I hate running. Unless it’s my mouth. I run my mouth all the time. I’m actually very good at running my mouth. If Major Awards were given for running mouths, I’d have an awesome leg lamp sitting in my front window right now. And I’m okay with running errands. I’m pretty good as long as instructions are clearly written down in detail. You need milk; I’m your man. Just be sure to specify a gallon or quart, white or chocolate, skim or a percent, organic or not and I’ll be happy to fetch you some goddamn milk. There was absolutely no reason to goddamn that milk, but it just flowed out of my mind and my fingers took over.
Maybe there is a reason. My therapist is taking a hiatus and I haven’t seen her in over two years anyway so I don’t get professional help anymore. Instead, I discuss things with the voices in my head and if there is a disagreement or confusion, I go to
The Google. Besides, I’m not sure how much that particular therapist can help me anymore. She was quite attractive and talked to me like a buddy at a bar. I found myself losing focus and instead of listening, I’d tilt my head with a crooked grin on my face and hope she would suddenly kneel down to give me a blowjob. The result of that mindset was that I extended those sessions an extra few weeks that I probably didn’t need just because I am forever optimistic and I thought she might want to give me head.
I seem to have a lot of pent up energy. I’ve been putting unnecessary blue words in front of nouns a lot lately. “Anybody want a fucking coffee from next door? Those are nice goddamn shoes. Please hand me that cock-sucking pen. “ I’m not saying these things with anger, but rather some sort of underlying antsy feeling.
And the running. It coincides with working out regularly again. Basketball, elliptical, some weights (I hate lifting more than running – those fucking weights are really heavy) and the running. Of course I am doing this to be healthier but also because I have to release this energy before I start cussing at the intern during idle conversation.
I didn’t even need The Google to figure it out. The voices inside my head told me. Actually, both heads told me. The issue is that I need to get laid. It has been over two months now. Snow White and I broke up after our Mexico trip, so I know exactly when the last time I had some serious action was. We had to end our fairytale romance. With her living in the forest and me in a kingdom far far away combined with us both having dwarfs to take care of and our own stalls at the market, we simply couldn’t keep going.
I’m one horny mofo. I really need to get laid because all this swearing and exercising is great, but not a good replacement for a little sumthin’ sumthin’. The voices inside my head have all taken construction jobs, but they never work. They sit around making crude comments about every skirt that walks by. The wind blows and I have to carry a newspaper in front of my package. The Google seems to deliver nothing but porn (no idea how that keeps happening).
People say things and I turn it into something sexual. Somebody says, “Our special today is roasted chicken…” I think – choke this chicken, baby
“Can you come to a meeting this afternoon…” – all over your face
“We have a big problem...” – in my pants
I’ve even turned the simplest and most innocent things into something inappropriate.
“Is it okay if I bring the puppy I’m watching into the office…” – oh yeah, doggy style
It gets worse.
“I have to go to a funeral…” – I’ll do your sister!
This is a serious problem. All the exercise, swearing and masturbation in the world isn’t gonna solve this issue.
In the meantime, I gotta jet now. I’m going for a goddamn fucking run and I hope I don’t stop to hump a cock-sucking tree.