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Wednesday, August 15, 2007


ANNE HATHAWAY IS DAMN NEAR PERFECT

I have no idea who Anne Hathaway is, but I'm pretty sure that she's my soul mate. I think she's a movie star or something, but I have no way of being sure. As you might have expected, I don't see very many movies that don't have at least four double penetration scenes and I don't think Ms. Hathaway has made very many of those. Yet.

Not knowing who a woman is has never stopped me from loving her before and I can't see it stopping me anytime in the near future. In all honesty, it's probably better if we know as little as possible about each other. In a perfect world, names would be optional. In that world, Anne would be "You, with the great mouth and beautiful knockers," and I would be "That guy who changed my life with his tongue." I think we'd be very happy that way, too.

Most of my relationships start out pretty well. In the beginning, it's all fantastic sex and me being ever so cute and amusing. Then the lady in question starts learning things about me. Specifically, she learns that I'm an irredeemable loser and that this blog isn't nearly exaggerated as she originally thought. Shortly thereafter, her pet names for me become "scumbag," "fuckhead" and "needledick." The last one hurts more than you would think. Inevitably, she'll decide that she doesn't like me very much and begin saying things like "I don't want to kill you, but I will." Some will even fake their own deaths, but mostly, things end with her saying "I don't like you very much. Fuck off."

That's why relationships are so much better in the beginning. That's the special time when a ladyfriend and I can both pretend that I'm someone else and we can focus on the important stuff, namely the sex.

Being that I'm a professional loser and primarily known for writing this shitty blog, I'm actually surprisingly good in the sack. More surprising still, I didn't really know that until my late twenties. As it happens, most men aren't all that attentive and can charitably be called "two-poke jokes." This turns out to be doubly true if that man is married. I've been with a couple of divorced women and never met a one who was satisfied by her ex. One told me that her ex was done in two minutes and would then hand her her vibrator before rolling over and going to sleep.

That woman was shocked, shocked, when I lasted for more than two hours and brought her to climax no fewer than four times, which she later told me was a record for her. And she wasn't half as shocked by that as I was. This is an extremely beautiful woman and for her to have been brought off so rarely by her partners was an eye-opener for me. I've always been of the mind that if you want to see a woman again, make the first time worth the trouble for her to repeat the process. If what my girlfriend told me about her was true, what about other women not so gifted with her physical beauty?

Not only am I ugly and stupid, I'm also cursed enough to know those things about myself. So I tend to compensate in other areas. Women are happy with this for two reasons. First, they know that I'll happily provide them with an orgasm at their request. Often, I'll give them three or four and sometimes as many as seven. Second, I can't talk so goddamn much about nonsense if they're grinding their crotches on my mouth. In the short-term, it seems to work out for everybody. It is only later when they start looking into the possibly of my getting a face transplant and having my personality surgically removed. Being ugly and annoying is a mighty high hurdle to overcome, even if you can do push-ups with your tongue.

But this wasn't supposed to be about me, was it? It was supposed to be about Anne Hathaway.

I think if I was lobotomized and forced to wear one of those Phantom of the Opera masks, Anne and I would be very happy together. Once you get rid of everything that makes me me, I'm really not so bad. Get rid of my face, brain and personality, and I might be the Ultimate Male.

Besides, it appears that Anne knows that men have needs, too. Not infrequently, these needs include having our nipples kissed, licked and nibbled. Ladies, if you like having your nipples played with, there's a better than even chance that we do, too. Particularly when we're stoned. If you find yourself on a yacht off the Italian coast with a gentleman caller, there's no better way to start than with a little nipple play. Anne Hathaway knows this and now you do, too.

Or maybe that's just me. I loves me some nipple play. Particularly when I'm stoned. My guess is that other men do, too, but this is not a topic I frequently broach in the company of men. But Miss Hathaway seems to know this instinctively and this makes her one of the Greatest Women Ever. I would also like to point out that the oral servicing of a man-teat is the only acceptable time for a lady to give a man a handjob.

Now, suppose that the time for kissing, licking and nibbling of the nipple is done and it is time to move onto other things. Further suppose that his cell-phone rings. I know that if someone was calling me as I was having my nipples worked over off of the coast of Sardina, it must be pretty important.

But never think for a moment that just because our mouths are occupied yammering away with a business associate that this is an opportunity for your mouth to take a vacation. Indeed, the opposite is often the case. There's nothing in life that quite equals the phone-call-on-a-yacht-in-the-Mediterrianian-blowjob. This is doubly true if a third party is sleeping right beside you. I thought that everyone knew that, but Anne Hathaway knows it better than most.

I thought that the giving of phone call oral sex was universally appreciated, but I was wrong. This seems to be exclusive to men. Boy, did I find that out the hard way.

Several years ago, I was visiting the home of a girlfriend and, following one of the nine or ten bouts of frenzied intercourse that we had over the course of any given day, the phone rang. She picked up and began her conversation.

Being the cutie-pie that I am, I knelt between her legs and began licking. Not hard, or anything. It was very light and very slow. More than anything, I was letting her know that my tongue missed her and wanted to say "hi!"

She didn't want my tongue's greeting at the moment. She began squirming all violent-like and pushed my head away.

After a time, she hung up, looked at me and said "What was that about?"

"I thought that it might be fun. Besides, I'm such a cutie-pie and..."

"That was my mom on the phone!"

"I know. That's what made it so much fun. As I was saying, I'm such a cutie-pie and..."

"skippy?"

"Yes?"

"Can you shut up for one second?"

"Okay."

"If you ever do that while I'm on the phone with my mother again, I will kick you in the head. Understood?" This woman threatened to kick me in the head a lot. And did Denise Brown ever raise awareness about that? No. No, she didn't.

"I understand."

"Good. Now you can lick me, you cretin."

I can't be completely certain of this, but I'm pretty sure than Anne Hathaway wouldn't threaten to kick me in the head. Sure, she'd call me a cretin and everything, but I couldn't fault her for that. Some things just can't be overlooked. But Anne Hathaway is an actress (I think,) and could therefore act like she isn't disgusted by me.

This story was supposed to have a point, but I can't remember what it was....

Oh, now I remember! I need a yacht.



Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Stay With Me By: The Faces From: Five Guys Walk into a Bar

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11:59 AM