Nuclear Polio Vaccination

I’m working really hard on getting down to my fighting weight. When I left for the summer I was sitting a Boris Diaw-esque 225 lbs. I’m at a comfortable 195 lbs. now, but I can certainly get trimmer. I’m finally recovered from the Hernia surgery I underwent in January.

It really messed with my performance. I’d have to warn dates ahead of time “look girl, don’t go confusing this for love. I’m only stroking this slow because of my hernia”

The operation costs 23,000 though. More than it cost me in my 8 years of undergrad. Luckily I had insurance, so i’m only paying like 3,000 of it–only. I looked at the itemized stuff though. It was crazy. 11,000 dollars for the 6 hours I spent in the recovery room.

You know how many escorts I could have hired to play “nurse” to me in the comfort of my own home? Three.

One could have held my head up, another chick with a can of soda pop to my mouth with a straw in it.  Then another girl could’ve had a latex glove on her hand and finished me off. And that’s just the first five minutes.

They could’ve spent the rest of the six hours playing with each other’s titties for my amusement.  If I’m going to throw down that kind of money, someone should be wiping the ejaculate off their face.

#Money well spent

Had I known it was going to be that expensive, I’d have never had the surgery, and just gone through life having sex like a 70 yr old on Viagra. ” Why of course I love you girl. You think I be stroking like that for every chick? I can’t stroke no slower.”

But luckily I had insurance. I wish you could have seen the lady’s face when I told her my insurance carrier. You’d have think I told her I had a nine inch cock. “Oooooooh Mr. Mickey, you have really good insurance…….”

If I could take her voice and loop that one sentence onto a recording, I’d never have to watch porn again.

I spent the early part of that winter eating cheeseburgers, and watching OZ on HBOGO. Shit was grim. I remember as a kid, trying to avoid even being in the same room when that show was on. Prison was a scary thing to think about. The thought of being locked up in a facility with no rights and (worse–no women) frightened me. Not to mention the mere threat of being raped. I felt those old adolescent fears creep up again while watching what I thought (mistakenly) was a treatise on the corrupt justice system. This was when I had what some people would call a “light bulb moment”.

Was this the same kind of fear that some women feel every day in the outside world?

These are things we males take for granted. Think about that the next time you and your homies wanna catcall a chick.

I personally I don’t see the endgame in it. 

As a creepy dude, you really only have two options. Either go up to the woman and tell her what it is about her that you admire. OR you catch the image and say a silent prayer to to the “creepy Gods” for every piece of skin or butt outline that you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of. That’s it, thank the God of Flesh “Creeopolees” and keep it moving.

And If I get busted I just laugh about it and just shrug. Sometimes I’ll just say “If God didn’t want me to look, he wouldn’t have made you so beautiful”

The way I see it, itis like when you are out hiking and you see a beautiful tree that you appreciate. Sometimes you get too close to the tree and accidentally brush up against it. This is excusable, but you don’t fondle the tree bark without permission , and you certainly don’t rip a leaf off the branch because you think it’s pretty. That is assault.

Here is a frightening thought, 1 out of every 4 women is sexually assaulted in their lifetime. Do you realize how high of a percentage that is? I’d play Powerball with those kind of odds.

If I were going skydiving and the pilot told me that 1 out of every 4 packs was missing a parachute, you better believe we’d be turning that plane around. 25 % is a ridiculously high number. We gotta treat our women better…….

One of the seldom talked about consequences of this whole Cosby scandal, is that he single-handedly ruined it for creepy dudes everywhere. Now I feel especially guilty for looking at women’s asses when I open the doors for them.

One minute you’re at Whole Foods fetishizing women in yoga pants, and before you know it, you’re buying a Quaalude from your gynecologist buddy. Its a slippery slope. 

I think this is the cause of “Mommy” jeans and jammies returning to vogue. I think women are so fed up with our bullshit, that they are going out of their way to look unattractive. This is what our society has become. Its no wonder they are in Japan building robots for people to have sex with. We’ve lost our humanity.

BM
@clickpicka79

bobbymickey@gmail.com

Tags: bobby mickey

There is something inherently sad about  the thought of being a 40 year old man, trying to pick up young 20 somethings at the bar; and sounding like a Cutco salesmen. ‘I’m so great and this is why you should fuck me.” I just don’t have the energy to chase it anymore.

I’m reaching the point where it is almost time for me to settle down. Finally keep a girlfriend for more than 9 months, buy a house, and maybe even have a vasectomy.

It might be a deterrent for women to get serious with me, but anytime I get lonely I’ll just look at that 250,000 dollar check I wrote for myself that I framed on the wall. In case I end up changing my mind, I keep a jar in the fridge that I’ve storing my deposits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had guests complain about the mayonnaise  tasting funny. “ Muthafucka you just ate my kids!!!! You know how many weeks it took me just to get 8 oz of that stuff? You owe me a month’s worth of my internet bill.”

But the main reason I wanna get a vasectomy is because I wanna have unprotected sex again. The number one  reason I hate one night stands is because you have to use condoms. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of sex with a girl and just look at her face as she writhes in joy and elation, and think “Damn this is pointless. I can’t feel a fucking thing.” Its taken the fun out of sex. Now when I see hot chick the only thing I even consider  is “will she make out with me while I beat off?”

That and it is “can I have a conversation with this gal?” Two things about me. I’m a great cuddler, and I give great conversation. I be like, “yeah gurl, you like this good conversation I’m giving you? Told you it was gonna to be good to you. Came up to your apartment to give you some of that GREAT conversation. You aint neva had conversation like this have you? You LOVE this conversation don’t you?

I just recently set up an Okcupid account. I have friends who live in other cities and they do well on there. The Tulsa area leaves a little to be desired. It is a wasteland. Looking at the women on there is like trying to find a date in the frozen food section at the neighborhood Wal-mart. They aren’t all ugly,there are some women on there that you can tell were fairly attractive ten years ago(you know, before the Meth and the babies). The majority of them are too old, or too overweight, and the few pretty ones you can tell by looking at them that they are racist. 

Of the six things they can’t live without, 3 of them usually involve the words Jesus Christ, their children, their cell phones, or their Facebook accounts.

Maybe I need to go on one of those paid sites. I wish there was one that was more catered to me–something like weirdbrownpplmeet.com I just can’t get it up for white chicks anymore. The novelty of pissing off white fathers has worn off for me. Plus I already love fried chicken, basketball, and smoking weed. Do I really need to fulfill another stereotype? Of the 4 stereotypes, neither basketball, herb, or fried chicken have ever been ashamed to introduce me to their parents.

My new mantra is “If they identify as white, we prolly gonna have a fight.”  I want the kind of brown chick that can relate to hiding her U2 CD’s when her black friends came over. The kind of brown chick whose guilty pleasure in high school was listening to Billy Joel  on cassette tape. 

“WE DIDN”T START THE FIRE. IT WAS ALWAYS BURNING SINCE THE WORLD BEEN TURNING”

I’ve been kind of playing on the hearts of uber liberal white people. If there is one thing I have learned in my life is that you can never underestimate the power of white guilt. Everybody say with me, “WHITE GUILT POWER!!!!” 

Ever since the Michael Brown murder, I have been treating every day like it is Black History Month. I be parking in the handicapped spaces, not starting the coffee machine after drinking the last cup of coffee, letting the yellow mellow in public restrooms.

When my roommates give me shit about not washing my dishes, I say “Oh my bad. I was under the impression that black lives mattered. I mean after all these years of MY people cleaning up after your people, you would think you’d be able to let this slide. I mean, its only two bowls, 6 plates, 4 glasses, 10 spoons, 4 knives, and a half empty jar of peanut butter. What’s the big deal?

I tell you what Massa, I will not only clean up my mess, but I’ll also clean up your mess as well. I can sing and dance while I’m at it–even do a soft shoe shuffle for you. #blacklivesmatter.”

I’m not in a super rush to meet anybody though. I’m not going to force anything. Nothing is trickier than breaking up with a chick and trying to maintain a friendship–especially when they were the one dumped. Sometimes its just better to rip the band aid off, instead of trying to soften the blow by saying “we’ll still be friends.” One of two things usually happen: either the friendship continues to be murky because you can’t stop fooling around with each other, and someone gets their feelings hurt. The other outcome is that nothing physical happens and someone gets hurt because they want that physical intimacy to continue. 

I tried to be friends with one of my most recent exes, but I would get these random drunken texts telling me how much she missed me. Finally I had to shut that down too.

“WHY don’t you miss me? Don’t you want to be friends? I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO BE FRIENDS?”

“Yea friends. You know people who go to shows together or ride bikes, play basketball with.. I don’t text my guy friends late at night saying “You still love me homey? I can’t quit thinking bout you dawg?”

How the fuck does that sound? Anyway. I think it would behoove me to streamline my focus onto my goals. That will be much easier when I’m not actively trying to friend my way into the pants of 5 different girls spread out across the globe. It can be exhausting. I figure by late October, I will have something steady locked up. Nothing too serious. You know, casual but monogamous–if there is such a thing. If there isn’t, well dammit; it is time to make it a thing.

One thing is for sure. Dating in Oklahoma is akin to fishing in a polluted lake. I get the feeling that whatever psychological ailment has befallen the women here in this state will be transferred to me the minute I stick my dick inside one of these ladies. I’m better off just waiting until I move back home to Texas. I’ll take my chances there.

Peace,

BM

@clickpicka79

bobbymickey@gmail.com

Tags: bobby mickey