My Enflamed Ego/Boner and the Sport of Ghosting

So yesterday's blog was filled with wet dreams of having people flame me over and over again in the comments section. Then, after posting it, exiting out, and going back to work, I tried accessing my own blog by googling it. What did I get? Other than the complete history of the pineapple and google repeatedly asking me, "did you mean pineapple?", I received a bruised ego and a quick kick of reality straight to the balls. My site will apparently stay in internet limbo until I suddenly have a tsunami of visitors. Will that ever happen? Probably not, and even if it does, who the fuck am I to think that people would even take the time to read this shit and hate it so much that they'd actually bother leaving a comment?

I'M FUCKING KANYE WEST, THAT'S WHO, MOTHERFUCKERS. My opinion is apparently the only one that matters in the entire world. Shit, I better start typing like a seven-year-old so that it looks more like authentic Kanye.

"yo taylr i luvd ur vid but bee-yawn-says was sooooooooooooooooo mutch betterz!!! Sorryy babes i dont make da truthz i just tells it! OOoOOOoooOOhHHhhh!!!! Boo the Kanye bitchz, cuz that jus meens less peeps i gotta save when i come again...Rapture! ...u guys get it? im Jesus, yo, and bee-yawn-says my ex-Virgin Mary!"

Seriously, the guy must really believe he's Jesus or something. And not to be nit-picking here or anything but did anyone else chuckle softly to themselves when they saw his hair? It looked like a giant maze straight out of Highlights magazine and all I wanted to do was solve that shit. Must be one hell of a maze because the two mice that normally power Kanye's brain are having a hell of time getting back to their wheels, as proven during the VMA's.

But enough of this shit. I quit watching the VMA's when I was still in high school, and the only reason I ever watched them was to catch a glimpse of Avril Lavigne, my own personal version of Viagra. I was 16, my libido was still running strong enough for me to jerk off to the newest Field & Stream magazine, and just the quickest sight of Avril would cause me to get an insta-boner. Now, the thing about insta-boners is this: they're fucking awesome. They are what they sound like, an instant boner. I would kill today to still be able to get insta-boners. I mean, yeah, sometimes I'll be sitting there, watching Dora the Explorer and bam! I have a hard-on and the only cure is more Dora. But that's few and far between. When i was 16, insta-boners were a common occurance, and mainly because Avril was at the peak of her career. Yet insta-boners caused a lot of problems for me, especially in public.

And I jizzed in my pants.

Let's look at a day of my life in high school, age 16, insta-boners all the time.

Me: Hey, is that Avril on the cover of your magazine?
Random Girl: Yeah, she sucks.
Me: No she's not, Avril's fucking hot! (Reason #334 why I'm not getting laid in high school)
Random Girl: Um...okay?

Now, at this point, this chick can probably see the drool starting to run down my lips and is looking for any excuse to get me to stop staring at her desk and away from her personal area. Plus, the boner in my pants is directly perpendicular (haha, DICular!) to her eye level and she's probably praying that she doesn't turn into an accidental victim of skullfucking should I suddenly feel the urge to pelvic thrust in her direction. So, as any creeped-out young woman would do, she goes for the old decoy tactic.

Random Girl: You want it? I've already read most of it and I don't like Avril anyways.
Me: Oh my god, thank you!

While at this point I should have been more excited over the fact that I was actually speaking to a girl, instead, I'm over taken by the jerk-off material I now possess. In fact, my mind is so focused on how many times I'll be masturbating after school that I fail to even notice my insta-boner until I wack it (pun intended) off the side of my desk as I go to sit back down.

Oh shit, I think. Did she just see my dick? I glance over to where random girl is sitting. She's gathered a few of her friends around and is now making dirty faces and using her thumb and index finger to measure what looks to me like a small, approximately two-inch sized object.

Since it is so easy to live my life in denial, I tell myself I am safe and that she must not have been paying attention. Let therapy costs deal with this moment ten year's from now.

Glancing back down at the Ark of the Dick-Jerking Covenant, I am overwhelmed by Avril's perfect features, her hair cascading down her head like shreds of velvet, her supple, smooth breasts that rise up like small - and then I feel it. A slow, wet, oozing sensation that just dripped from my penis like the unholy spew that runs from Glenn Beck's mouth anytime he hears the words "liberal" or "jew." Attention, everyone in the classroom, I just jizzed in my pants (later on, I would learn that announcing my predicament to the entire class was my first mistake).

And that's the main issue with insta-boners: you can't control them. Sure, it's all fun and games when you're at home, in your room, jerking off every thirty minutes until your dick just finally gives up and starts coughing up a fine, white powder. But when you're in tenth grade and still wearing those jeans with the little side stitch for a hammer and dreaming about sticking your dick up the asshole of the girl in the third row, randomly jizzing at any time tends to become a huge fucking hassle.

I'm not going to go into details about how I tried to cover up the situation (and frankly I'm not sure how much of it I can fully disclose anyways due to court issues and restraining orders). What I can tell you though is that I've been banned from ever owning a subscription to 17 magazine as well as using desks in the 11th and 12th grades. Just use your imagination.

I guess the upside to all of this is that I've been living with my girlfriend for over a year-and-a-half now and she bears a striking resemblence to Avril Lavigne. See kids? Living proof that you can be a pre-ejeculate loser in high school and still strike it big in the later years (although I have to be more careful because she's starting to lose patience with the whole "screaming Avril's name when I get an orgasm deal").

Anyways, I was also going to discuss "ghosting" in today's blog but instead got so caught up in searching for Avril Lavigne n00dz that I've wasted all my time. Next time, kids. Just remember to remind me.