Crotch Mail

Special thanks to Sean “SicSemper” Beering

• My love for you is geometrically greater than my love for math
• My love for you is mainly derived from the essence of domesticated pets
• My heart fills with fluid causing a seizure every time you are near
• You make me as Rational as Pi
• You corrupt my logic Sub-Program
• We will smash together like pornography made inside the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva.
• Our flesh will intertwine like Jeff Goldlums body fused with the DNA of a fly in that fateful movie
• I will take you out on a date so hard your body will suffer the bends from excessive g-forces.
• Our love makes as much sense as a sudoku puzzle done by one of the chimps from that flight simulation movie.
• Every word you speak  is like a butterfly, drinking my soul
• If you were a dinosaur, you’d be a sexysaurus
• If you were a smoothie, you’d be ginseng and wonderful
• If you were a poisonous flower, I would make cakes from your venom and poison anyone who ever looked at you.
• Your face is like a barracuda hunting my heart
• My urge for you is like a blender on Frappe
• Our lust is like a rednecks bonfire, raging into the old barn that missy stuffed with hay after she got mule-kicked.
• Your smell is as intoxicating as 27 republicans on a bender and burying a hooker they killed with a nylon ligat.
• Living a day without you is like Lindsay Lohan being sober, rare and terrible.
• Your voice is like Siren’s superpower from X-Men, but it only works on my willpower.
• My legs open for you like Torsion springs designed to do so.

Write in your own and I’ll add them to the article

Dedicated to Carrie (Who Loves Geeks back)

A lot of people probably say they fall in love with strippers. After all, any single guy wandering into the smoky den of the strippers gets undue attention, surrounded by beautiful women and treated probably nicer than any girl has ever treated them.

But I don’t fall for them, I realize their amazing and random interest in me is totally based in their need for my dirty wad of cash. I simply have a strange and backwards reaction to strippers in general. I empathize with them. Some would theorize this would result from my treatment of women in general. I basically act like I’m constantly at a strip club when I’m everywhere but a strip club. I hug girls and objectify them and generally make a lovable asshole of myself.

Somehow this trips the reverse reaction in me when I’m confronted with women that objectify themselves, hit on me, and go out of their way to sit on my lap and show me their tits. I feel bad for them. I want to buy them coffee and learn about their lives. I want to give them a jacket and believe the best about their situation. To be honest I don’t fully understand it. Maybe it’s because I can sense their fake sales attitude and realize that each one of them is struggling to make money by lying.

They aren’t really interested in me, or the 200 other guys that blow through there in a night. I guess I feel more pity for a girl who has to pretend to like a guy than a girl who pretends not to like a guy, which is so often the case. Sometimes the worst is when they are bad at it. In fact I usually avoid strippers that are good at their job. If they seem very at ease and quick on the draw I’m usually turned off instantly, because I know I’m about to get hustled, and that it will probably work if I relax for a minute.

No it’s the girls who seem to not know quite what to do, or why they are there. They are probably worried that I’ll be creepy and overly drunk or forward. My heart immediately reaches out to them and makes me want to just give them 20 dollars to take a break and understand that all men aren’t evil.

It’s probably a little patronizing, to assume that a lot of strippers are people to pity or feel sorry for. Some would probably hate me for what I’ve written so far. It’s some combination of being sexist, sensitive, misogynistic and inherently kind. I just find myself conflicted and strippers to be fascinating. Because they’re real people, almost universally beautiful, acting as fake as they possibly can. They are basically paid to be nude retail actors. Selling a product, convincing you it’s worth it and overcharging like hell.

It’s also been theorized that people that go to strip clubs fall into very few categories. Lonely and degenerate men who cannot see a girl naked any other way. Lonely men who are celebrating degrading women, or lonely men who have too much money and are travelling. While I think that the majority of these are true, I find myself trying to categorize myself. I’m not particularly lonely, I have a girlfriend. She doesn’t particularly mind me going to see naked women, understanding that this is, for men,  basically a fashion show, makeup sale and disturbing gossip all rolled into one.

I’m not trying to sleep with them, I’m not willing to spend ridiculous amounts of money, and I’m probably the last person that they actually want to talk to, since I’m cheap and sensitive to being hustled. Yet I go and actually do engage them in conversation, which they are happy to do because they think it will lead to them getting me to pay them. Most find out in 30 seconds or less that I’m not really going to give them hundreds of dollars to prance in front of me for 5-10 minutes. But a few actually relax and engage me in conversation with a fervor that’s surprising. Once the sales pitch is over and if there’s nothing else going on, a lot of strippers are happy to start talking about their day or problems. Which are often varied and complex.

This evokes in me a sense of empathy, interest and a genuine urge to improve their day. This is probably a side effect of them being beautiful and right in front of my face. So the question remains, am I just victim to a pretty face, and tight with my money. Or do I somehow relate to the plight of people who force themselves to be fake and appear attractive to get by in life? I’m not pretty enough to be a stripper and there’s not much call for male strippers in the same context, but I get the feeling that, if I could, I would be a stripper. Maybe if I were female.

I have to admit, this is all more of a train of thought than a clear direction. The only conclusion I can draw from this is that I secretly want to be a stripper, a woman, beautiful and objectified. Since I remain unable to do so and painfully heterosexual, I guess I will lock this deep into my psyche along with my conflicted feelings about my family and embarrasing sexual episodes during my teenage years (and beyond). Then I’ll go home and kiss my girlfriend, high-five my best male buddy, crack open a corona and think about video games.

The difference between men and women, is that this kind of stuff probably lingers with women. I’m such a fucker.

Now the Twist Here is that some of them I’m making up and Some of them I’m NOT. I’m not going to say which ones are which, because before you know it some people will be sending me examples of how I’m wrong (or right) and I’m already ashamed enough of the human race.

D and D Style:

Picture this, every movement and phrase, every attempt to remove an article of clothing or change position has to be preceded by a toss of the dice. A Sexual Dungeon Master has to be present to oversee the rules and regulations as well as plot the next move. Each type of sexual action is a test of your Will, Charisma, Luck, Strength etc. For example if you’re trying to flip her over while still being inserted it would be a test of both Dexterity, Strength and possibly Luck. You would first, announce your intentions and then roll a 20-sided die the SDM would then check the numbers against your stats and give you a response like “You successfully flip that bitch over and stay in” or on a low roll it would be something like “You fall off the bed and your penis ends up in the flower pot and you lose 2 hit points.” either way its a lot of fun (Read: Not fun at all).

Completely Disinterested Style:

The concept here is both partners select an activity, just engaging enough to require most of their concentration, but un-exciting enough to keep things at a nice dull level. So for instance you couldn’t bungee jump while she gets a tattoo. A more reasonable example would be the two of you having sex doggy style while you solve a Sudoku puzzle on her back and she learns to maneuver the stock market on a laptop. The point of this, besides becoming a WASP, can be to either prolong sex, defeat premature ejaculation, increase multi-tasking skill. As an added bonus, you can use this to humiliate your partner by performing this style without telling them first. If you’re the psychologically abusive type.

Warcraft Style:

I hesitate to bring this into the ugly light of the world. but if you’ve ever played World of Warcraft, and lets face it, you probably have (loser). Then you have probably thought about this at one time or another. It’s just ridiculous. People do it though. Sure there’s no actual nudity in WoW but a Female Night Elf (About the only species that even gets CLOSE to attractive) prancing around in her undies and dirty talking you in a private channel might actually be better than plain old cybersex. At least there’s a focus for you to look at, and you can imagine its the elf, or a hot chick, or anything but the unshaven male 35 year old janitor it ACTUALLY is. So I’m not saying I don’t understand, but I am telling you, you’re a bunch of pathetic tools. Even the very fact that I know this is true, puts me at a disadvantage to the rest of normal society. But I had to take one for the team, and warn you all, its out there…

Glory-Holing:

This one is actually a fetish and has several websites dedicated to it. Although I don’t think any of them live up to the true spirit of the infamous “Glory-Hole”. A Glory-Hole or GH for short, is a hole in a wall/stall/bathroom/barrel/etc that you insert your penis into and receive pleasure of some type. I say this all in a very generic way because it can be construed many different ways. It started many years ago as a joke, then gained some popularity in the gay culture in the 60′s and 70′s because people were still afraid to reveal themselves as gay, and could keep their anonymity. However it caught on with the rest of us, shortly afterward. I don’t think its very common, mainly because there’s an inherent fear of putting your junk through a dirty hole that you can see, into a dirty hole that you can’t see. But there’s still a thrilling and exciting feeling to letting it all hang out, now if there was some way to know what was on the other side, it would be almost not disgusting.

Well now you know a little more about yourselves, and why I hate you all.