Ladies and gentlemen... I have a confession to make.
Usually, when reflecting upon past experiences, I steer away from the awkward moments... focusing on the triumphs and very little on the tragedies. But in doing so, I think I've kept some wonderful life-stories away from you good folks; stories that could teach you, inspire you, make you laugh, make you cry, or appreciate life a little more.
And that is why I've decided to open up and reveal a few stories about...
My early sex-life.
This may be shocking to believe, and if some of you have to take a deep breath before and after you read the forthcoming statement, feel free to do so. We'll wait on you.
Ready?
I wasn't always the Golden-God of sex that I am at this very moment.
Exhale. Deeply. Relax... think happy thoughts.
Shocking, right? I'm sure many of you expected me to have skills from the day I popped out of my mum's jelly roll, but... my dear readers... I am only human. Mortal. If you prick me, I bleed. And, in my journeyman days, if you touched me, I came. Immediately.
But those stories will wait. Instead of saving the best for last, I've decided to save the best for FIRST. I'm unpredictable.
Today, I'm revered for my oral skills. Indeed, cunnilingus is truly one of my favorite Sunday afternoon pastimes. And if you talk to any learned girl of the world, they'll tell you that if the guy truly doesn't know what he's doing, it's a pretty shitty experience for the receiver. It doesn't take much to bring a guy to that climax, obviously.
Up down Up down Up down, start, B. Orgasm. "You Win!" *ding ding ding* "boom shacka lacka lacka!"
But women? Their glimmering bottle openers are as complicated to operate as a nucleur reactor... and sometimes just as dangerous.
This is the reason that I bloviate (look it up, pervs) about mah skiiiiillz.
But it wasn't always that way.
Nah suh, I had to earn my chops just like every one else.
How?
Well, I watched a lot of Jenna Jameson girl-on-girl action as a teenager. I took notes. I studied. I did other stuff that's not relevant to what I'm trying to say. But the point is that her educational videos gave me the general idea of how to work that finely tuned instrument. My experiences in the flesh didn't prove to be as successful as the Jamester, but I learned a little more with practice and experience.
My moment of supreme glory took place with a married, black girl who instructed me. Indeed, if we were to use wrestling terminology, she and I stepped inside the squared circle and gave quite the slobber knocker, though not in front of a sold out crowd hanging from the rafters. I was good. I knew it. I found my magic.
But my next opponent wasn't quite the same... caliber... as the Master of the Mocha.
She was... well... sensitive. Very, very sensitive. So when I went for the chow, I did so with the starving sensation of a starved marine entering the mess after 24 hours of slugging through the trenches, and she reacted with the predicted scream of the marine's enemy combatant 24 hours earlier before meal time. Killing makes a man hungry. So do catholic school girls.
I took the hint and slowed down. Gently. Gently. Like rocking a fucking baby to sleep. Like Paul Newman eating that last 10 hard-boiled eggs in Cool Hand Luke. I was trained by a black tiger, damnit, and I didn't have time for this tomfoolery.
But I stayed in the game. I'm not a selfish person when it comes to pleasure.
A few minutes pass when, suddenly, the headlights of a car flash quickly past the window, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.
Jumping up and off of my parents bed, I scrambled for the front door to make sure it was locked so that, if it was them, it could spare some time for fuckin' Emily Litella (dated SNL jokes rock) to get her panties back on and out of the pit of Parental anguish.
But luck was on my side, kids. The headlights were from a car turning around and using my driveway as a pivoting point. Suddenly, I turned towards the bedroom and shouted that everything was okay... that Papa Bear was coming back to the cave of sensitivity. But as I walked (hard) towards that door, my eyes narrowed... my hunger grew... and my mission was clear. I was going to make this girl like my style. Why should I have to be like Rocky in Rocky II and fight right-handed just to throw Apollo Creed off guard? I may not be a southpaw by fist, but I was a natural-born cunnilingus killer, goddamnit, and she wasn't going to stop me!
I shoved the door open. I stomped my foot like a bull and I charged.
And tripped.
On a towell.
And my mouth, wide open, teeth glistening...
hit her...
hard...
on the clitoris.
And as I rushed her to the emergency room, I reflected upon the tragedy and learned a hard lesson.
...
Never leave towels out when you plan to stampede towards a woman's guardian of forever.
The end.
- J.
Friday, December 28, 2007
A Young Politicado's Prayer To God
Dear Lord, how are you? I know we haven’t spoken in awhile and things have most likely have been busy for both of us. I know I have been. Finals have been ridiculous and you have had to deal with the fact that your chosen people are killing each other off at an alarming rate in the sand….not to pass judgment or anything, but can you maybe get all that shit under control? I mean, they have been at it for more than two thousand years. You would think that you would maybe push them in a direction that we can all enjoy, but I digress. I really just want to talk politics.
Now, I have just recently got into this whole game and I find it really fascinating, but I have to say…shit is getting shabby. Our intelligence agencies have more holes and leaks in them than a Taiwanese brothel, our courts are fighting over things that have no bearing on our day to day lives, and our political hierarchy is a punch line. Once again, if this is supposed to be your favorite nation, which according to the very reliable source, Pat Robertson, it is, you would think you would have a hand on the wheel, so to speak. I know you have been tied being omnipotent and everything, but seriously, you have got to get your fucking ducks in a row, God. That is where my request comes in.
All I am asking for, as a young man, is a competent administration this next time around. No more fake wars, No more wire taps, and no more fear of our government. I just want a political scene that I am not embarrassed as hell of. I just want a president that I can say that I am proud to be behind. Hell, I guess I am really wanting is hope. I know you can do it for not only me, but for everyone. Be a pal, God. That’s all I am asking.
P.S. Sorry about all the swearing…
P.P.S. Oh yeah, great job on getting Saddam hung. That was fucking sweet.
P.P.P.S. Sorry about the swearing again…
In The Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,
-J.Partridge, The Enemy
Now, I have just recently got into this whole game and I find it really fascinating, but I have to say…shit is getting shabby. Our intelligence agencies have more holes and leaks in them than a Taiwanese brothel, our courts are fighting over things that have no bearing on our day to day lives, and our political hierarchy is a punch line. Once again, if this is supposed to be your favorite nation, which according to the very reliable source, Pat Robertson, it is, you would think you would have a hand on the wheel, so to speak. I know you have been tied being omnipotent and everything, but seriously, you have got to get your fucking ducks in a row, God. That is where my request comes in.
All I am asking for, as a young man, is a competent administration this next time around. No more fake wars, No more wire taps, and no more fear of our government. I just want a political scene that I am not embarrassed as hell of. I just want a president that I can say that I am proud to be behind. Hell, I guess I am really wanting is hope. I know you can do it for not only me, but for everyone. Be a pal, God. That’s all I am asking.
P.S. Sorry about all the swearing…
P.P.S. Oh yeah, great job on getting Saddam hung. That was fucking sweet.
P.P.P.S. Sorry about the swearing again…
In The Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,
-J.Partridge, The Enemy
Post-Op: The Wisdom Teeth Ordeal
Post-Op: The Wisdom Teeth Ordeal
Ok, I do have to say that it really wasn’t all that bad. As a matter of fact, the things that are the real bitches are the things that you have to do afterwards. Anyway, what follows is a day-by-day rundown of the entire thing. Hope you enjoy my pain, bloodsuckers.
The Procedure
I wake up, bright and early, after a night of uneasy sleep. I leave everything that I have that is worth stealing, which is really nothing, behind and get shipped off to my grandparents’ house. When I get there, I am really fucking hungry, but one of the stipulations of the process is you can’t have anything to eat past midnight the previous day, to make matters worse my grandma is a food wizard. So, I have to smell and feast my eyes upon a counter-full of delicious breakfast food, that I can’t fucking eat. This is going to be awesome…
7:45 rolls around and I pile into the truck to go get things cut out of my head. When we get to the office, we are greeted by the cast of “Chico and The Man” minus Grandpa Joe. Also, their son is crying his damn eyes out in the operating room…what a bitch. I sign some papers, ditch my coat and shoes, sit down in the dentist chair of doom, and get to it. I allow myself a diva moment and request that Bob Dylan be played while I am waiting. The first time around I saw that the quack had some cd’s in his room; Gordon Lightfoot, Cat Stevens, and Dylan. The nurses, God bless them, complied and promptly started to gas me up.
Have you even seen Little Shop of Horrors? Well, for those of you that suck, let me explain the reference. In the movie, Steve Martin plays a sadistic dentist that abuses laughing gas. I have never had laughing gas and had always thought that the performance was just an exaggeration of the effects of the stuff. I was dead wrong, dear readers. As soon as that wonderful concoction of chemical wonders hit my lungs, I knew exactly why people get arrested for having tanks of this stuff in their house. I even inquire to where I could purchase some…the question was quickly tossed aside. The only thing that worried me was the fact that my entire right side started to twitch violently. Upon seeing this, I asked if it was normal. The answer that I received was less than satisfactory: “Oh…not really…but different people have different reactions to the gas”. Fantastic, I am going to Belushi on laughing gas or better yet twitch myself onto the instrument table.
By this time, I am I.V’ed and am starting to go under. I am under for the better part of an hour and a half. At the first consultation, I am warned that I might be conscious through the last part of the operation, which, of course, happens. The only thing I really remember about that is the fact that Dr. Farr was talking to me, essentially giving me a play-by-play of what the hell he was doing to me. And he kept calling me “kiddo”…yeesh, there is nothing creepier than someone calling someone kiddo while they are asleep.
After all is said and done and my mouth resembles something akin to the opening frames of a CSI episode, I am told that I am free to leave. I remember only bits and pieces of this, but what I do remember is trying to reason with the doctor about why I didn’t need a wheelchair and that I was “well damn able walk to” (the quote, by the way, is verbatim because a nurse told me about it when I went back of a follow up check-up). I also remember trying to laugh when I accidently spit blood all over the front desk, waiting for my mom to sign some stuff. Laughing directly after oral surgery is something like someone jabbing your back gums with white hot knives…not pleasant.
The Aftermath
Now, I was home, all iced up, and with dumb looking fucking socks tied around my head. I had taken a few aspirin and was told by my doctor that, if stronger meds were needed that there would be a prescription waiting. I took four ibuprofen and realized about three seconds after taking them that I needed way stronger pills (Like I was going to say no to free pills?). So, the next few days were spent watching random ass movies, getting mellowed by the Blue Wonders, and eating more pudding and soup than any man of eighteen ever should. I did have a notebook and pen by my bed at all times so I could write down anything I just thought of. Here are some golden nuggets from this experiment:
“I wish I could detach my face”
“Pain is playing a fifteen song set in my skull”
“Light me on fire soes my teeth will stop.”
Isn’t modern medicine fun?! Well, that’s it, dear readers. I would like to thank all my wonderful friends for putting up with my bitching during those days and a big fuck off to some for not visiting. Be back later, kids with something else for you to chew on.
Going Gonzo,
-J.Partridge, The Enemy
Ok, I do have to say that it really wasn’t all that bad. As a matter of fact, the things that are the real bitches are the things that you have to do afterwards. Anyway, what follows is a day-by-day rundown of the entire thing. Hope you enjoy my pain, bloodsuckers.
The Procedure
I wake up, bright and early, after a night of uneasy sleep. I leave everything that I have that is worth stealing, which is really nothing, behind and get shipped off to my grandparents’ house. When I get there, I am really fucking hungry, but one of the stipulations of the process is you can’t have anything to eat past midnight the previous day, to make matters worse my grandma is a food wizard. So, I have to smell and feast my eyes upon a counter-full of delicious breakfast food, that I can’t fucking eat. This is going to be awesome…
7:45 rolls around and I pile into the truck to go get things cut out of my head. When we get to the office, we are greeted by the cast of “Chico and The Man” minus Grandpa Joe. Also, their son is crying his damn eyes out in the operating room…what a bitch. I sign some papers, ditch my coat and shoes, sit down in the dentist chair of doom, and get to it. I allow myself a diva moment and request that Bob Dylan be played while I am waiting. The first time around I saw that the quack had some cd’s in his room; Gordon Lightfoot, Cat Stevens, and Dylan. The nurses, God bless them, complied and promptly started to gas me up.
Have you even seen Little Shop of Horrors? Well, for those of you that suck, let me explain the reference. In the movie, Steve Martin plays a sadistic dentist that abuses laughing gas. I have never had laughing gas and had always thought that the performance was just an exaggeration of the effects of the stuff. I was dead wrong, dear readers. As soon as that wonderful concoction of chemical wonders hit my lungs, I knew exactly why people get arrested for having tanks of this stuff in their house. I even inquire to where I could purchase some…the question was quickly tossed aside. The only thing that worried me was the fact that my entire right side started to twitch violently. Upon seeing this, I asked if it was normal. The answer that I received was less than satisfactory: “Oh…not really…but different people have different reactions to the gas”. Fantastic, I am going to Belushi on laughing gas or better yet twitch myself onto the instrument table.
By this time, I am I.V’ed and am starting to go under. I am under for the better part of an hour and a half. At the first consultation, I am warned that I might be conscious through the last part of the operation, which, of course, happens. The only thing I really remember about that is the fact that Dr. Farr was talking to me, essentially giving me a play-by-play of what the hell he was doing to me. And he kept calling me “kiddo”…yeesh, there is nothing creepier than someone calling someone kiddo while they are asleep.
After all is said and done and my mouth resembles something akin to the opening frames of a CSI episode, I am told that I am free to leave. I remember only bits and pieces of this, but what I do remember is trying to reason with the doctor about why I didn’t need a wheelchair and that I was “well damn able walk to” (the quote, by the way, is verbatim because a nurse told me about it when I went back of a follow up check-up). I also remember trying to laugh when I accidently spit blood all over the front desk, waiting for my mom to sign some stuff. Laughing directly after oral surgery is something like someone jabbing your back gums with white hot knives…not pleasant.
The Aftermath
Now, I was home, all iced up, and with dumb looking fucking socks tied around my head. I had taken a few aspirin and was told by my doctor that, if stronger meds were needed that there would be a prescription waiting. I took four ibuprofen and realized about three seconds after taking them that I needed way stronger pills (Like I was going to say no to free pills?). So, the next few days were spent watching random ass movies, getting mellowed by the Blue Wonders, and eating more pudding and soup than any man of eighteen ever should. I did have a notebook and pen by my bed at all times so I could write down anything I just thought of. Here are some golden nuggets from this experiment:
“I wish I could detach my face”
“Pain is playing a fifteen song set in my skull”
“Light me on fire soes my teeth will stop.”
Isn’t modern medicine fun?! Well, that’s it, dear readers. I would like to thank all my wonderful friends for putting up with my bitching during those days and a big fuck off to some for not visiting. Be back later, kids with something else for you to chew on.
Going Gonzo,
-J.Partridge, The Enemy
Thursday, December 27, 2007
the good die young...
I awoke this morning to the news of former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto's assassination and I was stunned and deeply saddened. I passed up an opportunity to see her speak at MSU in 2002 and I regret it now more than ever. She may have been the last, best hope for Democracy in that region, and what happens now is anyone's guess. What's certain is that the world lost an amazing human being, and the more time I witness pass before my eyes, the more I realize that genuine leaders of her quality are dangerously rare.
"Finally, turning toward home, I wave good-bye to Lincoln, whose bronze statue stands in the dead center of the square. Then I nod at Gandhi, whose bronze statue stands on the square's western edge.
They shot him too."
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Friday, December 21, 2007
The Pastry Gang War of 2007
We had to spend most of the morning hauling chairs and bleachers from several of our WF locations, and about an hour ago, as I was following the truck, we had to come to a sudden stop. Why? Because two gangstas, in separate cars, were stopped... side by side... in the middle of the road... arguing.
I'm not gonna lie. I started to get scared. I hate to seem racist or stereotypical, but downtown Wichita Falls isn't exactly the most respectable area of the city... and I was almost sure one of them was going to pull a "gat" and "pop" the other one right there in the middle of the road. Even worse, I feared being hit by a stray bullet.
Well... one of the gangstas DID pull something out to use as a weapon...
It was at that point when Gangsta #1 screamed "fuck you, bitch!" and launched a HUNNY BUN... yes, a tasty, glazed pastry... at Gagsta #2's car. Then Gansta #1 sped away with his enemy on his tail.
I was laughing at the absurdity of the whole ordeal but then I had a thought.
Wouldn't it be great if gang members put their guns in the ground and used honey buns instead? Or better yet... if they all lived in harmony, finding peace at the center...
the center…
of a tasty, glazed pastry?
Think about it.
- Justin Dudley
I'm not gonna lie. I started to get scared. I hate to seem racist or stereotypical, but downtown Wichita Falls isn't exactly the most respectable area of the city... and I was almost sure one of them was going to pull a "gat" and "pop" the other one right there in the middle of the road. Even worse, I feared being hit by a stray bullet.
Well... one of the gangstas DID pull something out to use as a weapon...
It was at that point when Gangsta #1 screamed "fuck you, bitch!" and launched a HUNNY BUN... yes, a tasty, glazed pastry... at Gagsta #2's car. Then Gansta #1 sped away with his enemy on his tail.
I was laughing at the absurdity of the whole ordeal but then I had a thought.
Wouldn't it be great if gang members put their guns in the ground and used honey buns instead? Or better yet... if they all lived in harmony, finding peace at the center...
the center…
of a tasty, glazed pastry?
Think about it.
- Justin Dudley
Sunday, December 16, 2007
It May Sound Cliche, but I'll Do It Anyway
"Go placidly amid the noise & haste, & remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly & clearly; and listen to others, even the dull & ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain & bitter; for always there will be greater & lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity & disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue & loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees & the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever our labors & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery & broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy."
This is a letter found in old St. Paul's Church, dated 1692. It was addressed to Desiderata. I first saw this letter hung on the men's bathroom wall at the small church I attend. Once at an estate sale, I found a copy of it for sale and now is displayed on my wall for those entering my home to read if desired. It's a letter of wisdom and advice. I would like to follow this doctrine on a daily basis, but keeping to any kind of ethics or schedule is difficult for any person. "Do not distress yourself with imaginings." I find myself thinking too much. Another quote I admire by a former professor of mine, Laura Jefferson; "Don't avoid thinking, but think in ways that produce action." This quote was in reference to acting, but I can relate it to life. I sit most of the day thinking and dreaming how things would be if this happened or that happened. I do not focus on the present and what could be happening.
This letter has great wisdom to offer. Life is too good to waste thinking without moving.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain & bitter; for always there will be greater & lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity & disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue & loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees & the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever our labors & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery & broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy."
This is a letter found in old St. Paul's Church, dated 1692. It was addressed to Desiderata. I first saw this letter hung on the men's bathroom wall at the small church I attend. Once at an estate sale, I found a copy of it for sale and now is displayed on my wall for those entering my home to read if desired. It's a letter of wisdom and advice. I would like to follow this doctrine on a daily basis, but keeping to any kind of ethics or schedule is difficult for any person. "Do not distress yourself with imaginings." I find myself thinking too much. Another quote I admire by a former professor of mine, Laura Jefferson; "Don't avoid thinking, but think in ways that produce action." This quote was in reference to acting, but I can relate it to life. I sit most of the day thinking and dreaming how things would be if this happened or that happened. I do not focus on the present and what could be happening.
This letter has great wisdom to offer. Life is too good to waste thinking without moving.
I Like Cupcakes...
BUST-A-MOVE is a good game. I was doing well, until Waldo stepped in. It doesn't matter what I do... he does it better.
Say something, Ashley.
"Ummm... Mike Adame's passenger side car door doesn't work. I had to crawl through the driver's side. Ummm... we should have some apple cider... hot. hahaha... "
Is that it?
"I don't know... is it?"
Riveting. We shall now commence with the enjoyment of many cider-ed beverages. Mainly apple.
Say something, Ashley.
"Ummm... Mike Adame's passenger side car door doesn't work. I had to crawl through the driver's side. Ummm... we should have some apple cider... hot. hahaha... "
Is that it?
"I don't know... is it?"
Riveting. We shall now commence with the enjoyment of many cider-ed beverages. Mainly apple.
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