Friday, November 14, 2008

THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU CAN WATER THAT JUST WON’T GROW

Now as we all know there are many obstacles and grievances in the dating world: bad breath, examine-my-tonsils kissing, non-stop chattering, the Hyena laugh, obsessive cat lovers, non-cat lovers (for the cat lovers), 20 minute food orders (I want this, but not that, and I’m allergic to that, etc.), sewer pussy for guys, the Miata driver for girls, thigh pubes, in-laws, Teva-wearers of either sex (this is strictly L.A.), the “I’ll call you” guy who you never hear from, the too soon “I love you” girl, yellow teeth, fart jokesters – wow, I was only gonna name a few, so I’m pretty sure you catch my drift at this point.

The one thing that list has in common, however, is that most of the things I described can be fixed or worked on for the most part. There are, though, two dating woes that no matter how badly you want them to not be true, or how badly you pretend they aren’t that bad, they are simply fucking HORRIBLE and, without a question, deal-breakers. Drumroll please… okay, that’s good.

For the men it’s the Hotdog-Down-a-Hallway/Toothpick-in-a-Trashcan vagina, where no matter how many angles you try to take you just can’t hit a wall. And for the ladies, and what has scarred me on not one, but TWO occasions is, The Angry Inch aka Needle dick, Pencil dick, The Hitchhiker, Inch Worm, Baby Carrot, Bug-fucker, Millikan, Rooster-challenged, Baby Beef or just plain ‘ol Small Dick to name a few.

This is the story of #22 – The Angry Inch, which to date is one of my saddest victories.

After #21 broke things off with me, I was pretty bummed. #21 was someone I really liked, so I did what anyone would do, I went out and got shit-canned. Anyone who’s ever had a break-up knows that the break-up stink sends off some of the most powerful pheromones ever in the history of pheromones, so I knew I couldn’t lose. Those, of course, are my famous last words.

The Angry Inch had perfect teeth and an awesome smile. It was the only thing I could see perfectly through my Vodka goggles. And although he was shy, I could tell he was super sweet. His wingman was on point, buying shots, buying the entire bouquet of roses, from the lady who cruises the bars looking for drunks to buy her flowers, for him to give me (which they think I didn’t see), and flirtin’ up the other girls to slowly distract them away from us. My friends knew I was hurtin’ and despite my giving the signal that this wasn’t going to be the one, they promptly ditched us while I was in the bathroom. Rad. My wingbitches were fired on the spot.

His wingman left his electric bikes for the two of us to ride off into the night together, which we rode at 30mph’s - me with one eye open full blown BUIing - back to his house a block off the beach… are you sensing the pattern here with the wingman? Either he suffers from the same condition or just knows his buddy needs all the help he can get.

I’m barely through the front door when The Angry Inch mauls me like a bear. At this point, I could have been making out with a homeless man or maybe it really was a bear. I pretty much remember being mounted and dismounted, but everything in between is a toss up. However, I did wake up with that aching feeling that something was missing… you know, like a big rock solid veiny man cock.

Sidebar: This is not the first time I’ve tangoed with The Angry Inch. The first time was in college, it was #4. #4 was another drunken encounter – I’m learning a lot about myself here – and the experience was much like what I imagine rabbit sex must be like. I didn’t even feel it go in, but he started gyrating as if he were having an involuntary seizure, and then he was done before I could even get my pants off all the way. When he got up to get dressed is when I first saw it, in the moonlight, The Angry Inch, the little guy fighting so hard to be more than he’s ever capable of being. It looked like he was giving me a thumb’s up. I prayed it was the booze and that we’d never meet again, but I guess that’s why going to church is so important.

So that’s why when I woke, I knew he’d found me again. The Angry Inch used wingman’s Corvette to take me home, we exchanged numbers and I promptly went inside and scrubbed myself rape-style in the shower. At first The Angry Inch, tried to booty-call text me, to which I laughed and laughed at, the first rule in booty calling is that no one with inadequate size can participate in it. I, undoubtedly, cricketed his ass.

We ended up seeing each other out again. He turned up the charm, didn’t ride wingman’s coattails, and actually seemed like a pretty cool guy. I wasn’t ten Vodkas deep this time, so that helped, too. I agreed to go out with him and prayed to the penis Gods that this one wasn’t indeed compromised as I originally suspected. I was more nervous than with #1. I closed my eyes… pulled down the zipper… peeked… FUCK! There he was, The Angry Inch, smiling a tiny smile back at me. The experience wasn’t quite as horrible as with #4, but it wasn’t great either. I liked the guy though, so I decided to try out a smaller fit. He could eat the shit out of a pussy (often a sign of The Angry Inch host), so maybe this was doable. That was until Doggie Style was omitted from the position list because The Angry Inch had trouble reaching, and when he got squeamish about blow jobs I knew our three month tryst would soon be ending. Giving head is like breathing air for me so this was a red flag to say the least. Finally, after a date to the Zoo I knew my true calling. There must have been something in the water because every habitat we visited had a male specimen sportin’ his massive animal junk. Everywhere I turned I had balls swinging in my face. I’m drooling over Zebra cock, this is not good. I picture myself moonlighting on the weekends as one of the women in the Mexican Donkey shows, this is REALLY not good.

I politely had to end things with The Angry Inch, of course omitting the real reason. We hooked up a couple times after that, but my love of big throbbing man penis got the best of me and I had to turn him loose. I still really liked the guy, he was a keeper in nearly every sense, but bitch got needs and unfortunately they require more than good conversation and a killer smile. It was a moral dilemma that ended selfishly for me and although I still sometimes think about The Angry Inch I don’t miss his angry inch one bit.

The moral of THIS story: Test the water before you dive in, you may decide you’re not in the mood for a dip after all.

XOXO
Easy Lover

4 comments:

That Girl said...

LOVE IT! I could not stop laughing as I read it before I posted this up....

IVONNE said...

Angry inches suck......they don't get sucked, they just suck!
#2 for me was so angry that he ate me like Thanksgiving dinner (sans Cranberry sauce) and then turned the lights off before insertion
Being that it was only the 2nd time for me having sex, I had not a clue....but now, I know the SIGNS.

I feel yo pain
yours truly

Rooster said...

Man my sympathy goes out toward those guys, makes me wonder why that happens... is it purely genetic or is there something more... -hands on- missing?? as in.. did they not give mr winkie enough love when they were growing up?? did these guys neglect their better halves????

I heard somewhere that where you squeeze it more, it will get fatter, thats how some guys get curved dicks, cuz they squeeze one side more than the other..

i mean i remember when regular rubbers were fine, then they got too tight, had to move to magnums, then they got too tight, had to go to magXL.. and i'm not even a brotha! now it could be genetic, and i'm just lucky, or it could also be because i know how to use it.. so if its real time, and shit changes, do you think they have hope?

The Alleged Ringleader said...

I too TOTALLY had one of these!
http://thegloriouslifeof.blogspot.com/2008/02/small-penis-boy.html

Loving your blog, you guys are so entertaining!