I voted for Barack Obama. I didn’t think “hey, this is a historic election because he’s black” because, honestly, I don’t give a shit that he’s black.

Stop exploiting him for being black. Stop congratulating black people for their accomplishment. It isn’t an accomplishment that a black person got into the White House anymore than it is an accomplishment that a white man got into the White House. They aren’t retarded. They’re just as smart as you and I, and without a doubt smarter than our current president.

There’s a reason racism is still so prominent in this country.

Lady: “Can you carry it up front for me?”

Drat.

I’m 5′11″ and I’m a pretty strong guy. Carrying mammoth wind chimes, however, isn’t exactly my forte. I must’ve missed that semester of my drug induced high school, because carrying it to the front of the store was probably the least graceful I’ve ever looked, and this was by far the most annoying thing I’ve ever encountered in my life. Imagine two minutes of a bunch of gongs going off right behind you, eventually you’ll want to kill somebody.

I got it to the front of the store, made a tag for it and left it while I went to do my work. On my way to the back of the store, every employee told me just how annoying that wind gong was. All justifiable complaints in my opinion.

About 45 minutes later I get called to the front of the store for customer carry-out. When I get there, my favorite old lady is waiting for me to help carry her goliath gong to her car. I pick it up, looking about as graceful as someone with downs trying to hit on the prom queen.

Lady: “Do you have a bag you can put it in?”

Ugh. An eight foot huge chime that weighs 60-something pounds and this lady wants a bag? She’s lucky I’m carrying it to her car in the first place.

Me: “We don’t have any bags this big.”
Lady: “Sure you do!”

Little did I know, she was an expert in our bag inventory.

Natasha, a cute girl I work with, tells me to use a trash bag. Fair enough. Just try to picture someone putting a mammoth gong into a trash bag that can barely support being full of paper. It’s not a pretty picture. Needless to say, I was looking like a grade-A idiot.

I turn to head out the door and the lady is still waiting for me.

Lady: “You’re not very experienced are you?”

Excuse me?! Sorry my huge gong carrying skills aren’t up to par with yours, Mrs. Gimp, but I’m doing the best I can. I look back at Tasha and the three customers standing there, all of them with their jaws dropped in shock that she said that.

I just turned and walked out, holding my tongue. I was a race car in the red at that point, but I didn’t want to start any trouble.

We get out to her car, a brand new gold Lexus. This is a car I would take downtown to try to get girls with. Chromed out rims, chromed out grill. Just an all around sexy car.

Lady: “We’re going to put it in the trunk.”

She opens the driver door to pop the trunk.. and pops the hood. I saw my opportunity arise! One thing to note about me is that I say whatever is on my mind nine times out of ten, rarely every holding my tongue. Well, I used that one tongue hold out of ten while I was inside and couldn’t hold back this time.

I looked at her dead in the face and said,

“You’re not very experienced are you?”

Game. Set. Match.

Oh, but we went extra innings. After everything was loaded into her car, she asked me to close her hood. This is easily a $40,000 Lexus. I go to the front, and never in my life have I ever slammed a hood down harder. I’m surprised the tires didn’t flatten and the engine didn’t fall out of the bottom.

Customer Service: Don’t fuck with me and it’ll be good.

After Kelly and I had sex one night, she told me “Ryan, I know you don’t want a girlfriend and all, but I just want you to know that I do like you.”

Whatever, Kelly. I should’ve bailed at that very moment, but, if you’ve read any of my previous posts (all two of them), you’d know that some things just aren’t that easy to get away from.

Kelly and I kicked it almost every day for about two weeks. She would smoke me out on the regular during the week, and I’d catch her back on the weekend. It was the perfect friendship: weed and sex. Except Kelly started changing. For the worst.

At work one Friday, I was getting off at 8:30pm while Kelly was going to be there until 11pm. I told her I would smoke her out that night since she was stressed about something. Before I left I sat in the breakroom for a minute so that I could get some girl’s number. Kelly thought I had left and got mad that I hadn’t said goodbye to her.

Note: Kelly is always stressed about something. Whether it’s her sick relative, her annoying dog that she neglectfully leaves in the cage all day, or her mother’s stuff being all over her place, she has some drama going on. I hate drama. It’s my kryptonite.

After I got off work I went to hang out with one of my girlfriends from school. At around 11:30ish I get a call from Kelly asking me when I’ll be over.

“I’ll be out there in a bit.”

Twenty whole minutes later, Kelly sends me a text message. The exchange went like this (no grammar or spelling mistakes are corrected):

Kelly: And you always rush me…how long you gonna have me waiting?
Me: You need to stop.
Kelly: Ok your right…… Dont worry about it hope you enjoyed getting smoked out all week peace.
Me: Do what you do homie.
Kelly: Thats so fucked up how you gonna tell me all week you r gonna smoke me out now be a jerk? Thats you doing what you do hommie…. I cant beleive you all i asked you was how long you were gonna have me waiting since you rush me to smoke You out…oh I know What your thinking and please beleive im calm

Yeah Kelly, real calm. If that’s calm then you’re a national terror threat when you get pissed off.

Me: I’ve chilled with you almost every night for the last two weeks. My bad kelly for wantin to kick it with somebody else

The worst part about this whole thing was it was only midnight. I’ve stayed at Kelly’s place until 5am before, so pardon me for thinking that showing up at around 1-ish am on a Friday night was an outlandish assumption.

Later in the night I told Kelly that I was breaking up with her…

I’ve kept the lines of communication open with Kelly. I don’t sleep with her or really hang out with her anymore, but I do talk to her. Here’s a gem of a conversation we had just tonight over AIM…

(12:06) kelly: u there?
(12:08) me: yeah
(12:08) kelly: u can but half if u want
(12:08) kelly: done talking?
(12:08) me: jeez kelly let me take a breather.
(12:08) me: i’ll send you a message every 10 seconds with a life update, and i’ll catch my farts in a bottle so you don’t miss a moment of my life.
(12:09) kelly: okay Ryan
(12:09) kelly: see why u gotta b like that
(12:09) me: “u there?” “yeah” — five seconds later — “done talking?”
(12:09) kelly: DAMN IT MAN IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY

Ladies and gentlemen, in the case of Ryan against not wanting a girlfriend, I give you exhibit A.

But as far as the sex thing, I really should have given it up for two months. Karma has come back to bite me in the ass. A few days ago I went to the bathroom and it felt a little uncomfortable. I didn’t really think much of it, I thought maybe I had some bad alcohol or something. I don’t know, my major is psychology, not biology.

It turns out that I should’ve been chugging cranberry juice like it was the secret to life because as I sit here squirming, I am dealing with a urinary tract infection. I use a condom… usually. So this leads me to only one possibility:

Blowjobs.

Was it worth it? Well, it was the best head of my life without a doubt, but 20 minutes of bliss isn’t worth five days of bladder discomfort. I’ve had to pee for three straight days. It’s like an insatiable urge that I just can’t get rid of.. except it’s more like a boil.

This does not include taking a girl out to dinner. It just means I can’t try to sleep with her right after.

Which got me wondering, what are these gays thinking? Breaching that bond between man and woman that is so special, one that lasts until death do you part in all but 37% of cases in the 20-24 year old age group. Those 37% of people are obviously gay or something. Don’t fret though, only 16% of people ages 25-29 are apparently gay.

And get this, the straightest group of people are over the age of 90, where the divorce rate drops off significantly.

Gay people can’t have kids, which is one reason why gay marriage is bad news. Procreation is one of the greatest gifts that God has given us, and why should we waste that gift by getting partners we can’t use it with? In 2005 there were over half a million children in foster care, which isn’t the fault of bad parenting, or the inability to parent, or any other reason that might put straight parents at fault In fact, it’s the fault of gay parenting.

But the bottom line is, marriage is a sacred bond, especially here in the United States. Do you remember that show Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionare? Rick Rockwell met a woman on that show and got married to her. The premise of the show was obvious based on the title, but to further elaborate on it, the specific synopsis of the show is “Who wants to enter into a ’sacred’ bond between a man and a woman based on the man’s income?” Rick Rockwell and Darva Conger, the woman who beat out 49 other women for the chance to show how much she loved Rick, ended up getting a divorce shortly after the show was finished airing. Those damn Gay people ruined another sacred bond!

But the real inspiration to me, and the reason why I think marriage will work, is because of the six year old show The Bachelor. I even know a guy who was on that show. You might have heard of him, his name is Jesse Palmer, former quarterback for the University of Florida. If The Bachelor is any indication, then over half of all marriages are ruined by gay people.

If it isn’t plainly obvious by the evidence I just presented then I will spell this out for you: Gay people are ruining the sacred bond of marriage. Marriage doesn’t mean anything to anyone if those fags can marry the ones that they love. Instead, they need to exploit the sacred bond on game shows, because that, my friend, is the very definition of sacred.