Chapter 27 – I Came Into Some Money Recently
I’d like to start off here by sayin that if you think this chapter has anything to do with some sort of inheritance I’d received from my father after his passing, lemme stop you right there. That’s not what this is about. I didn’t get anything and, even if I did, I wouldn’t be here sharing that information with all you psycho retards out there that got nothin better to do than read my shitty-ass writing. Why not, you ask? Well, because it’s none of your fuckin business, that’s why. Sheesh. What this chapter IS about, however – and I don’t know if it’ll be of any interest to a buncha nosy motherfuckers like yall itchin to know about my inheritance – is loneliness. It’s about how a man can only wank himself to sleep lookin at digital vaginas bein stuffed on his phone so many times before he craves not only the sex of a real-life flesh-and-blood woman, but also some sort of genuine emotional connection with one as well – a companion with whom he can laugh during the good times and hold during the tough times and all that other gay shit that couples in love stereotypically tend to do. Can somebody tell me – does that typa connection actually even exist or did I watch too many corny-ass romcoms with my mom while growin up? Like, seriously, I don’t know if it’s always been this way for people tryin to meet a partner in past generations, but in this day and age the task of finding someone that you can stand to be around longer than the time it takes to get ‘em naked and slip ‘em the sausage is damn near impossible. It’s like…fuck, ya know? Am I really destined to be alone forever? I dunno. Perhaps the fault is my own. Perhaps, as Eddie Murphy playin The Little Rascals’ Buckwheat would say, I’ve been “wookin pa nub in all da wong places.”
During the summer of 2020, I desperately longed for a heart to hold and a pussy to fuck. Like all the other lonely losers that don’t know how to meet people in real life, I turned to online dating. On OkCupid, although I’d get a decent amount of responses to messages I’d send out, the conversations would quickly grow stale and that’d be the end of it. I actually had a decent thing goin with a girl on Hinge at one point – she had a perverted sense of humor like me – but before that had the chance to go anywhere, I was permanently banned from the service when a different user who didn’t share the same sense of humor reported me for somethin I said. Ya see, on this girl’s profile, there was a section that said, “Two truths and a lie.” She answered, “I enjoy skydiving,” “I’m terrified of heights,” and “I can out eat you at a BBQ joint.” And like, these things are supposed to be conversation starters, right? So, if I wanna start chatting with this girl, I’ll answer this or a different one of her icebreaker questions and things are supposed to flow from there. In response to her answers there – like, when people answer the “two truths and a lie” question – you usually start the conversation by tryin to guess which one is a lie. So I said, “Ooh! I know! You can’t eat me out at a BBQ joint because I don’t have a vagina. That was an easy one.” I didn’t think my answer was particularly funny or clever or even that offensive. At the time, I’d been scrollin through profile after profile and sendin out random messages left and right – most often the first thing that came to mind when readin through their bios – just to see who bites, ya know? Well, I guess she didn’t like it and reported me and my answer was considered harassment by Hinge and I was given the boot thanks to their zero-tolerance policy. I sent an email tryin to argue that it was a mistake, that I’m dyslexic and in her response to the “two truths and one lie” entry where she said “out eat you,” I’d mistakenly read it as “eat you out” and responded accordingly. No dice, they said. I was gone for good.
I spent a lotta time on Tinder that summer. Readin through chick’s bios to see who I might be interested in getting to know makes me lose my faith in humanity, so I’d often just use my thumb to hit the little green heart on every profile until I ran outta likes for the day, then go back afterwards to review who I matched with – that is, if I even matched with anyone at all. I’m not tryin to be dramatic here, but I mean, seriously though – you ever read the shit chicks nowadays write in those things? Every other profile I swiped through – back when I was still readin ‘em – the chicks are either feminist communists lookin for a partner to help ‘em smash capitalism and put an end to the patriarchy, and/or a 420-friendly anarchist that thinks we should abolish the police. Like, when I match with these chicks, what am I supposed to say to ‘em? “No police? Great idea! That way when we’re out on a date together, I won’t think twice about slippin you a roofie, then raping and killing you because I don’t hafta worry about anyone bringing me to justice. Woohoo! Thanks for makin it so easy, you dumb bitch!”
Like, c’mon – I’m not suggesting that the police catch every criminal or that there’s not room for some improvement, nor am I suggesting that cops who kill unarmed black people shouldn’t be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but don’t you like living in a world with some semblance of order? Don’t you like bein able to walk to the grocery store without bein abducted or beat down by random groups of bandits stalking the streets? I certainly do! I mean, shit…without law and order to protect the supply chain and to discourage thieves from robbing the cash registers and to stop rowdy mobs from ransacking all the goods without paying, grocery stores as we know ‘em would not even exist. Like, don’t you think the fear of bein caught and sent to jail serves as a pretty big deterrent to many people who might otherwise act out some of their most basic instincts? Or are you so naïve that you honestly think all human beings are naturally good and without the police around to keep “bullying the public,” everyone’s just gonna put their guns down then join hands and start singin “Kumbaya” like some fuckin 1960s hippie-ass pipe dream? It’s just so fuckin ignorant, dude.
Like seriously, get off your high horse and go spend some time in certain parts of developing countries where the police have zero say – places where human life is dirt-cheap and where absolutely no basic human rights are guaranteed for anyone. Go talk to people who’ve lived their whole lives in territories that are either controlled by some sorta criminal syndicate that extorts the shit outta everyone within their sphere of influence or a terrorist organization that makes the lives of local residents a living hell. Or if you wanna see what a truly corrupt police force looks like, go live in Honduras for a bit where organized crime and law enforcement are so intertwined that the two entities are basically indistinguishable. Or even closer to home than that, go spend some time in the Mexican states of Guanajuato and Jalisco where at the moment cartels are quite literally hunting down and killing members of the police in their homes in front of their families, and where random murder victims get tossed into mass graves with the mutilated bodies of somewhere between fifty and a hundred other people – women and children included. And the damndest thing about those mass graves – especially the one that was recently discovered not out in some deserted stretch of countryside, but right in the middle of a town called Salvatierra – is that a lotta people probably know exactly who’s dumping all those bodies in there, but no one says shit outta fear of ending up in there themselves. So, do me a favor – go do some of the shit I just suggested and tell me just how safe you felt living in those places without an American-style police force and justice system around to, ya know, be hassling everyone all the time. Go do some of that shit for a while, then come back here and tell me we don’t have it pretty goddamn good the ways things are.
Yeah, I dunno. Sorry for the rant. It’s just that all these extreme leftist bios always end up pissin me off really bad. And no, I’m not a Trump guy. In fact, I’m not even political. I don’t care about anyone’s agenda, I don’t care about either party, and honestly, I don’t even fuckin vote. I don’t care. Like, not at all. And I don’t wanna hafta read about any of this fuckin bullshit when I’m on Tinder lookin for some stinky, slippery, slimy slits to slip my slithering snake into. I fuckin hate it. I can’t stand it. And, as long as we’re on the subject, you know what else I can’t stand in girl’s bios on Tinder? I can’t stand it when they write “my friends would describe me as hilarious” then go on to describe themselves as “sassy” and “snarky” or say that they’re “fluent in sarcasm.” What’s funny about any of that? Like, instead of tellin me how funny you are, why don’t you show me how funny you are? I’m not sayin that my shit’s absolutely hilarious or anything like that, but at least I try. At one point last summer I had my bio as, “I wouldn’t be caught dead with a necrophiliac.” At another it read, “Owner of the world’s largest micropenis.” Then for a while, I had a little poem I wrote on there. It went, “Roses are red, violets are blue, and in goes my tongue, from where out comes your poo.” Then my favorite one that I came up with – a Stand By Me reference that was actually taken down by Tinder for bein too vulgar – went, “Check me out, I know you wanna holler, this dick a train, and your pussy Ray Brower.” Again, not the funniest shit you’ll ever hear, but much more of an effort than simply labeling myself as “hilarious” and appointing myself the ultimate authority on all things humor-related.
I also hate when a girl’s bio says, “I’m only here because I’m bored.” Of course, them only bein on Tinder because they’re bored translates to, “I’m a stuck-up, spoiled-ass bitch with no personality that thinks I’m better than everyone else on this app, and if you’re fortunate enough to match with this here goddess, it’s your job to entertain me. I will do exactly zero percent of keeping the conversation going.” And all these same chicks – all you “aspiring MILFs” and girls “looking for my future ex-husband” – why do you all have the same photo in your profiles? Why is it always you and your slutty group of day-drinking friends at The Hampton Social in front of some green wall with a pink neon sign on it that says, “Rosé All Day”? Like, why is that the mandatory photo du jour? Lately I’ve been seein it even more than the generic me-looking-cute-in-front-of-Machu-Picchu and me-being-adventurous-on-The-Ledge-at-Skydeck-Chicago photos. I don’t know what to say – it’s just not cool. It’s fuckin lame. And god forbid if you’re one of those “Rosé All Day” chicks who also uses the word “foodie” to describe yourself in your bio, please do the world a favor and jump in front of the next passing truck. It’s one of the stupidest words ever invented and, if people insist on takin to the streets to wave signs around and demand something be abolished, it shouldn’t be the police – it should be usage of the word foodie.
Also, what’s the deal with gay men makin female profiles on Tinder? And no, all you SJWs lookin to bite my head off, I ain’t talkin about M-to-F trans people here – they’re cool where they’re at because they actually do think they’re women or whatever. What I’m talkin about are regular-ass cisgender gay dudes whose bios say they wanna get pounded in the ass by straight guys, mixed in among the all-female profiles I’ve selected to swipe through as part of my preferences on the app’s settings. Like, I got several problems with this phenomenon that’s been occurring lately that I fully intend on getting offa my chest here.
First of all, how do these profiles get past the moderators? I mean, given the fact that they took down the Stand By Me pickup line from my profile, I know they’re out there lookin and I know they’re seein this shit. So tell me…Why do profiles with men’s pictures and bios explaining themselves as gay men with a desire to seek out “open-minded straight guys” to do really hardcore stuff to their tight little buttholes exist among heterosexual female profiles? Why is that cool? It just doesn’t make any sense to me. Like, put ‘em back in the men pile where they belong so that if I’m ever lookin to get it on with a dude, I’ll know where to find ‘em without havin to spend so much time sifting through female profiles for an ass to stick my cock in.
Secondly, wouldn’t my willingness to pound another guy in the ass by definition mean that I’m not straight? I mean, I know the lines have been blurred in recent years and, heck – I personally believe that bein a man married to a woman that makes him put a condom on before givin him a blow job is far gayer than two men takin turns stretchin out each other’s sphincters – but still, you’re not straight if you wanna be havin anal sex with other men. It just doesn’t work like that.
Thirdly, if I really did wanna fuck me a whole mess o’ gay dudes, I’d download Grindr and get the pick o’ the litter instead of dealin with these desperate-ass bottom-of-the-barrel jokesters makin female accounts on Tinder. Like, I actually have downloaded Grindr before to look for trans women on there that’re down to fuck. I was gettin bored with never gettin any action with females that were born women, so I thought I’d try for the next best thing. Unfortunately, most trans girls on Grindr in Chicago didn’t look as good as the ones I’ve seen in porn or at Thai whorehouses when wasted off my ass at three in the morning. Well actually, maybe one or two of ‘em did, but they were hookers chargin four-hundred bucks a pop, so fuck that. And the rest…well, the rest just looked like 250-pound, hairy-ass dudes wearin wigs and dresses, and that sorta thing just ain’t my cuppa tea. That said, in spite of my fruitless search for a hole to plunder, during the few days I was on Grindr, I’d gotten dozens of messages from all sorts of men not only willing, but begging – that’s right, BEGGING – to suck my dick. Even some 65-year-old grandpa assured me I’d get the blow job to end all blow jobs if I went over to his place that evening. And like, since I’d used the same photos I’d always put on my Tinder profile where I never got much attention, hearin stuff like that during my stint on Grindr proved to be an amazing ego boost. If only things worked out like that in my quest for action from members of the opposite sex, just like Belinda Carlisle says, heaven truly would be a place on earth.
So yeah, if I really wanted to, I could slay an infinite amount of gay-dude ass. The thing is, I just don’t want to. I mean, I guess I’m not completely straight if I am indeed attracted to some super effeminate ladyboys whose dongs I wouldn’t mind jackin around a little bit while we play together – but I’m not sexually attracted to men’s bodies or anything masculine – like, not at all…except for those girly ladybody dicks I just mentioned. Like, I’ve tried watching gay porn and it just doesn’t do anything for me. And in real life, I don’t wanna be the guy stuffin another dude’s asshole and I definitely don’t wanna be anyone’s bottom. The truth is I’ve actually tried some “bottom stuff” by myself in the privacy of my own bedroom. I’ve taken one of those little wooden souvenir baseball bats you get with your favorite team’s logo on it from the ballpark, put a condom over the end of it and stuck it up my ass. It was an interesting experiment and the prostate stimulation felt pretty good, but trying to imagine it was a dick was more of a turnoff than a boon on my journey towards orgasm. On top of that, I don’t want things regularly stuck in my butthole because I’m worried about its elasticity. The thought of having a sphincter so blown-out that feces comes tumbling outta there without my knowing every time I cough or sneeze or do a sit-up sounds like a living nightmare. I wanna keep that thing tight, ya know? I wanna keep my poopoo where it belongs. The other thing I tried out was laying on my back with my legs and ass up in the air and jizzing down onto my own face just to see what it feels like to have it covered in a hot steamy load. Again, like the miniature baseball bat, it was a nice little experiment from which I’d learned an important lesson. What I learned is that I don’t really care to have that stuff dripping offa my face ever again, especially if it’s a batch that’s been brewed in someone else’s testicles.
So, back to these gay guys with female accounts on Tinder. I still wanna talk about these dudes here for a minute. Like, some of these guys aren’t as straightforward with their intentions as the ones I mentioned above who come right out and say what they want. Some’ve come up with these elaborate stories they use to try and trick straight men into fuckin ‘em in the ass. Sounds kinda unbelievable, right? You’re probably sayin to yourself, “I’m not sure I follow. I mean, how does a gay man trick a straight man into willingly fuckin him in the ass if the men aren’t living in prison together?” Well, today you’re gonna learn. Allow me to explain.
This one profile I came across last year while swipin through women on Tinder had these photos of some well-dressed, skinny, bitch-ass twink standin next to this one really super-hot chick. The premise of the profile was that it’d been created by the chick in the photos and that her friend – presumably straight – was questioning his sexuality and wanting to get roughed up and fucked in the butt by a bigger more masculine straight guy. She said that if I was interested, he’d be waiting for me in a room at one of the sleazy motels on Lincoln Avenue between Foster and Peterson. She said that the door would be unlocked and I’m supposed to just go right in and start shovin this guy around and rip his pants off then stuff my dick into his rectum. What’s in it for me, you might be asking? Well, none of this stuff so far. What had me considering actually doing this, however – see, the trick almost worked – was that the chick from the photos was supposedly gonna come up and secretly watch through the exterior of the window to see that everything inside the room was going well. She – or whoever was typing these messages to me – said that if she liked the way I was fuckin her friend in the ass, she’d come in and start playin around with me and I’d get to have sex with her too. Thinking with my penis, I came pretty close to goin and bangin that gay guy just on the off-chance I might get a taste of that hot young beautiful girl’s sweet little V-hole. Thinking with my brain, however, I decided that the potential payoff wasn’t worth gettin a buncha that guy’s stinky poopoo all over my nice clean little peepee. So, I ended up unmatching with him or her or whoever-the-fuck and kept on swipin.
Now that I’m done complaining about everybody else on Tinder, I’m gonna take a minute here to talk about myself. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I’m God’s gift to women and talk about what a catch I am or anything like that. I mean, I keep myself in pretty good shape and there’re guys with a lot uglier faces than mine out there, but unless you have a sick sense of humor like I do, you’d probably view me as one of the types of guys that you wouldn’t wanna match with on Tinder. In fact, one girl not too long ago with whom I’d been chatting – she was actually a good-looking girl too – said to me that, “You’re a good-looking guy and I really was interested in getting to know you. Like, it shouldn’t be that hard for you to not fuck it up. But you just say the most off-putting things and I can’t deal with it.” Then, after waiting long enough for me to have read the message, she unmatched me. Shit like that has happened to me quite a few times during my career on Tinder, but the point of me writing all this isn’t so I can go through the laundry list of stupid shit I’ve said and done while communicating with women via my cellular phone over the years. That said, there is one particular story I’d like to share with you here.
I got this one friend named April who I met while traveling in Iran. Unlike the chick in the paragraph previous, I would say that me and April have a similar sense of humor. We’d laughed about some disgusting shit back when we were first gettin to know one another and, beyond that – even though we never hooked up – she’d sent me some provocative pictures in thongs and stuff like that, and I’d sent her a couple photos from my nudes collection in return. So, at least during one point in our friendship, I’d say we were pretty comfortable with one another – ya know what I mean?
And so, one day after we’d known each other for a couple years, I decided to take things to an unprecedented level. I was up in my bedroom at the time and I was feelin rather randy. As I often do when alone and feelin that randiness deep within, I started to play around with myself. A couple minutes into jackin it, I suddenly got what I thought’d been this really great idea. So, while half-assedly maintaining my erection, I took all the cash I had in my bedroom and spread it out with all the presidents’ faces up into a nice little pile on my carpeted floor. Once that was taken care of, I got back to business. After a few minutes of serious stroking, when I felt I was about to ejaculate, I knelt over the pile o’ money and started filming a video on my cell phone. The camera had been recording in slow motion and I held it about a foot above my penis with one hand while I continued pounding my meat with the other. A few seconds later, big globs of semen went shooting out the tip of my penis and flew a short distance before landing on the pile of money. Washington, Lincoln and Hamilton were all gettin insanely facialized by fat wads of steaming hot baby-batter. I kept pumpin my hammer until everything was outta me – every last drop, until the pipes were completely clean and I was startin to wilt. Then, before cleanin up the big mess I’d just made, lookin at my phone, I took a minute to go into my camera roll to see how my slow-mo cum shot video turned out. It was even better than I imagined it would be. Instinctively, I opened up a new text message to April and attached the video. While smirking to myself, I wrote the line “I came into some money recently” and then hit send.