First Time Gun User

Technical but important housekeeping for the 1.5 of you out in the world that may read this blog...

My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") is just my Man Friend ("MF") now.  Yes, he's special. Yes, he's a man. Yes, he's a friend.  But "My Special Man Friend" comes with an ownership and an intimate relationship that we can no longer claim.  I'll bitch about love and loss another time.

Moving on...

MF has a thing about guns. What they do. What they don't do. What people cause them to do. Now if you know anything about the silly shit MF says, formerly MSMF in prior blog posts, you'll know that he comes out with some doozies.  Some of my best content.  Back in February we were sitting at the kitchen bar, sipping our rabbit https://thesillyshitwesay.blogspot.com/2020/05/sushi-rabbit.html, when we must have gotten onto the fun, relaxing Sunday morning topic of guns and shootings.

I can only imagine that there must have been a grocery store or school shooting recently in the news, which sadly happens all too frequently. My family is also big into guns and shooting trips. Taking a lighter note on the topic, MF says to me "the first time I use a gun I want to KILL!" As usual, I'm totally taken off guard by his exclamation. Laughing and chocking up my silky Peet's mocha I can't help but ask why?  And the answer is there is no answer.  Just because.

For MF it comes down to why wouldn't you kill if you were a first time gun user?  The equation goes like this: First time gun user "A" + gun "B" = Let's kill some mother fuckers!  It's like all the Rambo movies that he loves so much.  First Blood! First gun, first kill!  It's like, go big or go home.

What's really odd about the whole thing is that I can totally see it.  The ridiculous, extreme non-sense humor not the literal action.  MF is not a middle of the road kind of guy; it's all or nothing baby. He abhors guns but if he has to take one up he might as well take a few lives while he's at it.

Maybe this is just knowing someone well or appreciating how silly and fucked up they are, knowing damn well that you fully are too, but I found his stance on first time gun use hilarious. 

Blasting or Banging?

Is blasting the new banging?

Maybe I'm old school but I've never heard the expression "finger blast" or "finger blasting" before.  I've only ever used finger bang or banging.  I'm sure there are plenty of ways to describe anywhere from 1-4 fingers in a woman's vagina.  All 5 fingers would be fisting and that's a whole different conversation.

And since I'm asking questions, is finger banging exclusively for the fuzzy female gremlin?  Or would it apply to someone's other holes?  I've never much thought about it honestly, let alone even remember where the hell I would have ever heard or had explained to me what the hell finger banging is.

But I do remember the first time I was correct with "blasting" for saying "banging". I went to LA's regional BEquinox Burning Man event in June.  Late on the last night I was there a buddy and I walked over to a neighboring sound camp to dance a little more before tucking in. After hanging out a little bit, both of us feeling pretty beat and cold, my buddy thought it would be fun to climb into one of the two blow-up cuddle puddle pools and watch the craziness around us.  The oversized pillows and squishy stuffed animals looked too good to both of us for me to say no.

As he started to step into one of the pools I noticed there were two men and two women at the opposite side, the four of them laying like sardines in a blowup tin can.  I wouldn't have thought much about getting into the pool except I noticed that one of the women was slumped further down into the pool than the others.  As I got closer I was able to see from up above that her bikini top was askew, her nipples being played with by the guy laying closest to her.

Now, the nipple twisting that was going on wouldn't necessarily have stopped me in my tracks.  I've seen a lot of crazy shit at the various festivals, shows, and parties I've been to over the years.  It's going to take more than a little nipple nob play when I'm cold and tired and have partied for days straight to get a rise out of me... What stopped me getting into the pool was realizing where all the other hands on the other 3 sardines were, one arm most noticeably down the girls skirt. Leaning in, grabbing my buddies arm, I said "Yo. I think that chick is being fingered banged. Do you really want to get in the pool?" He just shrugged and happily tucked into the other corner.

I'm no quitter so I got in behind him and awkwardly sat down on a doughnut or dolphin, I couldn't tell which.  I avoided looking at the opposite sex side of the pool as long as I could.  Eventually my eyes drifted over to the guy laying furthest from the banging. Our eyes unfortunately met. We both smiled and looked away. Frankly so long as everyone was consenting to what was going on and seemed happy while doing it I didn't much care. I certainly made sure to wash all my clothes in hot water when I got home.

So where does the debate of banging vs. blasting come in?  After returning home I was out with one of my friends, regaling them with the various stories and experiences from BEquinox and told them the human sardine finger bang story.  At the word banging I was quickly interrupted; "Banging? You mean 'blasting'?"  Um, no.  I meant banging.  Oddly they hadn't heard of or used banging and I had never heard of or used blasting.  Blasting sounds like what your ass does after some bad Indian food.

I still think asking someone if they want to bang or be banged is better than being blasted but maybe it's just me.

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner! On, Ambros?

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house...

We all know the famous poem written by Clement Clarke Moore in 1822.  Or some version of it.

Every year I throw an annual cheesy bread party (yep, it's what you're thinking it is). The first year started as less of a party and more like a few random friends stopping by with cheap wine for leftover cheese toasted on stale bread.  Over the years it has morphed into a decadent affair, though I almost cancelled the last soiree.  After staying up until close to 4 in the morning putting the last ornaments on the tree just to find it on the ground the next morning, you could say I was less than thrilled. For some God damn reason it has been a huge pain in the ass to keep the Christmas tree standing the last few years.  And this year would be no different.

There was so much to be done the day of the party, none of which involved standing the tree back up, re-trimming it, and rewrapping all the gifts that were smashed and soaked underneath it.  I freaked out for a few minutes and contemplated cancelling the party because that would have been the easy way out.  Instead I took a shot of Jameson to get my mind right and got to work.  The night was a total blast as usual and went by in a flash.  The only time I really got to sit down and relax was during the White Elephant gift exchange.  The favored gift was a tin of sativa gummies which My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") stole from a buddy of ours.  To take the party up a notch, MSMF tore the lid open and immediately popped a whole gummy and passed them around.

Fast forward, an hour later a group of people on the couch were trying to name all of Santa's reindeer.  I thought for sure I could name them all, especially if I sung them.  "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen. Comet, Cupid Donner and Blitzen..." For some reason it just didn't sound right.  As everyone attempted to sing song their way to figuring out the correct order MSMF blurts out, "what about Ambros?"  Ambros?  Who the fuck is Ambros?

You know Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Ambros?  MSMF has absolutely no explanatio
n, even to this day, why he thought one of the reindeers was named Ambros.  But I think it's the funniest shit I've ever heard.  And he claims it had nothing to do with the edible, even though both of us couldn't spread tangerine jelly on the last round of cheesy breads.  Apparently our motor skills weren't what they were at the beginning of the night. I just laughed and proceeded to slap the toast with my butterknife until I got enough jelly on it.

And I still crack up laughing any time I think to myself on Comet, on Cupid, on Donner... on Ambros!

Cat Butt Crew Cut

I gave my cat's backside a crew cut last night.

It needed to happen.

After cleaning up countless shit foot incidents and leftover poop pucker marks around the house and on newly cleaned bed sheets it was time.

There's nothing like crawling into bed after a long day to feel little pebbles of cat liter around your face and body.

At 20 if this is really my only complaint about Jaja life has been good, to us both.