Sex, Chair-Lifts, & Falling Space Debris

I’m looking back at the month of October.  Fall is here.  The temperature begins to cool off.  My boy Scottie is a free man.  This month I hit 33 years old, and J.J. is soon going to hit the one-year mark.

The other day I went and shaved my head.  My head, silly.  But now I have you wondering, huh?

“Manscaping” was posted and my own mother said it’s the funniest piece she has ever read.

Then again, I called my mother last weekend and she was at a ski-resort.  She had been riding the chair-lift the night before.

*Not really our mother

(Also not the kind of chair-lift she was probably riding... Probably.

...Who knows?  Man, I want one now.)

I guess there’s a bar at the top of the hill and one at the bottom.  That is so that during the winter, people who are there to ski can warm up and have a drink.  Please note, it’s not winter and my mother doesn’t ski.

…So that leaves the drinking and riding the ski-lift.  In the late summer.  So you think I’m a crazy-ass dude?  Apples don’t fall far from the tree.

I heard a guy down the street from me got a D.U.I. while driving his lawn-mower to the store drunk.  Why he didn’t just lower the deck and cut the median on the way… seems that would look less conspicuous.

Then again, they said he was drunk, right?  I wonder what gave him away?  The lawn-mower pulled over the curb in front of the 7-11?  …Or was it the case of beer between his legs? 

Uhh… stick to the chair-lift, Mama.  And I love you.  Coffee?  Say… Saturday around 8 a.m.?  Will you be up?  OK – see you then!

Scottie!  So main-man, what’s up?  Miss you brother!  You know I have to ask…did you get laid yet?  Right!  How was it, anyway?  A case of premature ejaculation?  She grabs your hand and pulls you toward the bedroom… hello, release #1.

OK – I’ll cut you some slack.  So you made it to the bedroom.  Panties drop, and you drop…your load.  Was she laughing?  “But Scottie…you didn’t even put it in yet!”

I’ll bet once you get into to the deed, you’ll sound like a traffic cop: ‘Slowly proceed… OK, slower… STOP!  No! Stop!  Hold still…don’t move!’ 

It’s ok dude – every man has been there.  Finally you’ll just say fuck it, thrust like a jack-hammer, then collapse.  That’s what women expect anyway J

Do what I would do.  Get off before you even go to meet her.  Try to get off twice.  Lose some tension.

I would say to try that disconnect thing – like thinking about something else.  But, my friend, that’s not going to help either.  As soon as you see her London and France, you’re gonna pretty much lock in.  God… you lucky bastard!

I hear guys say, “Well, my first meal will be a baked potato with steak.”

Yeah, I’ll take some meat.  RAW.  And eat at that Southern joint.  I think that comment just went south on me….

Scottie, be nice you little shit! 

The day I’m out, I’m gonna hug my Mama, tell her I love her, then grab my own girl and go off to do my own premature ejaculation.  I figure about two weeks should cure me of that.  I’ll leave as Cabin Boy and come back as Superman.  I wonder if she wears panties.  Hmm…I’ll find out.

So, homie – I see you checking in as “Scott-Free” – I dig it!  Stay true.  I love you, brother!

Just one last topic before I go. 

A dude steps up to me the other day and says, “Don’t go outside on Friday.  Space Debris will be falling and may kill you.”

Umm… what the fuck did you just say?

Now, we have some whack-jobs in the chain gang.  However, this dude is pretty stand-up.

So I’m waiting for some punch-line. 

Then he says, “You know – pieces from satellites, shit from airplanes, a screw from a space shuttle, so on.”

I’m still looking at him sideways.  Space debris?  Is this for real?

(Sorry guys - this is how out-of-date this post became while Ester's been camping...)

He tells me most will be burned up before reaching Earth.  However, some pieces will make it through.

Well, people, if you’re walking your dog and get killed by a screw from a space shuttle…then I’m afraid it was your time to go. 

So just in case… let’s just say a broken satellite chunk comes and kills me while I’m running the track.  Ester, you’re in charge, OK?  I love you all!!

Nah- I’m putting my faith in God and superheroes.  Just in case some shrapnel takes me out – Ester, sell the damn thing.  Put it on eBay (the space shrapnel) for sale – “slightly used.  Make an offer.”  Ha!

Rock on, Hooligans!

Watch for falling debris.

-J.J.