Archive | May, 2010

Stop Sucking Dick!!!!

31 May

Seeing this guy perform live at The Punchline changed my life

Heading to Ithaca with a Heavy Soul

15 May

The dread became more
the closer
we got to the bus station.

We couldn’t walk slow enough
or fast enough.

Her left hand holding my
right hand.
My left hand holding
my luggage.
Just like that
Robert Johnson song.

I used humor
as a defense
for my sadness,
cracking jokes
at a breakneck

Not sure if
I’ve ever been
or sadder.

I kissed her goodbye
thinking it’d be
a matter
of time ‘til
we met again.

I wonder how different
things would be
if I’d have just canceled
my plans
and stayed a while longer……….

maybe we’d have gotten
it out of our system
perhaps I’d have never come

If only I could
visit a parallel
and find out
giving up
the lessons
I learned
from my
decision to leave.

~Edward Austin Robertson~


God Bless You Dr. Fleming

15 May

I was minding my own business
watching the Patriots-Colts game.
(Rooting against the Colts)
when she chatted me up.
She looked at me fiercely
told me she was a squirter
and a Scorpio,
48 years old.

She looked like
a poor man’s Shirley

I told her I had to
be at work in less
than an hour.

But the Pats were up
by 17 with less
than 8 minutes to go,
so I called work and
said I’d be fifteen minutes late.

I instructed her to
pay her tab
and meet me
in the parking lot.

We went back to her
place and
I gave her
the Bobby Mickey
no onions
extra mayonnaise.

Her pussy squirted
like the fountains
at Royals Stadium.

The next day I saw that
the Colts had come back to
win the game,
something about a 4th and 2
on their on 29.

The Patriots went
for it and sealed
their fate.

3 days later
my urethra was sticking

Coach Belichick wasn’t
the only one
who made
a bad call
on Sunday night.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

East Bay Fantasy

15 May

Oatmeal in the mornings.
Guacamole for lunch
Chick pea soup for dinner.

filtered water
compost bin in the freezer
separate bin for recyclables
good company
relevant conversation
and comfortable silences.

Watching movies
and spilling popcorn in bed.

some really good love making.

Weekend evenings
of board games
at friend’s houses.

Bong hits with ice
flossing before bed,
letting the yellow

Going to bed with
a warm heart
and full stomach,
waking up
with a sense
of purpose.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

30 Year Manifesto

15 May

Make money

Be kind
Be kind
Be kind.

Work harder
and smarter.

Be patient
be gentle
be lovingly aggressive.

Maintain a good sense of humor.

Do the right thing
for the right reasons.

Be conscious of what I ingest.

love my partners
provide higher quality of life
for my offspring that the
one I was afforded.

Be grateful.
be faithful to the moment.
Don’t waste the days.

Don’t chase tail
because that’s all
you’ll wind up with.

Don’t pass up things
you’ll regret not doing.

Vote with your wallet.

Only get drunk when
you’re happy.

Believe in the silver lining.

Have realistic expectations.


Appreciate beauty.
Become beauty.

~Edward Austin Robertson~


13 May

I’m thankful I’m no longer a prisoner to my penis. I can lead a somewhat normal life. No more excusing myself from the dinner table to come back smelling like Vaseline. No more pulling my pud in the Burger King walk-in freezer, or using anything I can get my hands on for lube, shampoo, Ben Gay,etc.
At this point in my life I’d be perfectly okay with a porn collection, video game system, a nice glass bong, and a dog, at least for a little while.
I have finally learned how to say no to pussy–how to discern what constitutes a good trip. After enough sex, I’ve realized its just pussy, and there’s no such thing as free pussy, there’s always a booty tax. There’s a difference between sexual curiosity and sexual attraction, and just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Sex without complications is a thing of the past and has been for years, if sex is the best outcome then maybe its best to walk away.
13 years of sexual activity has taught me how to know when to call it a night and just go home to rub one out.


13 May


February is always the toughest month of the year for me,
November is no picnic to deal with either.
One signals the beginning of winter
the other signals the end.

Nothing is as it appears in February
the month itself
is an illusion
an anomaly
28 days
sometimes 29.

From the farcical celebration
of Black History
to the fictional Puxatawny Phil.
Valentine’s and President’s Day
rest arbitrarily in relation
to other “holidays.”

I distrust February
so much
that I find
it hard
to trust Aquarians
which includes
the time.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

Dark Gable

12 May

Growing up
I fantasized about
being a 70’s porn star.

Why the 70’s?

Bushier beavers
natural looking women
the kind you
see at the grocery store
the kind of woman
I actually had a
chance of fucking.

No intrusive
bright lights
fake tits
or runway
where there should be
a mossy forest
of pubes.

I prefer
the texture
of an alfalfa
when I’m
down on
a girl.

Kay Parker.
Honey Wilder
Jeanna Fine
Hyapatia Lee
Vanessa Del Rio
Nina Hartley
Juilet “Aunt Peg” Anderson
and Janey Robbins

all women I’d fuck this very
Women who all had distinctive looks
and sexual characteristics.

Not like these carbon
copy actresses
making the same
unimaginative films

They took chances
in the 70’s
good funky
background music
with deep bass grooves
jazzy organ
and swanky guitar licks.

The German
and French flicks
from those days were
even crazier
and more depraved
with their nutty
and wardrobes.

Maybe my
are right,
I am
to porn.

Though it
be worse.

I could
be addicted to
or crack.

Edward Austin Robertson


12 May

We used to sit around Jimmy’s house and watch porn and eat Ramen noodles. I think I was 14, and this was my first exposure to true porno. When my cousin and I were little we’d watch the Toxic Avenger movie to see titties.

This was way better. Actual penetration and better yet, lesbian scenes.
Maybe this is what made us so horny that day, when his neighbors Shannon and Mike stopped by
to shoot the shit.

I was never particular fond of Shannon’s looks but I was game when Mike suggested she let us burn a pubic hair with a ridiculously long match.

She said yeah, but only for money. I drummed up 47 cents. Mike had a dollar, Jimmy ran into his room and pulled out his special jar and counted out 15 dollars. That made 16 dollars and 47 cents.

She agreed to, pulled her panties down and Mike struck the match. He put it to her outstretched pube and almost caught the whole patch on fire. She put it out before there was any real danger.

Still we felt gypped. We wanted to see the singular pube burn down to the very end (obviously none of us had taken any science classes). This would be impossible to pull off.

So we wanted our money’s worth. At least let us see your pussy Shannon, we implored. Jimmy wasn’t down for this.

“I’m a gentleman.” he said, forgetting that he’d put up the most money, and he retreated down the hall.

And she showed it to us. We all looked down at her crotch in a collective silence. Mike and I were salivating, so close yet so faraway.

“Let us finger you.” Mike asked. My dick jumped up ten feet in the air.

“Yeah Shannon, let us finger you.”

“You got some more money?”

We didn’t and Jimmy wasn’t going to put up more money to not see some cooter, so she pulled her pants up and things pretty much dissolved after that. It’d be impossible to play a game of Madden that afternoon after what we saw (and what Jimmy didn’t).

Shannon left and soon it was just the three of us, trying to intellectualize what had just happened. Mike kept calling Jimmy a pussy and
I couldn’t wait to get home and beat off.

I took off towards home amazed at seeing my first pussy up close and in real life. As soon as I got inside my mom’s apartment, I went to my bedroom and beat my dick like it owed me money.
I found out years later from Mike that he started fucking Shannon by the end of that following week.

I didn’t care. As I said earlier I was never interested in her. I was just happy to see what a living breathing vagina looked like, it was like everything I’d imagined it to be. Much prettier in person than in magazines and television.

Union Jack’s

12 May

I'm not big on strip clubs but when I wanna blow money for women who won't sleep with me, I go to Union Jack's on Burnside.

Normally I’d think spending Valentine’s Day at the strip club to be depressing.
But it wasn’t. Maybe because this club didn’t feel seedy and slimy like most of the strip clubs here. Hell, it was Portland where strip clubs were on every corner like donut shops.

I always got bored at strip clubs,
once you’ve seen more than twenty vaginas, then you’ve seen them all in my opinion
“oooooh look at that, two breast, two legs, a pair of butt cheeks, and a vagina. Wow amazing, every woman has the same set?”

This club, Union Jack’s was a little different. Cute girls, natural looking, some had tattoos,
some didn’t. Good variety, and great music.

I had a buddy who knew a girl who worked here, so it wasn’t like we were just hanging around, we were visiting a friend at her job.

We were just talking to her when this beautiful Israeli gal strolled by wearing nothing but panties, high heel shoes and a fur coat. She was pretty engaging, we were just talking, I had no intention of spending anymore money at the club. I’d already bought some food and had a drink.

But she leaned in and said in on of the most suggestive manners possible, “Would you like a dance?”

I stammered, then for some reason my mouth opened and I saw the words “yes, let me go to an ATM.” float out of my mouth.

I’d never even considered paying for a lap dance in the thirteen years I’ve been strip club eligible. For some reason this seemed appropriate. When was I ever gonna have another chance to get a lap dance from a beautiful and exotic Israeli woman? The odds were slim. Even if I made it to Israel for a visit, it’d be quite a few years from now, and the circumstances would be quite different. I’d probably be on a family trip with my wife and sons or something.

Or maybe it was just the way she said it.

Two songs she gave me for 20 bucks, and it was the best 20 bucks I’d ever blown in my life.
It wasn’t just a lap dance. It was a performance. She was fluid, and in control, no herky jerky, but the grace of a belly dancer.

She made me feel like a rich businessman, a Dallas Cowboy, or better yet a sheik.
She rubber her brown nipples in my face, smacked herself on the ass, and rubbed that beautiful bush right against my nose.

Every time she sat in my lap she made sure to lean against my neck and breathe really hard. It was so hot and she had the best body I’d seen on a live woman by far.

I could do nothing but take deep breathes and not behave like a first timer, country bumpkin.

When the songs ended, I tried my best to calm myself down, but the flush leaving my face was obvious.
She laughed and told me I was cute. I wanted to marry her, and if not her, then go to Israel and marry a gal who looked like her but didn’t strip for a living.

Could it be true? Was I turning into one of those guys? Was I in love with a stripper?