But not anymore. Now, looking to my penis really doesn't help so much. My
libido is comparable to
that black kid who writes for PIC. You know, the one who doesn't say sexual
things because all the white girls who read the site would probably consider it
some form of rape.
If you've read anything by me in the last two years, you know that my libido
is my life. If my libido is shit, my life is shit. It just so happens that I'm
currently going through the opposite: my life is shit, so my libido is dead.
What could possibly put the kibosh to one of the strongest forces in the
world, you ask?
"I don't have penis strength because I haven't eaten today."
As a
JR Rebello once said: Let me count the ways.
1. I can't get a boner because my car broke down.
If you've ever met me or my beat-up whore of a Ford Escort named Trixie, you
know that this was an inevitability. The damn thing has survived over 100
field-boggin' excursions, two huge fucking deer, a yellow fire hydrant,
a telephone poll, a mailbox or two, and a Chinese woman who I care not to
name. So yeah, with all of that chop suey flying at my car, it wasn't that big
of a surprise when I started hearing a clicking noise in the clutch. When it got
louder, I got concerned, went to Wal-Mart and had it checked out. Fuck if those
morons knew anything about it and I drove home minus thirty dollars. Well,
almost home. Trixie's clutch decided to go bye-bye about six miles away from my
bed. And suddenly, there I was: a man without a car.
If that wasn't bad enough, I got the bright idea to spend my last sixty
dollars on a bike to get home. Strangest thing about that: the motherfucker
busted a tire after no less than ten minutes of biking. I got off my bike and
just laughed the rest of the walk home.
This leads us to step two in my “The Universe is Fucking Me Sideways and
Without Lube” celebration:
2. I can't maintain an erection because I lost my job.
Working is overrated, yes, but when it's your only source of free meals and
entertainment outside of an Xbox and a computer, it ain't so goddamned bad. I
worked at Jimmy John's, a place much like Subway but with better, quicker food.
It was a great gig.
I'd go out at night, deliver subs to
drunk-ass sorority girls who would, in turn, give me beer and/or their
numbers. Plus, I didn't have to work with the child molesters that I had to deal
with when I was helping out at St. John's Catholic Church.
Heh, just kidding. Do you honestly think I'd do that? The child molesters
worked at Fox's Pizza, for sure.
I have to give the guys at Jimmy John's credit, though. Even though I was a
delivery driver without a car (or a fucking bike), they kept me on the schedule
and tried to find ways to get me to come in. Hell, they even invited me to hang
out on the Fourth of July. Kudos to them, really. They helped when they could.
3. I don't have penis strength because I haven't eaten today.
Or yesterday. Or come to think of it two days ago either. My entire diet
consists of yummy Appalachian air and disgusting Morgantown water.
The good news: I've lost about ten pounds and no longer have a beer gut.
The bad news: when you're very hungry, you end up sleeping 14-20 hours a day,
and it's really fucking difficult to get things done.
The funniest/strangest news: I still shit on a regular basis. I don't know
where it's all coming from, but according to Gaudio family legend, if a person
of Gaudio origin starves himself, he expels all the evil from his body.
Speaking of evil…
4. I'm limp as a wet paper towel because I have seven cigarettes left.
And now that I'm thinking about smoking, we'll make that six.
I'm a terrible rationer, goddamnit, considering that I'm used to going
through about 15 a day. Yeah, smoking is bad for you, but so is the fact that...
5. My cock has withdrawn into my chest cavity because I'm sleeping on a
friend's futon.
I'm not really complaining about this, though. My buddy McCoy was gracious
enough to allow me to sleep here until I can somehow get back on my feet
(however the hell I'm going to do that).
However, McCoy did make it a point to remind me how many people have actually
had
dirty, disease-ridden sex on it. The futon itself isn't too terribly
uncomfortable; I think it's the body condom I slid over it that makes it not so
terribly convenient for sleep.
6. My “meat” is “uncooked” because I'm out of money.
No joke. I'm not your typical “I'm sooooo broke!” bastard. I literally am out
of money. I can't buy cigs. I can't buy food. I can't buy condoms. I can't buy a
stick of fucking gum. It's amazing that I'm actually still alive without my
body's need for purchasing things.
The more I think about it, the more it appears that I need this stuff they
call “money.”
7. My dick is a noodle because my computer crashed.
No seriously. Downloading porn one night, I got a sick virus. It didn't do
much damage until my dumbass decided to run System Restore. For some reason, the
drive partitioned off and created another operating system. I can't access my
old files as a result.
I lost approximately 95% of my work. This includes whatever things I wanted
to submit to grad school and all of the nudies I had of ex-girlfriends. I'm not
sure what upsets me more... that I have to re-write 1000 pieces of work from
memory in the next 3 months or that I have to remember how hot my first
girlfriend was when she was eighteen and not pregnant and barefoot.
Oh yeah, speaking of that...
8. My penis feels abused because
the bitch left me.
And you all wonder why I'm a fucking misogynist. During the most difficult
time of my life (see list one through seven), my ex-girlfriend decides that
she'll be the first girl to break up with me. She said that she wasn't capable
of “being there” for me... when “being there” for me was essentially just
listening to me bitch. Apparently, when your life sucks so much, it's hard to be
around you. Very cumbersome indeed.
The good news in this situation really isn't so far fetched. Instead of
wasting time talking to her about vampire books and purses, I can talk to other,
more attractive girls about making out and rim jobs. It's true, I have
been laid since this all has happened. I don't know if it was pity or the fact
that I still have a bit of skill pulsing through my veins, but as I've said
before, it doesn't matter why you get it, as long as ya do.
9. My libido is dead and buried because, simply, I've had writer's block.
That's why I'm bitching now, really. I've got nothing else to write. I can't
exactly
get in the humor-writing mood when I'm down to five cigarettes...
heh.
I just wanted to update all of you who wrote the nice emails regarding my
absence. But that might not be enough, right? I mean, by now, you're probably
asking, “Well, what the fuck are you going to do, Nick?” Well dear reader,
that's the beauty of this whole situation: I don't really know. I can't drive
and I can't bike; thus, I can't get a job. I can't get a job; I can't get money.
I can't get money; I can't eat. I can't eat; I can't sleep. And so on and so on
and so on. You get the point.
So what then? I've thought seriously about just packing up with a notepad and
pen and walking wherever the sun takes me, but I'd probably end up dying in the
gutter somewhere. My friends seem to think that this is just “delayed suicide”
but hell, why wait then?
The point is, kids, don't turn out like me. I don't know exactly how to
arrange that, but if you can avoid any of these things, do it.
I just want you all to know that whatever happens, I'll still always hate all
of you and your ugly, ugly faces.
And would somebody please
publish my shit post mortem?
Your friend,
Nick Gaudio
