The Fourth Judge: Jerking Damage, Dirty Talk, and Ancient Rome

When you permanently damage your hearing by, let’s say, passing out drunk on the F train with your iPod set to maximum volume, your ears ring. The frequency at which your ears ring is a frequency you will never hear again. It’s that particular frequency’s swan song. I think most people know this Snapple fact by now. It’s not that interesting. [[MORE]]But it makes me wonder: when you jerk off for the first time in a while and your penis feels sort of tingly/chafed afterward, is that a tingle/chafe your penis will never feel again? Should I be using lotion? Does this only happen because I’m circumcised? Should I jerk off more? Why don’t they teach you these things in health?

I say things to myself during sex. Well, that’s not exactly true. I say things to my partner during sex, but I don’t say them out loud. It’s not that I’m too embarrassed to use dirty talk, necessarily, but the dirty talk I come up with in my head is so ridiculous, I don’t think I could ever use it in real life. Am I really going to say “I’m gonna empty my huge ball sack into you” to an actual person? Is this something you want to hear from your lover while he’s trying to empty his huge ball sack into you? Does it depend on if he’s attractive or not? What if he’s not bad looking but he has a concave chest? Does that factor into it?

I feel like I have more questions than answers lately.

I bought 3 gallons of bottled water to survive Hurricane Irene, but I didn’t wind up needing any of it because nothing happened in Brooklyn beyond a few weak-ass trees doing us all a favor and DYING. Love it or leave it, trees. That’s what I say.

I keep forgetting I have this Hurricane Water and drinking out of the tap. It’s been weeks and this water just sits there, taunting me. I only notice it when I’m not about to drink water. When I am about to drink water, I head for the tap. It’s driving me fucking nuts. I actually had a nightmare the other night that my Hurricane Water was trying to choke me to death, then I woke up and realized it was my cat kneading my neck. That lovable scamp.

Does anyone want a cat, by the way? He’s a real sweet heart. Very affectionate.

There’s no relief like the relief of seeing the enormous fat ass at your office (well, one of the enormous fat asses at your office) walk past the bathroom door when you’re trailing him down the hallway on the way to drop a deuce of your own. If he’s holding a book or a newspaper that’s like watching your team come back from a two touchdown deficit with 3 minutes left in the fourth quarter. Celebrate, my friends. You’ve just dodged a huge bullet, if you know what I’m saying. IT’S HUGE BECAUSE HE’S FAT AND EATS A LOT! LOL!

fart fart fart fart fart fart fart

Every time I see an ancient stadium, like the Coliseum, I’m completely amazed that people would gather in any large quantity during such primitive times. It’s a stupid thought, for a couple of reasons. First of all, there’s a part of me that actually thinks gathering in large groups is some sort of modern invention. Like any time before 1956 people were hideous ape-like creatures who lived paranoid, solitary, murderous existences in the shadows. This isn’t true.

Secondly, what the fuck else were people supposed to do however many hundreds/thousands of years ago? Invent communism? Build looms? Follow Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior? Of course people were going to go watch a bunch of naked, greased up dudes wearing laurels wrestle a ram or get eaten by lions or play a harp or whatever. There were no other options.

Thank God we have the Internet and I can visit puddingfarts.com whenever I damn well please.

There was a leak in my bathroom ceiling a couple of weeks ago so I had to have a repairman come patch the hole and paint over it. While he was working I desperately had to take a piss, but I had no idea when he was going to leave the bathroom. I tried to hold it in for as long as possible. I had no intention of asking a worker to leave a room he was working in so I could empty my huge ballsack bladder into it, but it was either that or pee in my kitchen sink. So I asked him to leave, but I felt horrible, and came off like a huge fucking dork, I’m sure.

“Hey man, I’m really sorry to do this, but I really need to take a piss. Could I pop in here for one second. I swear, I’m just gonna take a piss.”

“Ok, thanks man. Seriously. I’m dying. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.”

/washes hands for much longer than usual to prove cleanliness

“Thanks, man. So sorry. I just really had to go, you know?”

I think he understood that I was legitimately sorry, that I sympathize with the working man, that I’m a decent human being who doesn’t think any less of him because he’s a repairman. He didn’t think I was racist did he? Did he? Come on! It’s not like I typed “jes.” I could’ve typed “jes” you know! THE WORKER WAS A MEXICAN, OK? HE WAS A MEXICAN. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

When will 20-something white men be given the benefit of the doubt in this country? I thought Obama’s America was supposed to fix all of this.