I was just reading a news story about a woman in Mexico City who kept the body of her dead husband next to her bed for a year, until finally neighbors called the authorities complaining of an odor. There was this quote in the article:
Local media reported that Velarde's son regularly helped remove worms infesting his father's body.
First, imagine having to fact check this? Like your boss screaming at you, “No! We need confirmation that the son helped remove the worms. And make sure they were infesting the body and not just on it.” It’s like the Mexican version of The Devil Wears Prada.
Second, a year is a really, really long time to be picking worms off your father’s corpse, isn’t it? This always gets to me. (You know, when people store their dead bodies.) Maybe you go crazy and can’t part with it for the first week. And then the worms start and it’s like, “Oh man, I didn’t expect this. OK, I’ll give it a shot.” But at some point like five months in, it’s become part of your routine to go and pick worms off your father’s corpse. Like, maybe you have an appointment that runs late and you actually have the thought, “Shit! I forgot to stop by mom’s and help pick the worms off dad.” Doesn’t it hit you then that if nothing else, maybe this is more of a hassle then it’s worth?
Oh, and this winning quote from the DA: “"Yes, these people have psychological problems, but they hid a corpse. Even if it is a family member, they committed a crime.” For some reason, I read it in the voice of the judge from Good Will Hunting when he says, “You know, another judge might care, but you hit a cop! You're going in.”
OK, enough of that. On to the questions.
I am so pleased that Q&A Friday's are back. I don't have a question per se, so much as I would like some tips on fellatio... Can you help me?
Of course I can help you. I know this can be a touchy (zing!) subject. And I know girls can feel really insecure if that suck (zing! zing!) at it. The good news is, I have some real-life hands on (ZING!) experience with felatio. You’d be shocked what can happen in jail even. And I was only there 72 hours! And the best part was no one told me my bail had been posted an hour after I got there!
So fellatio (sometimes referred to as “that thing you do to make him like you”) is a lot less tricky than people think it is. I’ve read a lot of tips on technique (the lollipop method, the ice cream cone method, the McDonald’s milk shake method), but I’m not a big believer in technique. Tips and tricks are all just cover-up for a lack of interest. Truth is, there’s no substitute for passion (except money).
I think the most important thing is to have fun. Remember, this is your way of saying, “You see how much I care about you you sick fuck?” So instead of thinking of it like a chore, treat it like a party that only you were invited to. And no one likes a wall flower. So get out there, get drunk, dance and do something stupid. And remember, most importantly, to swallow your party bag when you leave.
I started faking it with the ol' BF. And I mean faking it real good – fake vadge contractions and all. (Ed. note: T.M.I.)
Anyway, now I've created a monster who truly believes that I can orgasm in 6 minutes of sex with no foreplay.
I'm like, 32 years old and know better than to fake it - so I'm WAY too embarrassed to tell him I'm such an Academy Award Winning Actor. He'd understand but he'd think I was so retarded to have faked it in the firsty. What to do, what to do?
Prolly Going to Hell in Salt Lake City
From what I understand, everyone in Salt Lake City is going to hell unless they buy a trampoline and jump so high on it that they can touch God. So don’t be so hard on yourself.
Actually, what am I saying? You’re a monster! Faking an orgasm is the single worst thing a person can do to a loved one (besides paralyzing them, then breaking up with them because they are paralyzed). It is an affront less to the physical aspect of the relationship and more to the emotional trust level necessary for all good relationships to grow and prosper.
Think of it this way: It’s like he bought you a wool sweater for Christmas. You hate wool, but you didn’t want to hurt his feelings so you said you loved it. Then for your birthday he bought you another one. And at Christmas, another. Finally, three years later, you’re out wearing one of your eight wool sweaters when you lose it and rip it off your body in the middle of the mall screaming, “I can’t take it! Why is it so itchy! It’s like wearing a horse! Why? Why?!” But he wasn’t paying attention because a few stores back he noticed a great wool sweater in a window he thought you would love. So you pick up a fake Palm tree and club him over the head with it, leaving him paralyzed. And weeks later when you are walking out the front door with your suitcase packed, he’ll try to roll after you but won’t be able to make it down the porch steps. But he’ll try anyway, and pill out of his chair all over the front lawn, causing a huge scene. A neighbor will have to come over to help him back up, and he’ll never trust another woman again. All because you thought you were Bette fucking Midler for a night.
So what do you do? You live an orgasmless life. It is the lonely, pleaseureless grave you have dug for yourself. Well, either that or just stop faking it. If your boyfriend is intuitive (hell, if he knows what month it is) he should be able to determine that he needs to work a little harder next time. Zing.
Orzo: Pasta or rice?
I read this question five or six times trying to figure out what the perverse sex angle was before I remembered that there are questions that exist in this world that don’t have to do with penises.
Wikipedia defines orzo as a “rice-shaped pasta.” But it would be irresponsible of me to stop there, call it a pasta and call it a day. Let’s face it, Wikipedia isn’t the most trustworthy authority. So I went to someone I knew would know the answer: my boss.
This was our conversation:
Me: “Hey, did you get those spreadsheets I emailed?
Him: “Yes, thanks.”
Me: “Good. Just remember that each one has four or five tabs on the bottom, so don’t overlook them.”
Me: (walking out of his office, then turning back) “Oh hey, you do a lot of cooking – my girlfriend wants me to cook her something with orzo in it. Do you know what orzo is?”
Him: “Well, it’s this rice shaped pasta. Usually how you cook it is you-“
Me: “Oh, OK. Yeah, I think I’ve had that before. Thanks.”
So there you have it. It is a pasta masquerading as rice. As a general rule, I don’t eat food I don’t trust. So you won’t see me eating orzo anytime soon. Oh, wait. I think I just had orzo with some salmon the other night. I thought it was rice. Damn, this orzo is trickier than I thought! Someone should note this in its Wikipedia entry. In fact, I’ll take care of it right now. It’s my responsibility. And I take it seriously.
(Think you’ve got what it takes to have a questions? Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org)