, fictional or otherwise. And it felt good to be a part of that.

But then I rolled over and bent my boner, and I don’t care for that, not one bit. So you can forget it.