Therapy is for ****s

~~butthead aka 216~~ · 01-26-2014, 06:59 AM

Myself and a few other members will occasionally discuss relationship and girl problems in Plug on those lonely winter nights when no feminists/morons are around. I mentioned it in another thread, but I will repeat my Saturday in greater detail here. There's hardly a point to this story, but it's my journal so you can catch my load in your eye if you don't like it.

Basically, my friend started boinking this girl named Justine. She is kind of obsessed with him (I have no clue why: He isn't good-looking and has a dumb personality) and he's not sure about her, so to keep the mood light he invited me and another friend to hang out with her and her 2 friends.

In a comment only Rezz and other Pittsburghians will understand, we pregamed with some drinking games then went to Tiki, and then made our way to Diesel. Diesel is a dance club where you are packed in like sardines. So anyways, I am dancing with my chick, trying to gauge if she's enjoying my package grinding against her ass or if she's too gentle of a person to tell me how repulsed she is. From the corner of my eye, I see Justine dancing with some random Spanish kid with a chinstrap. I look over again and see them playing tonsil hockey, furiously spit-swapping on the Diesel dance floor as my buddy looks on from a distance, eyes glazed in a confused and drunken state, wondering how Mr. Steal Yo Girl made his way through the smog of Axe and sweat to indeed steal his girl.

I focus on the task at hand and slide my hands down into my girl's jeans. The dancing is beginning to feel repetitive: I've exhausted most of my moves and the combination of dehydration, fatigue, and boredom is making my quads cramp with the force of a thousand suns. I put my hands on hers, one of which is clutching one of those super small handbag things that girls carry, and start waving her arms around and whacking random dancers in the head with her handbag. She finds it hilarious and cute in a WTF sort of way. I take her hand and make her smack my ass, then claim sexual assault and get really offended, in hopes I can jokingly turn the event into a blowjob later. "Some girl kept smacking my ass and being really sexual and it was just weird. I mean, she was cute and stuff but she was so gropey and couldn't keep her hands to herself." Those words at 3AM proved to get a good laugh but a blowjob was not to be had.

So focus. We are still at the club, dancing. I turn my head again and see my buddy sword fighting with Justine, using their tongues. Good golly gee whiz, what a little sloot she is. Later my buddy will pretend that he didn't see her making out with Juan Pablo Sanchez Gonzalez Rojas III, but I know he did. We exit the club and Justine starts yacking all over the street while we wait for a cab in the snow. It was never confirmed if it was from too much alcohol or the taste of a million men on her breath, but she left in the cab with her head hanging out the window, drooling slime down the side of the taxi. Eventually I grab a cab and head to my buddies' place, where all the girls were crashing as well.

Skip to the next day. The girls leave on their trek to whereverthefukc and it's just me and my buddy. As what happens when white people drink, we recap and analyze the night simultaneously. He starts telling me how Justine is really into him and blah blah, which is where I mention the casual make out session she had with Mario Lopez right in front of his face. He claims he doesn't remember that, and whips out his phone to show me some texts she sent him while on her drive back home that morning. "Seriously. You are so fukcing perfect." That was the text.

My heart stopped for a second. It was a biological reaction. My brain had sent signals to the rest of my body that this was beyond logical comprehension. Not only is she way out of my friend's league, but she just sent a completely cringe-worthy "you're perfect" text about 10 hours after making out with George Lopez Jr. So as the day went on, and we chowed down on old pizza and stale beers, I began thinking what would happen if the roles were reversed. It was tough because I'd never be big enough of an asswipe to send a "you're perfect" text to anyone, let alone someone I wasn't dating, let alone someone i had sex with once, let alone someone who saw me making out with a younger version of Geraldo. But I tried. I pretended I was lame enough to send that text and couldn't imagine any scenario where a girl would be receptive whatsoever to me even talking to her again.

In recap, this girl pre-arranged to sleep at my friend's house, went out with him, made out with some guy in front of him, came home to his house to sleep, sent him love texts the next day.

I guess it's one of those weird double standards situations that are fine for girls to do but not guys (The kinds that don't exist in the feminist fantasy land). Or maybe my buddy is just a chump. Both, actually. I realize mentioning it could be construed into sounding like I am a whiny mens rights activist, but let it be known to the masses that I also hate those people as much as feminists: Feminists are just more vocal, larger in numbers, and 99% of the time talking 100% out of their asses. Man, I hate feminists. I will save taking a verbal dump on them for another time on another day.

I will be posting some music stuff later today or tomorrow. My updates have been sporadic but I don't think its caused anyone to slide into a crippling depression just yet, so whatever. There's a band called You Blew It! that is supposed to be a good newer emo band that I will be listening to and posting videos of. Stay tuned.

01-26-2014, 06:59 AM	#20 (permalink)
~~butthead aka 216~~ Account Disabled Join Date: Jun 2013 Location: freely swimmin thru the waters of glory much like a majestic bald eagle soars thru the skies Posts: 1,463	Myself and a few other members will occasionally discuss relationship and girl problems in Plug on those lonely winter nights when no feminists/morons are around. I mentioned it in another thread, but I will repeat my Saturday in greater detail here. There's hardly a point to this story, but it's my journal so you can catch my load in your eye if you don't like it. Basically, my friend started boinking this girl named Justine. She is kind of obsessed with him (I have no clue why: He isn't good-looking and has a dumb personality) and he's not sure about her, so to keep the mood light he invited me and another friend to hang out with her and her 2 friends. In a comment only Rezz and other Pittsburghians will understand, we pregamed with some drinking games then went to Tiki, and then made our way to Diesel. Diesel is a dance club where you are packed in like sardines. So anyways, I am dancing with my chick, trying to gauge if she's enjoying my package grinding against her ass or if she's too gentle of a person to tell me how repulsed she is. From the corner of my eye, I see Justine dancing with some random Spanish kid with a chinstrap. I look over again and see them playing tonsil hockey, furiously spit-swapping on the Diesel dance floor as my buddy looks on from a distance, eyes glazed in a confused and drunken state, wondering how Mr. Steal Yo Girl made his way through the smog of Axe and sweat to indeed steal his girl. I focus on the task at hand and slide my hands down into my girl's jeans. The dancing is beginning to feel repetitive: I've exhausted most of my moves and the combination of dehydration, fatigue, and boredom is making my quads cramp with the force of a thousand suns. I put my hands on hers, one of which is clutching one of those super small handbag things that girls carry, and start waving her arms around and whacking random dancers in the head with her handbag. She finds it hilarious and cute in a WTF sort of way. I take her hand and make her smack my ass, then claim sexual assault and get really offended, in hopes I can jokingly turn the event into a blowjob later. "Some girl kept smacking my ass and being really sexual and it was just weird. I mean, she was cute and stuff but she was so gropey and couldn't keep her hands to herself." Those words at 3AM proved to get a good laugh but a blowjob was not to be had. So focus. We are still at the club, dancing. I turn my head again and see my buddy sword fighting with Justine, using their tongues. Good golly gee whiz, what a little sloot she is. Later my buddy will pretend that he didn't see her making out with Juan Pablo Sanchez Gonzalez Rojas III, but I know he did. We exit the club and Justine starts yacking all over the street while we wait for a cab in the snow. It was never confirmed if it was from too much alcohol or the taste of a million men on her breath, but she left in the cab with her head hanging out the window, drooling slime down the side of the taxi. Eventually I grab a cab and head to my buddies' place, where all the girls were crashing as well. Skip to the next day. The girls leave on their trek to whereverthefukc and it's just me and my buddy. As what happens when white people drink, we recap and analyze the night simultaneously. He starts telling me how Justine is really into him and blah blah, which is where I mention the casual make out session she had with Mario Lopez right in front of his face. He claims he doesn't remember that, and whips out his phone to show me some texts she sent him while on her drive back home that morning. "Seriously. You are so fukcing perfect." That was the text. My heart stopped for a second. It was a biological reaction. My brain had sent signals to the rest of my body that this was beyond logical comprehension. Not only is she way out of my friend's league, but she just sent a completely cringe-worthy "you're perfect" text about 10 hours after making out with George Lopez Jr. So as the day went on, and we chowed down on old pizza and stale beers, I began thinking what would happen if the roles were reversed. It was tough because I'd never be big enough of an asswipe to send a "you're perfect" text to anyone, let alone someone I wasn't dating, let alone someone i had sex with once, let alone someone who saw me making out with a younger version of Geraldo. But I tried. I pretended I was lame enough to send that text and couldn't imagine any scenario where a girl would be receptive whatsoever to me even talking to her again. In recap, this girl pre-arranged to sleep at my friend's house, went out with him, made out with some guy in front of him, came home to his house to sleep, sent him love texts the next day. I guess it's one of those weird double standards situations that are fine for girls to do but not guys (The kinds that don't exist in the feminist fantasy land). Or maybe my buddy is just a chump. Both, actually. I realize mentioning it could be construed into sounding like I am a whiny mens rights activist, but let it be known to the masses that I also hate those people as much as feminists: Feminists are just more vocal, larger in numbers, and 99% of the time talking 100% out of their asses. Man, I hate feminists. I will save taking a verbal dump on them for another time on another day. I will be posting some music stuff later today or tomorrow. My updates have been sporadic but I don't think its caused anyone to slide into a crippling depression just yet, so whatever. There's a band called You Blew It! that is supposed to be a good newer emo band that I will be listening to and posting videos of. Stay tuned.