I couldn't figure out how to turn on the shower in my hotel room the other day. I'm an engineer, so I should be able to figure this shit out. But I couldn't, so naturally I assumed it was broken instead of embarrassingly going to the front desk and asking the teen mom high school drop out at the front desk how their fancy showers work.
So I decided to take a bath.
And I reached the conclusion that baths suck.
First off, I went to fill the bath. Now, as a kid, the goal was always to fill that sonofabitch up as high as you could to best simulate a swimming pool as much as possible. So that's what I did, not realizing that my body displaces a lot more volume than it did as a kid. So step one quickly became a failure when 15 gallons of bath water went flying over the edge of the tub the moment I got in.
So now I'm in the tub and I'm a big, tall guy and so I'm kinda hunching and squirming to get in under the water and I kinda gotta flail my legs out the end and then scrunch my back all up and once I finally get comfortable I realize that I'm just staring at my dick and my dick's staring back at me. It was an uncomfortable, slightly awkward moment. I decided that instead of lying there, staring at my dick, I'd better get down to business.
Now, I couldn't just slide my back down further and get my hair wet to begin the shampooing process because my legs were already hanging out of the tub and my ass was already against the far end and I had no more room to slide down. So I had to get back up, fucking turn around on all fours and then dunk my head under water. And as I'm dunking my head under water, I realize my ass is now pointed straight up in the air, just ready to get buggered by whatever redneck Oklahoman was about to burst into my room. Not that there was a redneck Oklahoman ready to bust into my room and bugger me, it was just the crippling vulnerability I felt at that moment that made me decide to skip the shampooing process all together.
So I decided to lather up the soap and get on with that whole process. Of course, I don't fit in this tub at all, so I have to stand up in the tub to lather up. So now I'm standing, freezing my ass off, lathering myself up with soap and wondering why the fuck I just didn't tell my pride to eat a dick and go ask the damn girl at the front desk how their goddamned, three sea-shelling fucking shower worked.
But I'm lathered up now and awkwardly get back down in the tub to rinse off. And here's the other problem with a bath: when you go to rinse off, all the goddamn soap suds just float at the top of the bath water and when you get out of the tub you're still covered in soap residue. So you dunk yourself under again, yet no matter how many times you repeat the process, you're still covered in goddamn soap scum.
So, while I pondered draining the tub, filling it with fresh water and then dunking myself under again, I realized this whole process shit the bed half an hour ago and I simply decided "Fuck it!" and got dressed and went for dinner.
Baths are bullshit.
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
I think its important for pornstars to have unpopular names like Bunny or Bambi or Roxy or Kitty. Because if they had popular names, they might end up sharing a name with your mom or grandma or something. And people probably wouldn't want to jerk off to some girl with the same name as their mom.
Posted by brad hunt at 19:31
Thursday, 9 August 2012
I'm going to be 30 soon, which makes me old and past my prime. Which is pretty sad because it means I accomplished pretty much fuck all in my prime. Bascially, I spent my prime getting older and fatter. The double threat.
But I think I also got a bit wiser. And so I will dispense this wisdom to others, especially the kids out there: Don't bother with having dreams.
Now, I know that most people will read that and say "Oh, that's terrible. What a horrible thing to say. He's just so bitter and jaded and everyone needs to have dreams." And then they're going to go and watch some bullshit "inspiring" movie or tv show that ignores any trace of how the world actually works in order to try and inspire people and make them feel good about their shitty lives. But the average person is going to work a shitty job, get heartbroken, end up in a shitty relationship with someone they resent, get some sort of illness and things aren't going to magically work themselves out and tie things up in a nice little bow. No...you're either going to die too early or you're going to retire without enough money saved up and live way longer than you expected.
(This is essentially why I hate all country music made after 1985. Pre-1985, country musicians wrote songs about being heartbroken or having shitty jobs or what have you, then getting right fucking drunk out of their minds and, surprisingly, this doesn't solve anything, but only makes it worse. That's essentially how life works. All country music made after 1985 is all sappy, not anchored in any sort of reality, bullshit. Oh....my wife got terminally ill with cancer and is going to die in 10 months. But hey! She's pregnant! She had a little girl but my wife died during childbirth. But hey! The little girl reminds me of my now dead wife! Life's little miracle! OR Hey...my job sucks and my girl left me. Let's get consequence free drunk for the next week and that will solve all of our problems. OK! Hey look, after a week of being blasted I nailed this hot chick, I got a job working for NASCAR and my rich uncle gave me a new pick-up truck. Drinking is awesome!)
But, essentially, the vast majority of your hopes and dreams will either: a.) get crushed or b.) slowly fade into non-existence. Sure, there are examples of lucky assholes overcoming the odds, but these people are the exception and not the rule.
For example, consider the list of hopes and dreams you had when you were 10. My list probably looked something like this:
1.) Play in the NHL and MLB
2.) Own all the Nintendo games ever made
3.) Marry Kim Basinger
4.) Become a Navy Seal, astronaut and/or bad-ass crime solving detective
5.) Live in a pyramid
6.) Buy a truck with any sort of college fund money bequeathed to me
7.) Become a world famous musician playing the homemade stacking stool drum kit
This list not only shows how unrealistic our hopes and dreams can be, but also how dumb I was as a kid. Who would want to live in a fucking pyramid? It's got like one fucking room, there's death traps all around, no lights, no electricity. I used to think that a pyramid would be a giant mansion in prism form, however, in reality, it would make for a terrible, shitty place to live and would certainly not help you get laid.
The NHL dream died when we no longer had enough kids in our town to have a hockey team one year. Although probably before that. Nintendo was replaced by Super Nintendo, then N64, then something else and now its a Wii or something. That's a lot of games I would never play. I remember wanting to marry Kim Basinger after watching some movie where she robbed a bank. I think its because its the first time I noticed how awesome boobs were.
I did buy a truck, but instead of using my college fund money that I wasn't going to need because of my NHL career, I had to invest that money in a college education and then use that education to get a job, using the money from the job to buy the truck. And even then....it was just a fucking Ranger. So that's like 0.5 out of 7 success rate.
So let's go forward 10 years. I'm now 20 and in university.
1.) Graduate university.
2.) Get a job that doesn't suck.
3.) Meet a girl and fall in love.
4.) Get married.
5.) Have kids.
6.) Buy a modestly price, fuel efficient car.
7.) Buy a house.
So I got numbers 1-3 knocked off the list. Then 4 was an abject failure. Which did not lend itself well to completing number 5. The most fuel efficient car I bought was a Grand Am. And then I bought an even less fuel efficient Ranger. And I bought a shitty condo.
For the record, I do not recommend knocking off number 3 on that list and failing at number 4. That's a bad combination that leads to alcohol and binge eating. And not the magic alcohol that Toby Keith speaks about that makes all life's problems fade into a drunken haze of good times. It's more of the Hank Sr. alcohol that suppresses things into the recesses of your soul, lingering there, making appearances at inopportune times.
So that gives me a 3 out of 7 success rate. You'll also notice that this new list of goals is a lot more attainable than the 10 year old me list, and I'm still not even batting .500. Total score: 3.5 out of 14.
What are my goals now that I'm 30? Well:
1.) Don't die before I'm 50
2.) Sell shitty condo and buy slightly less shitty house
3.) Avoid becoming dependent on alcohol
4.) Don't get arthritis or back pain
5.) Save money so I can one day afford to retire
6.) Don't get erectile dysfunction (which really doesn't matter after number 4 and 5 from my age 20 list didn't get carried over to this list)
7.) Win my hockey pool
That's pretty much it. None of these are really dreams, anymore. They're not even goals. They're hopes. And they're simply hoping against negative things. Most of these should be achievable but history suggests that between 2 and 5 of these will be complete failures. And if it's 5 of them, you may as well hope number 1 is on that list.
So that's pretty much it. In a 20 year period you go from dreaming of playing in the NHL or some other long shot awesome thing to hoping a whole bunch of terrible shit doesn't happen to you.
Posted by brad hunt at 17:04
Friday, 3 August 2012
I've never sucked a dick. And while there exist certain scenarios in which I would suck a dick, I feel pretty comfortable saying I probably never will suck a dick.
What I find troubling is the list of things I'd put in my mouth before I'd put a dick in my mouth.
Knives, loaded guns, random poo found on jogging paths, miscellaneous items found at the dump.....I don't think I'm alone in saying that I'd way rather put these things in my mouth before I'd put a dick in my mouth. I guess chicks would probably choose a dick, so I suppose I'm talking about dudes here.
Even more troubling, is that if I found myself in a scenario in which someone were willing to pay me to put certain items in my mouth, I'd probably require significantly less money to put a rusty knife we found at the dump in my mouth than it would for me to put a dick in my mouth. And that's weird.
It's weird because putting a dick in your mouth is probably a very harmless thing to do. If we assume this is an aids free dick with no diseases or infections, putting a dick in your mouth would probably be among the safest things to put in your mouth. And yet there is such a huge mental block with putting a dick in my mouth that I'd probably find it more acceptable to put a rusty knife we found lying in a pile of random poo at the dump into my mouth.
So, really, our reluctance to put a dick in our mouth is not founded on any sort of health or safety issue but rather is entirely a mental thing. And yet I'd still rather put a rusty knife, covered in random poo that we found lodged into some dead guy we found at the dump into my mouth . Does this make me a homophobe? Or do I just have mental issues I need to work out? I mean logically, I should choose putting a dick in my mouth in the scenario mentioned above and yet I wouldn't. And willingly choosing an illogical choice over a logical one would seem to suggest a mental issue. I don't know.....
Posted by brad hunt at 03:57
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Awhile ago I woke up and I realized I was fat. This can be a troubling thing. See, most people are either born fat or get fat over time. You've either been fat your whole life and gotten used to it or you've slowly noticed yourself getting fat and said "Fuck it...I'm gonna be fat. That's just how it's gonna be." And then you have another cheeseburger and coke and spend your evenings playing online video games and watching terrible, terrible TV sitcoms.
But when you wake up fat, that's terrifying shit. You remember being in reasonable shape and then one day you look in the mirror and think "Son of a bitch. I got fat. Dammnit." Now, I obviously didn't get fat overnight. There wasn't some regret bowl of ice cream that I just went way too overboard on with sprinkles and chocolate sauce and then, after finishing the bowl I just grabbed the whole fucking tub and sat in front of the TV all night eating ice cream and watching The Notebook and then in the morning I got fat and cursed the damn ice cream. I assume I got fat over time, probably during a lengthy bout of depression, and didn't really realize until one day I got shortwinded vacuuming or some other menial task.
Now, when you get fat overnight, you refuse to go out and buy all new clothes that fit properly. You just buy a few to tide you over until you get back in shape. There's no point spending a bunch of unnecessary money on clothes that you aren't going to need in a few months.
The problem with this line of thinking is that you're not going get back in shape. You keep thinking you will, but its not ever going to happen.
First off, you can't just go and get a gym membership. I mean you might, but after a few embarrassing sessions of 12 sit-ups, 5 push-ups and half a chin-up, you're pride kicks in. Because, after all, the last time you did physical activity, you were in shape. You could do, I dunno, a fucking hundred sit-ups and 20 chin-ups and not even lose a breath. But now you can't do shit. And your pride comes into play, because you aren't familiar with these common fat man problems, and you just can't fucking do what you think you should, you get embarrassed and dejected and you end up just saying "Fuck it!" and quitting.
See, people that have been fat for a long time don't have this problem. If they enroll in a gym and go do 5 situps and a push-up its empowering because they've made the conscious decision to put down the Big Gulp, get up off the couch and take control of their lives. They've got a positive, can-do attitude and people applaud whatever minor achievement they can reach. These people are heroes. But a new fat guy that's let just let himself go?
"Pfftt...look at that fat fuck. I bet he can't even last 2 minutes on the treadmill. What a piece of shit!"
And I'd be like "Yeah..no...fuck...I wouldn't be able to. I'm just an out of shape, fat piece of shit."
So you quickly realize the gym just isn't an option. Because even if you can get past the initial hit to your pride of not being able to do what you once were able to, your competitive nature that helped keep you in shape back in the day is still there and you want to try and keep pace with the douche jock that goes to the gym so he can show off his biceps that compensate for his tiny penis to a bunch of shallow women. So you see him benching a shitload of weight and you don't want to pull up beside him and start benching an empty bar or whatever pathetic weight you've decided to start at. And so you overload the bar and completely throw out your back in two reps. Assuming you can even fucking left it in the first place.
After giving up on the gym experience, you decide "Maybe I should just fucking start jogging." I mean, jogging's bullshit, but it seems like the sort of exercise that can be performed in private without the judging eyes of others and you can go at your own pace and all that shit. If someone blows past you on the jogging path and you're huffing and puffing and sweating and going half a mile an hour you can always just say "Yeah... 24 miles and on my last one. Pushing hard to set a new personal best."
So you buy some runners and decide to take up jogging. But there's two major problems you quickly experience when jogging as a fat man: number one is that you now have an additional 50 lbs of weight on your frame then you used to and your knees and other joints really don't like the impact with all that extra weight. And you jog two blocks and your knees have a searing pain in them like some mobster henchman is sticking rusty knives into your joints, torturing you before he inevitably shoots you in the head and dumps your body off a bridge.
The second problem is that you've probably developed a big gut and possibly even tits and this fleshy material is flabby and jiggly. And when you start jogging it starts hitting a natural frequency and bouncing up and down with greater and greater amplitudes until the whole system is oscillating like Galloping Gertie, ready to implode upon itself.
The jogging plan ends quickly. Next you decide to go all Charles Atlas and just do sit-ups and push-ups and jumping jacks and lift barbells at home. But here's the problem with this plan: you don't have some dumbass jock working out beside you that you're secretly pushing yourself to try and keep pace with so you can proudly think to yourself "Yeah...look at that you cocksucking jock. A FAT man just kept pace with you. I bet that makes you and your tiny penis that you're currently trying to overcompensate for feel good." So you don't have that extra motivating factor. You do, like, 12 sit-ups, feel a slight discomfort and think that's enough sit-ups. And you do 5 push-ups and your arms start to burn a bit and you think that's good enough. Gotta go slow. Don't want to hurt myself. So after 1 month you're up to 15 situps, 8 push-ups and you've lost exactly 0 lbs.
After a 2nd month with zero return on investment you give up on that shit, too. And by this point you've been fat long enough that you've familiarized yourself with fat man problems, gotten used to being fat and eventually decide "Well...fuck it. I guess I'm just going to be fat." And so you continue on as a fat fuck, eating cheeseburgers and ice cream and watching A&E marathons until one day you have a heart attack.
Posted by brad hunt at 18:55