Monday, July 06, 2009
And they say romance is dead
I was busy celebrating America's birthday with my dearest college pals LL Cool Jew and Wmania this weekend in San Francisco, so I wasn't really paying attention to my text messages until we left the party we attended and got back to Wmania's condo. Once there I noticed that one of my honeys back in the P-N-Dub had undoubtedly been watching all the many exploding fireworks and naturally thought of me, and sent me a text sharing his feelings. What followed was an exchange of brief messages so romantic and sentimental they make The Notebook look like it's about a one-night stand. And not a nice, respectful type of one-night stand either, but the kind of drunken, why-the-hell-did-I-bone-this-idiot one-night stand where you say you have to go see a guy about a thing immediately afterward, use his shirt to wipe the jizz off your chest without asking or thanking him, run the fuck out of there, and then put him on permanent send-to-voicemail status.
Anyway, this series of texts is way, WAY more romantic than any of that. I wouldn't be surprised if the fine folks over at Harlequin Publishing hit me up asking me to write a book with Fabio lording over a heaving bosom on the cover based on these texts, because they are just that beautiful. Cue the violins:
Dude: Hey Razzy?Razzy: Yes Dude?Dude: I want to put my wiener in your vagina.Razzy: Well duh.Dude: I was trying to sweet talk you.Razzy: Mission accomplished. You better pen me in tomorrow, because I missed choking on your dick all weekend.Dude: Oh I'll pencil you in all night long, if you know what I mean.
Jealous? It's okay...I know that every girl dreams of one day sharing drunken texts with a silver-tongued Prince Charming of her very own. Maybe, just maybe, if you drink enough scotch and sodas and add enough random pieces of dick to your stable, you too can live the dream, single ladies, and start receiving poetic sentiments such as these. Dream big!
Labels: correspondence, hot dudes, Razzification, sex, weiners
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Fake vagina poll
A few days ago, this dude I went to grade school and high school contacted me on Facebook asking how I was. I replied tersely that I was very busy with my thesis writing and postdoc interviewing but I'd otherwise been doing fine over the last ten years. Apparently he was aware of this as he had perused my blog on occasion. Specifically, he had perused the several posts I've written concerning one Ms. Chasey Lain and her tragic and precipitous descent into hideous plastic surgery and crack (and/or maybe meth) addiction. He added that he used to jerk off to her movies in college and enjoyed that experience so much that he actually purchased a Chasey Lain replica rubber vagina to bang. He was now disappointed that Chasey is but a loathsome, Gollum-esque shadow of the utterly fucktastic porn star she once was.
This entire email gave me pause, as I was a little startled to learn this bit of information about this guy. I remembered this guy as one of those extremely quiet types who would either grow up to be a software tycoon or a serial killer. In our decade of being classmates, we maybe exchanged twenty words TOTAL. I actually don't know anything about this dude except that my brother was friends with his little brother back when they were nine, but now I know how he masturbates. I was a little shocked, not just because this is an odd and slightly creepy piece of information to hear from someone you barely knew during childhood, but because he actually admitted to owning and using one of those fake vaginas.
I have always been puzzled by those fake porn star vaginas. I am by no means a prude, nor am I opposed to using masturbation accessories. I could go on for hours about essential features of a quality vibrator the way some dudes talk about cars or motorcycles. However, I just don't understand those fake porn star vaginas.
I get that dudes want to experience banging their favorite porn stars. I also get that in lieu of actually banging one's favorite porn star, masturbation is a solid substitute for that activity. However, I just don't understand how sticking your dick into this this is the equivalent to banging young, pre-crack/meth, pre-Restalyne fish lips Chasey Lain:
I just cannot believe that two AA batteries can accurate simulate fucking a porn star. In my experience with vibrators, two AA batteries are good for about 30 seconds before they start to crap out, and if I for some inexplicable reason wanted that sort of brevity, there are plenty of loser one-pump chumps in my little black book I can call. If two AA batteries can't cut it for a tiny portable bullet vibe, they sure as hell aren't going to duplicate the experience of porking Chasey Lain.
Also, these just aren't very sexy sex toys. Granted, not all sex toys have to be in and of themselves sexy. I have this two-sided dildo thing which, every time I've attempted to break it out for one of my special girlfriends, just makes me laugh because it's hot pink, gigantic, and flops all over the place like some sort of ridiculous gigantic piece of half-cooked pasta. I actually don't think I've used it on any girl apart from playfully flogging her with it as a joke. My strap-on, however, is definitely not designed to be seen and admired so much as it is for banging some broad cross-eyed. Likewise, a vibrator is often form over function. Women don't fantasize about having rabbits eat them out or doing it with a body massager from The Sharper Image. Some vibrators are more stylishly designed than others, but when it comes right down to it they are tools. Fake porn star pussies are designed to be fantasy objects in and of themselves, so that guys can pretend they are actually nailing Chasey Lain or whoever else. I don't know about dudes, but when I fantasize, I don't do so about someone's disembodied torso and genitalia.
Furthermore, I have always figured that these things get seriously gross after just one use. I bet that any sexiness derived from the knowledge that you're fucking a "Cyberskin" exact replica of Chasey Lain's orifices wears off the second you have to scrub the dried-up dick cheese out of their inner recesses. And "TRY ME, BUY ME?" As if the prospect of cleaning post-masturbatory smegma out of a fake porn star pussy wasn't revolting enough, you can actually wind up with someone's literal sloppy seconds. What fucking genius at the Terminator pussy factory marketing department thought the concept of a public testing hole on a fake porn star cooze would be a good idea? Although it's a disgusting sales concept, in fairness, sticking your dick into a dank, dirty passageway that's hosted countless other anonymous, herpetic weiners isn't all that different from actually engaging in sexual congress with the extremely weathered and amphetamine addled Ms. Lain at present.
I have always wondered who in the hell uses these things, and now I have heard from one solitary person that they actually plunked down the ducats to elaborately masturbate into a stank pelvic rubber semen collector. However, since every porn star in the world seems to sell these, someone must be buying them. In fact, Chasey Lain actually has FOUR different models of fake twat on the market, which appear pretty similar in terms of looks and features but retail for anywhere from around $30 to well over $100. Obviously there's a market.
Thus, out of scientific curiosity concerning the practical and economic aspects of Chasey Lain (and/or Your Favorite Porn Star) fake genital molds, I'm doing a little survey on the comment page. How many of you fellas (or girls, although I really can't imagine any practical reason for a woman to use such a product) have actually fucked a fake porn star vagina? How many of you have actually purchased one? And most importantly, how is this product "easy to clean" as the online sex emporiums tout? I am genuinely mystified both that this actually appeals to anyone, much less enough people to warrant an entire industry, so any clarification would be most appreciated. Holler at me, pervs.
Labels: correspondence, gross, oh the horror, perversion, porn
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
This is your porn star on drugs
Awhile back, I posted about some videos that porn producer and notorious asshole Donny Long uploaded to YouTube starring the once-great and now extremely cracked out porn star Chasey Lain. Sadly, I have been up to my tits in bullshit lab work, and haven't had the time to follow up on what Chasey has been doing since she threatened to have her mafioso boyfriend kill Donny Long for not letting her bang the male talent with a tampon in (and EW, gross). Chasey drove off in her Rolls Royce, crack pipe ablaze, and I thought that might be the last of her. I was saddened, because what a tragic end to such a luminous career in sucking dick on camera for cash.
Thank goodness my Razzyphiles are picking up my slack. Today I received an e-mail with the subject line "Chasey Lain–from bad to worse!" from PackMan, a Razzyphile who has been diligently following this story in my stead (which, I should add, I really appreciate because nobody is more depressed about my lack of bloggery lately than myself, and I need all the help I can get). Attached were two photographs proving that even when you think someone has hit bottom, there's always a little further that they can fall. It also proves that I can scream "WHY, CHASEY, WHY?!" a little louder than I did when I saw her trying to negotiate the going rate for hardcore stills in fluent tweaker gibberish.
This right here is exactly why you shouldn't do drugs, especially those generally bought and sold in crystalline form. Chasey looks like what would result if one of the "Faces of Meth" procreated with something from a George A. Romero movie. She looks like she's more interested in eating brain than giving it, and trust that's not something I want to rub one off to. Chasey looked pretty beat before, but now she looks like the human equivalent of the residue that accumulates on the bottom of a crack pipe. I imagine she smells like a combination of anhydrous ammonia and a Porta-Potty on the last day of Burning Man that has been filled with an endless stream of unbathed, tripping-balls drunken hippies while sweltering in the hot desert sun for three days. Sister needs to be on "Intervention" AND "Extreme Makeover," not cavorting around industry functions with male talent that seemingly can't wait to escape her necrotic clutches before some of her coochie cooties get on his Pacers jersey.
Even more disturbing than Chasey's cadaveric appearance is the fact that she's apparently executing some kind of twisted revenge scheme posing here with Donny Long's personal archnemesis, ChristianXXX. ChristianXXX did a few gay titles in the past, and this has led to a vicious feud in which Donny Long has accused him of being a "tranny fucker" and discouraged other women from working for him due to "safety concerns" (because only gay dudes have STDs, right, Donny, you homophobe?). ChristianXXX has responded by attempting to fight him in a parking lot (Donny Long ran away) and authoring the world's most soporific porn blog about his workout routine and what he likes to order at Chili's. I've never had any problem with ChristianXXX myself because I don't really pay much attention to the male talent in porn unless the dude is gross (in which case I have to actively try to not look at him), and ChristianXXX seems generally well-groomed and unintrusive. However, he may have just jumped into gross-out territory with this ill-advised unholy anti-Donny Long alliance, if the above photos suggest that he did a scene with the decrepit remnants of what was once one of the hottest pieces of ass in the entire adult world. That's really too bad, because the other day I saw a clip of Christian banging Eva Angelina and it was pretty hot. Now I can't even watch it again, because the second his bald, Mr. Clean-looking ass shows up I'm going to conjure up images of Chasey's ghoulish visage. I don't even think the hotness that is Eva Angelina will be able to quell my compulsive and violent urge to vomit all over my computer screen, and that's saying a lot, because she's pretty hot.
And speaking of compulsive, violent urges, I have to stop now due to uncontrollable shuddering.
Labels: correspondence, drugs, gross, oh the horror, porn, Razzyphiles, sluts, tragedy
Friday, October 10, 2008
If I don't do nothin', I'm-a ball
My reputation for expert braininess continues to precede me. When Razzyphiles find they are having a little trouble, they can of course go read my instructional essay on the topic. Unfortunately, sometimes specific situations arise that necessitate going straight to the source for assistance with all their cocksucking needs, and I'm happy to oblige. That's exactly what happened when I received this e-mail today:
Razzy, my roommate and I have been arguing this same point over and over for about a week now. Since I hold your opinion of fellatio techniques in the highest regard, I have come to you. My roommate is convinced that putting a ball entirely in ones mouth during oral sex is "unnecessary and gross". I say, when it comes to oral sex, you get what you give. My argument for putting a ball (or two) into my mouth occasionally during fellatio is that I love to hear my name being screamed. Not that having a ball in my mouth makes him scream, but the overall effect of a quality blowjob (which necessitates switching it up a bit).
Thoughts?
Well, I could not agree with the author more. I count myself staunchly in the pro-ball-or-two-in-mouth camp for the exact reason the author describes: it's important in the bedroom in general to make like David Silver and switch it up, and assuredly when demonstrating one's sword-swallowing abilities. A lot of girls think that sucking dick is just that: sticking a dick in your mouth and applying some suction. Actually, a lot of girls think it's just sticking the head in your mouth and jerking the guy off because doing some actual throat work is a hassle, and I think that's both a lazy cop-out and indicative of a greater character flaw. In cocksucking and in life, I have no respect for slags who strive for mediocrity at best. Besides, as I've said before many times, it's called a fucking job for a reason! It's not supposed to be easy, but hard work has its rewards. FDR once said that "happiness lies in the joy of achievement and the thrill of creative effort," and I wholeheartedly concur. As the author notes above, you get what you give. Greater investment will yield greater returns, and in this day of collapsing stock markets, getting paid back in gratification for a well-rounded BJ may be one of the few remaining low-risk investments left to us.
While putting balls in your mouth is optional, it shouldn't be discounted as "unnecessary." It may not be necessary for a basic blowjob, but as I already mentioned, any remotely admirable woman isn't going to aspire to boring the dude whose dick she's sucking with her banal, uninspired, lazy technique. Blowjobs are like cars in this way; sure, a boring, sensible Kia Rio with vinyl seats, manual windows, and a tape deck will get you where you need to go, but wouldn't you enjoy riding in some top of the line S-class Benz with fancy leather interior, a custom sound system, and every tricked-out car accoutrement in the book more? Sucking on balls is the built-in GPS navigation system of a blowjob: it's not required, but it sure does make the whole package seem a lot more luxurious and indulgent.
Also, testicle-mouth interfacing isn't gross. I can only imagine that the chick who attests that it is is relatively inexperienced, because in the pantheon of nasty sexual stuff, scrotum sucking is pretty tame. Obviously any chick who thinks it's sick has never rimmed a dude or stuck a finger up a guy's ass. I'll admit that most fellas' family jewels have a certain pungent muskiness to them, but that's actually appealing to someone like me who is a connoisseur of stinky aged semi-soft European cheeses. Apart from the occasional annoying inadvertant pube-flossing that can occur when a stray hair gets dislodged in your mouth, there's really nothing too gross about having a set of nuts on your tonsils. In fact, that reminds me of Dr. Dre/Snoop lyrics, which in turn makes me feel comforted and nostalgically joyful.
So, ladies, take my advice as a certified Head Doctor who has performed many a surgery: my official position is that when you are giving some brain, make sure you have a ball.
Labels: correspondence, perversion, Razzyphiles, sex, WWRD
Friday, September 26, 2008
My new goal: whatever I like
The other day, LL Cool Jew Gchatted me, fretting about the current economic situation. Don't let any stereotypes you may harbor about her religious extraction fool you; that bitch is about as interested in banking and economics as she is in particle physics, Harlequin romance novels, or doing home repairs, which is to say not at all. However, in this frightening financial climate, even those of us who are usually blissfully unaware of what goes on in the world of investments and equity and whatnot are forced to pay attention to the dire news coming from Wall Street. Since as a graduate student and a highly educated humanities grant specialist about to enter the job market, respectively, myself and LL Cool Jew are completely impotent as far as finding any kind of rational solace about how we might cope with the travails currently facing the world. Therefore, we occupy ourselves with the next best thing: discussion regarding diminutive rapper and self-proclaimed "King of the South" Clifford "T.I." Harris's current single "Whatever You Like," an ode to buying all sorts of luxurious shit for the chick he's banging, and rapper ternt sanga Faheem "T-Pain" Najm's current single "Can't Believe It," which is basically about the same thing except flavored with T-Pain's inexplicable desire for cold-weather real estate. Our employment prospects may be grim and our country may be headed for utter ruin and disaster, but at least we can fantasize about dating ballers with the means to make us say, "Economy? What economy?"
LL Cool Jew: stacks on deck
LL Cool Jew: patron on ice
Razzy: LOL
Razzy: (who drinks patron on ice?)
LL Cool Jew: dear t.i., i will tell you what i would like: to listen to this jam on repeat for the remainder of the hour. many thanks, llcj.
LL Cool Jew: TYXO!
Razzy: LOL
LL Cool Jew: i am really dumb but also, what are stacks on deck?
LL Cool Jew: i am so white
LL Cool Jew: TOTZ WHITE
Razzy: i'm assuming it means money that he's going to make
Razzy: future money
Razzy: projected income
LL Cool Jew: AAAAH
Razzy: let me check urban dictionary
LL Cool Jew: yes please
Razzy: oh oops
Razzy: it's soulja boy's record label!
Razzy: AKA "SOD Money Gang"
LL Cool Jew: really????
LL Cool Jew: that's dumb
Razzy: oh, also urban dictionary says it means "to have a lot of money" or "to have money when u need it. Never run out"
LL Cool Jew: You know them old sugar daddies...they be trickin', they tell them...
LL Cool Jew: see you were 100% right on!!
LL Cool Jew: "projected income"!
LL Cool Jew: dude
LL Cool Jew: when i listen to this song
LL Cool Jew: i realize how awesome it would be to be screwing a multimillionaire.
Razzy: well YEAH
Razzy: gas up the jet and you can go wherever you like
Razzy: if you date t.i.
LL Cool Jew: i wish someone would tell ME i won't never, never have to go in my wallet. :(
Razzy: get a mansion in wisconsin if you date t-pain
Razzy: i KNOW
Razzy: the last date i went on I PAID
LL Cool Jew: and i love the really insistent way he goes, MY CHICK GET WHATEVER SHE WANT!
Razzy: that was my choice
Razzy: i volunteered to pay because i like the guy and i'm all modern like thatRazzy: although like many of my speculative ventures, that investment turned out to be a bust
Razzy: but still, i only date poor or at best middle class people
LL Cool Jew: srsly
LL Cool Jew: no big boy ice for us.
Razzy: i have to be I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T
LL Cool Jew: LAME.
Razzy: i know, especially since i can't afford all the gucci that lil' boosie and webbie claim their independent women bestow on them
LL Cool Jew: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Razzy: at least there's still hope for me
Razzy: you're married to a journalist
LL Cool Jew: yeah but maybe one day i'll be the executive director of a rich-ass charitable foundation...
Razzy: well exax
LL Cool Jew: stacks on deck, patron on ice...
LL Cool Jew: (see, repeat)
Razzy: hahaha
LL Cool Jew: (TI is giving me what i like)
Razzy: will you really drink patron on ice?
Razzy: i guess i would if that's what ti wanted me to drink
LL Cool Jew: i mean i don't really fuck with tequila
Razzy: tequila on the rocks, no less
Razzy: why can't rappers be into scotch?!
LL Cool Jew: maybe if it were watered down
LL Cool Jew: i mean, if ti's buying, i'm trying
Razzy: i guess "dalmorangie on ice" doesn't quite have the same ring to it
LL Cool Jew: i could probably look right into his eyes in heels...
Razzy: lol
LL Cool Jew: he's so lil.
Razzy: that's why he's buying whatever you like
Razzy: he's overcompensating
LL Cool Jew: dude if t.i. gave me his black card he would so regret it
LL Cool Jew:i would destroy him
LL Cool Jew: he needs to put you up in a condo way up in toronto
Razzy: or a log cabin in aspen
LL Cool Jew: neither of those sound particularly attractive right???
LL Cool Jew: certainly not Wiscansin
LL Cool Jew: why is tpain so into cold weather if he's from Miami?Razzy: he's from tallahassee, actually, that's what the "t" stands for, but whatevs
Razzy: t-pain was hard up for places that rhymed with condo, cabin, and mansion
Razzy: and he wants what he doesn't know...it's all exotic
LL Cool Jew: hate to break it to you tpain, there is nothing exotical about wiscansin
LL Cool Jew: ooh, so what is a Marcialago or whatever?
LL Cool Jew: faincy car?
Razzy: i believe a murcielago is a type of lamborghini
Razzy: i am amazed that he can pronounce "murcielago" but not "wisconsin"
LL Cool Jew: the car is more expensive
Razzy: than a mansion in wisconsin? probably
LL Cool Jew: probably!!!!!
Razzy: i imagine real estate in america's dairyland is cheap
LL Cool Jew: esp. in those heinous suburban subdivisions
Razzy: do you think t-pain means a mcmansion?
LL Cool Jew: definitely
Razzy: or something like designed by frank lloyd wright
LL Cool Jew: i am pretty sure he doesn't care much for historic architecture
Razzy: probably not
LL Cool Jew: since those places rarely include revolving jasmine-scented hottubs
I think it's pretty much decided. I need to become some type of rap star, or at least start screwing one. This grad school bullshit isn't going to give me "whatever I like." I'm not sure what exactly that entails, but revolving jasmine-scented hot tubs sounds pretty good, as does "stacks on deck," any kind of premium liquor on ice, and a private jet at my disposal. And since the reality is that I'll probably be a Ph.D-educated bread line lingerer once our country's economy totally collapses, I might as well shoot for the stars and make "whatever I like" my new career ambition.
Labels: capitalism, correspondence, LL Cool Jew, overcompensation, rap, ridiculous absurdity
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Porn is for pussies, and I mean that in a good way
I got a fun piece of fan mail from a Razzyphile who requested the moniker DrunkenStumble a while back:
Razzy!
Though a contemplation of an email has been in the works for nearly a year, I finally had to send one in upon reading Aunt Jesus. Your Aunt Jesus smells an awful lot like my Uncle ... let's call him John (after the Baptist who, let's face it, looked more like a caveman than the baptizer of Jesus) who is a hypocrite of the highest order. He went from awesome drunken party boy to saintly congregation president with the turn of a screw. He also goes into what I've guessed to be Jesus induced hazes whenever homosexuality, liberals, or alcohol is mentioned. This I find EXTREMELY odd seeing that him and my dad's brother is walking that razor's edge between HIV and AIDS and is so far in the closet he's next door fellating the neighbor.
Now I'm one of many Razzyphiles on facebook and finally hunted you down to friend you on facebook, I can't help but thank you for bringing out my inner slut. Before I had met my ex I was so buttoned up that if anyone mentioned porn star I was crimson from the neck down and knowing porn stars openly was a bit of my dirty little secret. My ex introduced me to the site and upon the discovery that someone else thought Belladonna was pretty bad ass made me realize that living the boring life I'd had wasn't going to cut it. So, a smattering of mediocre bed rompings later, I find that you're the best thing I got out of dating my ex.
Now I finally have someone who also thinks John McCain is made of awesome and isn't touting a "God Hates Fags" sign makes the world a far easier place to live in.DrunkenStumble
I always love a good fawning e-mail, but I particularly love one that credits me for bringing a woman living an admittedly "boring life" to Jesus Belladonna. I think every woman could learn a thing or two from Belladonna, and not just how to (BOTH SUPER NSFW) make Cytheria erupt like Old Faithful or get double fisted by Jenna Haze. In fact, every woman could learn a lot from watching porn in general, and not just about sex. Porn teaches you what feminism is really all about.
Even when I was an angry feminazi type with a Ms. subscription and a chip on my shoulder about the patriarchy, I just couldn't get behind the deeply man-hating feminist theories of women like Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin. These dumb bitches overcompensated for decades of being the ugliest fat hags at the bra burning rally by declaring all penetrative sex to be rape and claiming that pornography is a violation of women's civil rights. In a post she wrote discussing the world's most embarrassing Jews, my friend LL Cool Jew, a liberal, 1970s radical-bred, NPR-listening, lesbian on sabbatical from San Francisco, had some choice words to say about Andrea Dworkin the Hutt and her vehement anti-pornography stance:
This is a bitch against whom I passionately railed as a righteously sexually liberated Smith College junior for her repressive, primitive, man-hating, female-sexuality-mistrusting, straight-up-First-Amendment-violating crusade against porn. Saying porn does damage to women necessarily means that women don't enjoy porn, and every woman I know can attest against that. Anyway, don't get me started. Suffice it to say, thank God the good old U.S. Constitution was around to fend off that fat, embarrassing Jewess.
Even back in the day when I was wearing ill-fitting men's clothes, rocking the world's worst baby dyke haircut, jamming to my Bikini Kill CDs, and writing "RIOT GRRL" on my knuckles, I felt the same way as LL Cool Jew. No matter how pissed off I was about the nefarious patriarchy supposedly keeping us down and no matter how many bad poems I wrote, bands from Olympia, Portland, or San Francisco I admired, or unflattering pairs of Salvation Army cords I donned to express my subversion of the male establishment, I never directed my ire at pornography. Even before I had seen any porn, I could appreciate its intrinsic value to society, and specifically to women.
I realize that most porn is geared toward men and their fantasies, and that might lead an anger-prone feminist to believe that it is inherently sexist. I've seen a lot of things in porn that compel me to roll my eyes because they were so obviously thought up by a dude, such as peroxide blondes with five-inch acrylic claws fingerbanging each other and acting like they are shrieking with pleasure rather than vagina-ripping agony, or the feigned joys of a strap-on blowjob. The small amount of "female friendly" porn available is usually incredibly boring, relying more on romantic storylines and foreplay than hardcore fucking. In fact, if you believe "Sex and the City," women get off on shoes and relationship drama rather than any kind of actual sexual activity. However, to suggest that because porn is geared toward men indicates that it is exclusively their province would be wholly erroneous.
The other night, I was hanging out with a bunch of my bitches and I was regaling them with tales about how I learned to love performing fellatio. This turned into an instructional session involving me demonstrating some techniques on a beer bottle and referring some skeptics to recent posts from this very blog. One particularly resistant pupil continued to raise an eyebrow at me, so I said, "Oh, hell, just go watch some blowjob videos on RedTube and emulate it." The reaction at the table was explosive.
"I FUCKING LOVE RedTube!" exclaimed the hesitant cocksucker. "That shit rules!"
"What's RedTube? Is that like YouPorn? I'm on YouPorn all the time!" added one of her friends, who, I should add, was a pain-in-the-ass overly political lesbian.
"RedTube is my jam, for sure," said another one of the girls.
I should add that, of all these women, I am probably the most sexually in-your-face girl there. These ladies aren't prudes, but many of them are definitely the kinds of girls who don't fuck strangers or put out on the first date or have threesomes or otherwise engage in my kind of slutty antics. In spite of the fact, however, that they are all "good girls" with successful careers and lots of self-esteem, they are all apparently really into hardcore streaming tube sites. These women obviously don't consider porn to be objectifying or degrading. They consider it a source of enjoyment and a boon to their sexuality. Tons of women consume porn in spite of whatever male chauvinist trappings the self-loathing, man-fearing, sexuality-rejecting feminazi theorists of the old guard might base their wack-ass theories upon. The fact that many modern women have become so comfortable with their own sexuality that they consume male-directed porn with as much gusto as your average dick-jerking, woman-oppressing dude is a triumph for feminism.
I am happy to have done my part for the sex-positive women's movement by helping DrunkenStumble, a woman I've never met before, embrace her love of rubbing them off to Belladonna. Knowing that setting the example of an open, sexually liberated pervert helps other women achieve the same laudable goal is definitely one of the satisfying perks of being in the useless bullshit business, and it motivates me to continue singing the praises of smut. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch some porn.
Labels: correspondence, feminazism, I LOVE IT, perversion, porn, Razzyphiles, sex
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Anthrax ROCKS
I received the following e-mail from a Razzyphile the other day:
Hey, Razzy
Thank you for the useless bullshit. You are definitely fulfilling a societal need.
I was hoping you could post about the anthrax dude who recently killed himself. You are an expert in the field and we razzyphiles would like to hear from you anything germane to our greater understanding of the entire incident.
PS great rack
I'm a recent law school grad but not admitted so I can't help legally yet.
I am always happy to accommodate requests to drop some science for an interested Razzyphile, particularly one who simultaneously compliments my tits, declares the demand for useless bullshit a "societal need," and might be able to potentially join my crack pro bono legal team of criminal defense and bankruptcy attorneys once he passes the bar exam. I'm also always especially happy to discuss this sexy Gram-positive spore-forming facultative anaerobe:
I've had a real scientific hard-on for Bacillus anthracis since I started studying microbiology. By all accounts, it's a hardy little survivor, which is what makes it a successful pathogen and a relatively efficient biological weapon. The above picture (which looks like a colored transmission electron micrograph) depicts B. anthracis in a state called vegetative growth, which is the type of growth most people imagine bacteria do in an Erlenmeyer flask or a petri dish of culture media. They divide by binary fission until they run out of nutrients or growth conditions become otherwise unfavorable. Most bacteria, like E. coli or Salmonella species, will proceed to die or at least stop dividing under conditions of nutrient deprivation, but B. anthracis can do something special. It can sporulate, meaning it changes into a dormant spore form, until it is again exposed to more favorable growth conditions. This is equivalent to watching TV and taking a nap on the couch when nothing good is on, to conserve your strength and attention for when something awesome like "I Love Money" or a rerun of Red Dawn merits waking up.
B. anthracis spores are extremely durable and can remain viable for decades in the soil, which is why livestock are most often afflicted with anthrax. The spores get from the earth into grazing animals' hair and basically hang out there. If they get into vulnerable areas of skin (via a cut or a mucosal surface like the eye), they germinate, and result in cutaneous anthrax. Generally the humans that get this are farmers, herders, slaughterhouse employees, and other people working with livestock. In both animals and humans, cutaneous anthrax presents as an ulcerating lesion that is usually pretty gross, but usually treatable with antibiotics and not fatal.
It's much more serious when the spores are inhaled and germinate in the lungs. Prior to the Cold War era of state-sponsored bioweapons programs, pulmonary anthrax was known as "Woolsorter's Disease," because it typically affected people who worked in places where animal hides were processed and resulted in high concentrations of airborne spores. However, when World War II came around, a number of countries (including the great U.S. of A., Great Britain, and the Soviet Union) decided to test the feasibility of using aerosolized anthrax spores as a biological weapon. They are naturally a great bioweapon because not only are the spores incredibly hardy, but pulmonary anthrax is not transmissible from person-to-person. Therefore, you can target an enemy efficiently without worrying about causing an epidemic. However, nobody ever used anthrax as a weapon in an actual war, partly because of the lasting effects. Gruinard Island, off the Scottish coast, was used by British scientists to test their anthrax bombs in the hopes of using them against Germany. They stopped developing anthrax as a weapon when they concluded that, while effective at killing their test sheep, the spores were so durable that they would render any German city attacked this way uninhabitable for years afterward. In fact, Gruinard Island was so heavily contaminated that it was quarantined for almost 50 years after these tests, until the Brits got sick of going back to test it all the time and bombed the whole place with 280 metric tons of formaldehyde.
The major world powers then signed a treaty in 1972 pledging not to develop new biological or chemical weapons. Apart from an incident in the Russian city of Sverdlovsk in 1979 when a number of factory workers across the street from a "vaccine plant" died from pulmonary anthrax (the Kremlin attributed the incident to contaminated meat, while Soviet defectors involved in the Soviet bioweapons program attributed it to a filter being left off an exhaust vent), no government has openly developed anthrax as a biological weapon. However, anthrax is still studied from both a basic research and a biodefense perspective, and there are certainly cultures of highly virulent B. anthracis growing in many research facilities all over the world.
For anyone with a basic knowledge of microbiological technique, weaponized anthrax is easy to make. In fact, if you can make homebrewed beer, you can make an anthrax weapon. Anthrax is not like Ebola virus, which is hard to get, harder to culture, and almost impossible to deliver to the intended targets. If you wanted to attack someone with Ebola, you'd have to go to Africa in the midst of an Ebola outbreak, somehow smuggle viable samples of virus through customs (and "samples" in this case would probably consist of bloody vomit or shit from an Ebola patient on ice), find a bunch of monkeys to covertly infect to grow more virus, and try to attack and inject infected tissues from these monkeys into my unfortunate victims since most strains of Ebola (at least the ones that infect humans) don't appear to be airborne. Since Ebola is a virus, it needs a host cell to grow in, and the virus particles alone are not stable for long at room temperature or when exposed to UV radiation (ie: sunlight). You can't just make some powdered Ebola and spray it all over people, and someone is bound to notice if you're running around attacking people with a syringe. There's about fifty ways that such a scheme would fail, and even if you somehow did manage to make some homegrown Ebola, it would be pretty fucking difficult to infect many people before your evil plot was discovered.
Anthrax is much easier to make. I could go dig up soil from a cow pasture in Oklahoma, culture anthrax bacilli from that, grow them in a fermentation tank which can be constructed from materials at my local hardware store, dry the culture, chop it into powder, and mail it to whoever I wanted. Even worse, pulmonary anthrax is usually deadly, because the initial symptoms aren't much different than a chest cold. Unlike other bacteria that cause pneumonia by growing to the point of taking over the lungs, pulmonary anthrax causes respiratory failure via a toxin the bacteria secrete. By the time it becomes apparent that a patient has pulmonary anthrax versus a more common respiratory pathogen, even getting rid of the bacteria with antibiotics doesn't get rid of the toxin, and then it's usually too late. Therefore, it's quite easy for someone with a rudimentary knowledge of microbiology to make a deadly, easily transportable terrorist weapon. Fortunately, most scientists (including myself) aren't looking to break into the bioterrorism business, and have serious ethical problems with biological weapons. Unfortunately, there are some who do not fit that description, which is where the recently suicide-d Dr. Bruce Ivins comes in.
In the wake of those anthrax mail attacks in 2001, the federal government obviously put a lot of effort into determining where that anthrax came from. Like people or any other living organism, anthrax from a lab is genetically distinct from anthrax in a podunk cow pasture somewhere, so the government was able to determine that it came from a virulent lab strain. In fact, it came from a strain that our own government uses to develop anthrax vaccines. That's why the government fucked up royally by running a colossally inept investigation of Dr. Steven Hatfill, the wrong anthrax scientist, who just collected a $5 million settlement from the federal government for the ruin it wrought on his career and his not-a-terrorist reputation.
As it turns out, it was more likely Dr. Bruce Ivins, who killed himself last week when he discovered that he was going to be indicted on capital murder charges for being the actual anthrax mailer. Dr. Ivins was involved in all sorts of sketchy activity, including renting post office boxes under assumed names, using his lab after-hours (although as a grad student, that seems like a perfectly normal workday in the slave labor culture of academic research), having a number of unreported anthrax spills, threatening to kill co-workers, frightening his shrink into getting a restraining order against him, and being strangely obsessed with the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority at Princeton. He was also apparently a loner and a dick.
While anyone has reason to be skeptical of the FBI's largely circumstantial case against the late Dr. Ivins given their total shitshow of an investigation into the now-exonerated Dr. Hatfill, I can state from personal experience that science has been known to harbor some disturbed people that remind me of Dr. Ivins. Without specifically referring to anyone in particular, a person with a need to dominate, threaten, and harass his colleagues, has a troublesome and obsessive relationship with women, does not respond to reprimands or psychological treatment, and takes no personal responsibility for his actions is not unprecedented in the field of microbiology. Unfortunately, these kinds of mentally unstable people can simultaneously be good enough at their jobs to get access to dangerous pathogens, and sometimes the underlying craziness isn't recognized until it's too late.
Even worse, this personality type can sometimes combine the monstrous need to kill innocent people via anthrax with a desire for personal gain. Because these people are Ph.D scientists, they are obviously intelligent, and can sometimes engineer a situation to benefit financially from their own reprehensible crimes. For example, a person might be able to get away with being a scary, abusive, potentially violent asshole by threatening lawsuits or otherwise manipulating the legal system to get what they want along with a substantial cash award. In Dr. Ivins's case, his numerous patent claims over anthrax vaccine technology would provide a significant financial motive to create a nationwide panic about attacks with weaponized anthrax. Currently, the anthrax vaccine approved for use in the U.S. is primarily reserved for military personnel and the odd first-responder. If everyone in the country suddenly became hysterical over the prospect of a large-scale anthrax attack, the demand for a vaccine would increase logarithmically. Dr. Ivins stood to make millions of dollars personally from this kind of nationwide terror, and that can only be icing on the cake for acting out on his reprehensible misanthropic impulses.
Now, many people are probably wondering whether or not they should be afraid of future anthrax attacks since it's so easy to grow and distribute as a lethal bioweapon. I would say no. Sure, the possibility exists. So does the possibility of a flu pandemic as serious as the Spanish flu of 1918 that killed as many as 100 million people by some estimations. So does the possibility of some terrorist getting their hands on one of the few poorly secured smallpox samples, of an airborne strain of Ebola emerging, of all bacteria developing multiple antibiotic resistance, and so on. The Russians alone have a whole arsenal of Cold War-era biological weapons that could be procured on the black market and released, but I'm not laying awake worrying about dying from a terrorist attack of weaponized Soviet tularemia or glanders. The microbiological world is full of nasty (and fascinating) pathogens, and there are plenty of nasty human beings who would gladly facilitate their assault on us. However, I find it more productive to worry about the infectious problems we already have to contend with than the ones that may or may not decimate our civilization. I think it's much more practical and sensible to worry about getting HIV when I have incautious drunk sex with a fellow New York City resident than to fret that there's a slight chance some lunatic spiked my cable bill with anthrax spores. Hell, I'm even more worried that I might get herpes! I dodged that bullet one time when I ALMOST had unprotected sex with a guy who then advised me that he had it (because he is a decent and ENTIRELY admirable human being), and 20% of adults have the herp. As a microbiologist, I'd advise you all to think more about the scourges we already face than the hypothetical ones that might be.
Labels: correspondence, crime and punishment, epidemic geekery, nerd alert, Razzyphiles, science, terror, viruses rule
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hottest Smith alumnae on the planet
It's that time of the quarter again! What time, you ask? Time for the new edition of the Smith Alumnae Quarterly! What do you mean, "I didn't go to Smith, I don't get the Smith Alumnae Quarterly?" You don't have to go to Smith to read the greatest magazine in the world! Who wouldn't want to read articles about subjects like a scrappy band of student activists creatively calling themselves "Coke Off Campus" rallied together on behalf of bottling plant employees in Colombia (seriously, they bottle COKE at sweatshops...in Colombia?) and India to ban Coca-Cola products from the Campus Center, or how some chick got a job at Google thanks to the all-powerful alumnae network (which, I should add, has yet to do shit for me besides give Tej Bindra my home address so she could conspire with her friends to get me raped by an inadvertent pervert on Craigslist)? This shit is more informative than the damn Economist!
Okay, I kid...I don't even get the SAQ anymore since I think they put me on probation after the Tej Offensive, which was started by Tej Bindra '07 calling me an assfuck and suggesting I get some Zoloft to treat my tendency to make fun of dumb SAQ articles about the dorm room she shared with her fellow flatchested Dar Williams aficionado. The last time I got a SAQ, I promptly douchebagged the entire magazine, and I think that was the last straw that broke the cameltoe's back. Presumably they booted me from the subscription list, because I haven't received a SAQ since. Oh well, who needs a SAQ to prove that she's got a "baccalaureum artibus" degree from Smith when she's got a fancy leather bound diploma--with seals and Latin and everything--tucked safely away in her bedside table with her vibrators, condoms, and lube?
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
Go Pioneers!
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
JerseyGirl '02 is a television news producer in Manhattan. She was recently elected to the New York Smith club board of directors and organizes events and parties for the club. JerseyGirl hangs out with Razzy '00, FalloniusMonk '01, and Rack '01, during monthly 90210 parties and weekly get-togethers that include cooking and watching the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming...JerseyGirl regularly sees lots of other Smithies in New York City, most of whom were at the wedding of LL Cool Jew '02 in April '07.This rules so hard. While everyone else was out getting married, procreating, or adding more letters behind their name, JerseyGirl announces that we've all been watching Bev Niner and "I Love New York." She seems embarrassed that she actually bragged to the SAQ that we're into "the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming" instead of the typical boring Smith alumnae crap. I mean, I have gotten two master's degrees since Smith and by next year I'm going to make every motherfucker I meet call me "Doctor," but who cares about that? I'd certainly rather hear about how we loyally watch DVDs of the greatest show in the history of television and teach JerseyGirl how to make grilled cheese sandwiches during commercial breaks in "Flavor of Love 3" and "The Hills." Smith College must be so proud.
Go Pioneers!
Labels: Bev Niner, correspondence, Dumb Smith bitches, FalloniusMonk, I LOVE IT, I Love New York, intentional buffoonery, JerseyGirl, LL Cool Jew, Rack, The Hills, Vh1
Monday, June 02, 2008
I'm behind and I'm sorry!
So I just checked my RAZZY.org e-mail (which is something I don't do as often as I should, mainly because there's so much spam that it's aggravating sorting through it to find real e-mail from Razzyphiles and Razzy Haters), and was distressed to see that I'm getting WAY behind on my e-mail returning. I try to be good about this, but sometimes I just get sidetracked. If you've written to me lately, you might be thinking to yourself, "Who does that fucking bitch think she is to not respond? I took time to give her excellent tips and supportive words on quitting smoking or dealing with post-abortion stress/depression, or inquire about various internet, sex, and/or science-related things, or tell her she rules, or tell her I hate her, or suggest a daily dude/douchebag, or send a link to a funny news story! Talk about UNGRATEFUL to her readers!"
Well, I don't think I'm too good to return your e-mails. I just have a high standard for wit in e-mail responses, and I haven't had time to devote the attention they deserve. Therefore, I want to apologize for not getting around to this, and let you know that it isn't you, it's me. I love the fact that you all read what I put a lot of time and energy into writing, and I sincerely appreciate your making the effort to respond to it. I promise that I WILL get back to you...eventually. It's a busy time for me, what with R. Kelly on trial, and a full agenda of mice to kill, and an upcoming trip to New Orleans this weekend, so please be patient.
And in the meantime, as a token of my appreciation to all Razzyphiles and readers (whether corresponding with me or not), here's me showing some love in the form of tits, because while I'm certain you ALL read my website for the stunningly brilliant articles, nothing says "I love you" like an impromptu shot of my unshowered, barely awake self showing my cans at 6 a.m.
Labels: correspondence, excuses, nudity, Razzification, Razzy Haters, Razzyphiles
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Jesus would approve
My friend, Razzyphile, and fellow blogger Gayman e-mailed me the other day asking if I'd ever heard of the website bigchurch.com. I had not, because--and I know you will all be filled with disbelief at this revelation--I'm not trying to score honeys on the fundamentalist Christian dating circuit.
Hard as it may be to believe, I did not meet the mystery guy I like on bigchurch.com. It would be amazing if I had, since he's not even Christian. Furthermore, I suspect that bigchurch.com's members don't "share the same spiritual beliefs" as myself, unless it's opposite day and their spiritual beliefs include a deep devotion to alcohol consumption, hitting it with girls on the side, and daily masturbation. "Christian" sounds to me like "not Catholic" and especially "not a bad, sinful, depraved ex-Catholic schoolgirl bisexual slut machine a la yours truly." I'm not trying to meet a cheesy Richard Marx-meets-Jason Priestley type such as the Bible boy above, and even if I were, I'd probably go try to find him at an actual church rather than bigchurch.com.
Gayman did not, however, send me this link in the hopes that my prayers of finding a respectable man would be answered. Rather, he did a bit of research into bigchurch.org, and discovered that it's owned by an unlikely media empire:
I wonder how all those devout Christians on bigchurch.com would feel knowing that their dating website is owned by one of the world's most infamous porn empires. I'm pretty sure that even if the folks seeking pious future spouses on bigchurch.com don't approve of or consider Penthouse's content congruous with their spiritual beliefs, Jesus would be down. He was always partying with hookers, tax collectors, lepers, and the other sinful freaks of greater Galilee and Judea, so I imagine he'd be just fine with pornographers diversifying their brands to grab some market share in the world of online Christian dating. Okay, maybe it's not exactly what Jesus would do himself, but I bet he's cool with it.
I wonder how all those devout Christians on bigchurch.com would feel knowing that their dating website is owned by one of the world's most infamous porn empires. I'm pretty sure that even if the folks seeking pious future spouses on bigchurch.com don't approve of or consider Penthouse's content congruous with their spiritual beliefs, Jesus would be down. He was always partying with hookers, tax collectors, lepers, and the other sinful freaks of greater Galilee and Judea, so I imagine he'd be just fine with pornographers diversifying their brands to grab some market share in the world of online Christian dating. Okay, maybe it's not exactly what Jesus would do himself, but I bet he's cool with it.
And since my Aunt Jesus is in the market for a sanctimonious scripture-spouting boyfriend, maybe I should pass along the link to bigchurch.com to her. Then at her wedding reception, I'll give a totally inappropriate impromptu speech thanking Penthouse AND God for bringing them together. Man, that would be so awesome.
Labels: Aunt Jesus, capitalism, correspondence, Dear God, internet domination, porn, Razzyphiles
Monday, May 05, 2008
Send me a normal e-mail already, loser
About a week and a half ago, some hater sent me this lame self-destructing anonymous e-nastygram advising me that I'm making the world an uglier place. Naturally I wrote a post in response telling said hater to lick my ugly twat.
Well, this particular hater decided that they hadn't really gotten the point across, and decided to clarify with an e-mail that won't self-destruct until August. Except by "clarify," I mean "totally confuse me."
You know what sounds like a joke? Phrases like "It is not such a hard thing you achieving" and "As for the out ugliness" to explain truths that are apparently eluding my understanding of my own inherent ugly/beautiful dichotomy. I'm "at (my) 30"s" and I "still think beauty in terms of pinkiness"? HUH? Clearly I do have loads to learn, starting with this incomprehensible dialect of English. I am glad that the author seems to clarify that while I'm internally hideous, externally I'm "the hottest thing on earth." And this person is a good judge of that because they're not a judgmental hater, or something. And what's this P.S. about "my staff"? I'll have to let Caese and Chingy! know that my emotional contagion could be affecting them. Undoubtedly it casts a sleeping spell on them, because that's the activity they're both currently engaged in at the foot of my bed. This dread illness apparently makes Chingy! snore and Caesar dream about chasing sticks and squirrels, given that his paws are twitching and he's making weird little barking noises.
As if this weren't confusing enough, this was followed up with yet ANOTHER self-destructing e-mail issuing a challenge to me.
The gauntlet has been thrown! It appears a debate is in order. I just need to brush up on my befuddling gibberish and it's ON. The only problem is that I don't know who to send my rebuttal self-destructing anonymous e-mail to. It's pretty hard to debate a person whose desire for anonymity extends to using third-party websites for sending self-destructing "you're ugly" e-mails. So send me a real e-mail and we'll get it on. And by "get it on" I mean I'll make you look even dumber than your own prose already does.
Labels: correspondence, Razzy Haters, retard rage, ridiculous absurdity
To be a baby daddy, or not to be...
Razzyphiles are a clever bunch of people. They know who gives the world's best advice, and it sure as shit ain't Dear Abby (or whoever replaced her now that she's dead). When the going gets tough, they come straight to the most reliable source for guidance since the Oracle at Delphi: YOURS TRULY. In fact, my reasoned judgment is so legendary that even Razzyphiles I don't know personally turn to me for major life decisions, as did The Mugu, who has been approached by a friend for a favor in the form of this e-mail:
Hi, Mugu.
Outside of pursuing a romantic relationship, I'd really like it if you would consider being the sperm donor for my child. It's a lot to ask, even as I tell you that your involvement in the child's life would not be required. Please take your time thinking about the implications and let me know your thoughts.
-Some chickNaturally, upon receiving this e-mail, he e-mailed me:
what am I supposed to do!?!?!?!?!?! She is a nice african american woman...I like her tremendously. I am also honored by the request. BUT!!!!.....Well, I don't mind blessing loyal readers with my insight and opinion, so I didn't require payment in the form of money or black magic against the (asshole sonofabitch bastard) Shitsburgh Stealers, although practitioners of the dark arts should feel free to do as much of that as they like. Much like Mother Teresa, I am satisfied knowing that I've done a kindness for my fellow man. I initially thought about saying "HELL NO!" but then realized that this is just because I hate kids and don't encourage anyone to have them. However, then I remembered that most people don't categorically loathe children and tried to reason accordingly. Here's the advice I gave him:
I cant tell my friends. You are a straight shooter, For your advice I will pay, or do voodoo against the SHitsburg Steelers.
O Razzy, what is a man with good genes and a high IQ to do?
Well, I don't see anything wrong with passing along your genes. I mean, all you have to do is squirt in a cup and call it a day, right? Are you dating this chick? If so, I'd think very, VERY carefully about it. If you are romantically involved, there's no way that this will be as clinical as you being a "sperm donor." If not, then it just comes down to whether or not you are comfortable with the idea. It's okay if you're not. Being uncomfortable with an idea is as good and legitimate a reason as any for not doing something.It seems I didn't get the whole story. The Mugu has a girlfriend, one who judging by her affinity for wine isn't looking to get knocked up anytime soon (good for you, sister), and he advised me that he's a little nervous about how this would all go over on the homefront:
If you decide you are comfortable with it, then just make sure you have a lawyer drawing up legal documents addressing custody rights (ie: you waiving yours) and child support (ie: her waiving her claim to that) first.
Want me to ask the internets for you? Anonymously, of course (I'll remove your name, e-mail, etc.) Sometimes the Razzyphiles can provide great insight in terms of anonymous commentary.
Thanks RazzI think wine would certainly facilitate this proposal going over better with the missus. At least he'll get her honest reaction. I watched an episode of (the greatest show in the history of television) "Beverly Hills, 90210" this weekend, and when Clare Arnold and David Silver heard from the shitfaced LuAnn Pruit that her abusive troubadour son Ray cheated on Donna Martin with that (totally awesome) slut Valerie Malone, Clare noted, "In vino veritas." David replied, "You know I don't speak Spanish!" which made me laugh, but I digress. The point is that booze is like truth serum, so if he wants an honest response from his lady friend, there's no better way to get the full story on her thoughts than to bring it up while she's blitzed. However, I got to wondering why he doesn't just make a baby the old-fashioned way with his woman than the turkey baster way with some other chick. So I replied:
The problem is at 33 I kinda want one. I have never been 100% sure that I want a child. As I have gotten older, well, you know. Sometimes things change. A few years back I would have laughed boisterously in her face.
What am I supposed to tell my GF if I go ahead with this?!?!
me - so sweetheart did you have enough wine tonight?
gf- yes, 3 bottles was enough, was there something you wanted to tell me?
me- cough* you know that girl who called the other day.
gf- ya
me- well she wants me sperms
gf- (I have no idea how she would react) cringe*
Well, if you care about your girlfriend, you should discuss it with her first. Unless you can arrange to be an anonymous donor, in which case you probably would have to waive all rights to custody, etc.Realizing that this is quite the thorny problem, Mugu assented to having his would-be baby mama drama aired out online:
And if you want to have a kid, why not discuss that with your girlfriend?
Again, you want me to ask the internets for you?
Yes Razzy,So there you have it. All you wise advice-givers out there, please opine and help poor Mugu out. For one thing, if you don't, I'll look bad since he's gone through all trouble of licking at least one girl's ass in my honor. For another, I'm curious as to what other people have to say about this. Should Mugu share his genes with this woman? Should he tell his girlfriend if he does? Any of you lawyers out there know about what kind of documentation he needs to get in order? I've heard stories about women suing "anonymous" sperm donors for child support years after the fact, which to me would certainly argue against helping this lady out with some baby batter. What is a potential sperm donor to do? Holler back on the comments. Oh, and no need to send cock pictures. I currently have a surplus of those.
put my dirt on the internets. I would send you a cock shot but im at work.
As it stands she has already told me I can waive / sign off my rights. (altho I am not familiar wit my states laws regarding this.)
She does want me to be whatever part I can manage to play in the childs life.
fek, getting busy here.
thanks for taking the time to reply. I dont care what the haters say.
I will lick a girls ass in your honor tonite.
Labels: correspondence, destroy all children, for serious people, Razzyphiles, WWRD
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