Alien Night Club - Show 32?
Alien Night Club <the transcripts>
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Show 32!
You’re 32, Joe; you’re 32.
That’s Chandler admonishing Joey.
Anyway, welcome to the show! Show 32? Sure, why not.
Welcome and thank you for being here, especially those of you who live here and can’t leave. I don’t know what that means. Welcome to the Alien Night Club. I am your host, Captain Blank. Welcome my fellow rageaholics and friends from around the system, galaxy, and Universe. If you’re watching this, hearing this, seeing this, reading this…welcome to you. Thank you for your time.
Okay, let’s talk about Odysseus and his bag of wind.
And your fears. What Stephen Pressfield refers to as Resistance.
This is me sharing his message with you in order to help you overcome yours.
Your Resistance — your fears — are like a big, scary creature standing between you and your desires. It’s also a compass pointing at where you want to go and what you want to do, have, achieve, accomplish, et cetera.
It’s like a big scary dragon standing in front of you, roaring at you and breathing fire and clawing the earth and being really, really scary.
Or it’s like Pennywise the clown baring his jacked-up teeth at you.
Or it’s a demon straight out of Hell.
Or it’s your fear of rejection. It’s everyone laughing at you. Pointing and laughing.
But here’s the thing: None of that shit is real.
It’s all in your head.
It’s in your mind.
You conjured it.
So you can abolish it.
It’s like Steve Nash the mathematician in A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe. He suffered from schizophrenia. He saw people. He talked to them. He literally had conversations with people. But those people weren’t real. That’s the point. His schizophrenia was manifesting those people.
And once he understood that, he ignored them and went on with his life. Whatever you are afraid of is your version of those people. It’s like a wall of fire or a cliff or something you believe you cannot surmount, overcome, defeat, go around, or whatever.
But here’s the thing – again – : it’s not real. It’s not actually there.
It’s just some bullshit you’ve been telling yourself all this time.
And all the successful singers or actors or whatever profession of people you see or even know who are successful, they either realized that the big scary thing was paper tiger bullshit…or they have resistance in other areas of their lives but this thing that makes them successful in this particular domain – singing or rapping or acting, for example – is something which may come easily to them. Perhaps their resistance is a healthy romantic relationship. Maybe they’ve got buttloads of Oscars and or Emmys and or Grammys and or Tonys but they’ve also been married several times and have kids who hate them and or don’t care about them et cetera.
That’s probably a bit of an oversimplification but you get the idea.
Here’s an easier one: New Year’s resolutions.
Total Resistance.
Start now.
Start now! Today! Do something today to get closer to that goal. And again tomorrow. And then every day after that until you reach it. Even if it’s 30 minutes’ worth of focus on that thing, that goal. Like getting in shape or learning guitar or learning Italian or running a marathon or reading a book a month or learning to cook or starting that side hustle that’s been calling you for 10 fuckin years.
The ultimate global company is the one nobody actually sees. It’s the one keeping us distracted with stuff in order to separate us from our money and to keep us addicted to its drug, rather than heeding our own call to adventure and following our heart to do what we want to do. That company is called Bullshit, Incorporated. They have offices or affiliates in every part of the world. And they are GOOD at what they do.
Have you seen Goodbye, Angels? It’s about a young woman who moves to the big city in search of blank. Fame. Money. Independence. Sex. A man. A woman. A nonbinary lover. A spouse. Recognition of some sort most likely. And probably status and adoration, sycophantic and ultimately poisonous though we all know it can be if you’re not careful. Which is why you shouldn’t get high on your own supply.
Point being that Little Miss Sexy Britches moves to L.A., which Anthony Keidis called a hard town in Goodbye, Angels. And the first night she’s there, she goes straight to a club. The best one. Whatever it is…at that time. It’s called Diamond Bitch. But it matters not. Because night clubs are as fleeting as fashion trends. Which tells you all you need to know about the meaning of all the things they offer. If you just want a place to go dance and look at people and get hammered and you understand exactly how that place or someone in it can fuck you and that it will be a bad thing, then at least you’re going in with your eyes open.
And by fuck I don’t mean sexual intercourse. I mean hurt, betray and or destroy. Or at least attempt to.
So the very first night she’s there, she goes to the club. With her newfound friends, the roommate she just met in person that day and the roommate’s friends. And they have only been to this club once or twice in several years because they can never get in.
But they go there and they start to stand in the line and she walks straight to the front and up to the door, which is of course blocked by a couple big dudes dressed entirely in black. Wearing sunglasses even though it’s nighttime. And beside them is that stupid velvet rope everyone respects with absolute fucking fealty.
That stupid albeit pretty and fuzzy and soft-looking velvet rope you kind of want to touch is nothing more than a symbol. You could walk around it, step over it, detach it, step between the metal pylon things holding it up, and then reattach it and go inside the club. Or you could kick it the fuck aside and simply walk in.
But people don’t.
They stand there. For hours. I know because I’ve done it. Like a complete LOSER. With what, Sammy?
SV: A capital motherfuckin L.
That’s right: a capital motherfuckin L.
Fuck that.
Don’t stand there waiting for permission to go inside and pay money to not only get in but then to buy drinks. Bring your own weed. Unless they sell weed. Do clubs in California and New York have a dispensary inside? That would actually be awesome. Last I heard, they didn’t. Supposedly due to an increased risk of accidents due to increased impairment when weed and alcohol are mixed.
So our young sexy heroine, and she has to be legit smoking hot, by the way. Not in a bubblegum airheaded way. But in a way people respect because it’s obvious that it’s legit and genuine.
So her friends get in line and she goes up to the rope and chats with the doorman and he opens the rope and she waves to her friends to come with her. So they all run up there and go past him and are desperate to know what she told him to get him to let them in.
And she goes, I told him that I bet there are a lot of dicks inside that aren’t going to suck themselves.
And he said, That’s true.
All those dicks are gonna need a lot of cocktails.
And he said, That’s true.
And I said, Maybe you can ream my pussy later. Or one of my friends. Maybe all my friends. And then he opened the rope and said to have a good night.
And then they all go inside.
And then this dude rides up to the club on a motorcycle, right up to the front door, in front of everyone. He pulls his helmet off, goes up to the doorman and the hundreds of people staring at him and goes, I just need to go in and grab some weed.
And the doorman looks at him and gives him a look like he’s not sure if he believes him.
So the stud goes, I’ll get an 8th for you and bring it out to you.
And he smiles and goes, Okay!
And he lets motorcycle guy in.
And immediately Motorcycle Guy gets eyefucked by half the people in there. And only because the other half all have their eyes closed.
Being accustomed to this, he goes to the dispensary and buys two 8ths of weed, as was the plan, thereby revealing to us that what he said to the doorman was true. Thereby lending him credibility and additional likeability.
Before he goes, the budtender offers him a joint and says, On the house.
He takes it and says, Thanks. And fires it up.
So he’s leaning against the bar, enjoying his blunt, looking around while everyone is looking at him. And there’s a bubble of empty space around him. As though he’s repelling people. And it seems he may be. Because he stands there for a long time and no one comes over to chat, say hi, hit on him, invite him upstairs to do lines, invite him into the bathroom to do sex, invite him next door to where the glory holes are, et cetera.
And the reason…
is Resistance.
A lot of people WANT to go talk to him but they’re afraid. They’re prevented from doing it by that fear. And that fear is the voice inside their head lying to them. Telling them that they’re not cool enough for him, that they have no business going anywhere near him, let alone actually talking to him. Because no way in a million years would HE be interested in THEM. That’s absurd.
And in the midst of this universal psychic contagion, a moment in which literally hundreds of people are all paralyzed with fear and doubt, she sees him.
And in an instant she knows.
He’s the one.
She is therefore called to him, pulled to him. Resistance is futile. Resistance goes up in a puff of smoke like the vision of Edward when Bella rode that motorcycle in book 2.
And she walks over to him.
And she says, Hi.
And he says, Hi.
And she says, Do you believe in love at first sight?
And he says, I do now.
And she says, Me, too. Did you before?
And he pauses and nods a little and turns it over in his mind while flicking ash off the joint. Finally he goes, Yes, I did. At least, I always wanted to. But until now it had never actually happened to me.
And she says, Me, either.
And then they look at each other for a long moment while everyone in the club stands there transfixed. Even the DJs and bartenders and budtenders.
It’s as if they’re each content to simply stand there and take the other in.
At last, she says, What’re you smoking?
And he goes, Oh, I’m sorry; here. It’s Purple Emerald. I wanted to offer you some but I didn’t know if you smoked and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
And she goes, It wouldn’t have. I have smoked but not for a long time. Never really had a reason to.
And he says, Not having a reason to smoke is the reason to smoke for most people. Though I suspect that you are very much not most people.
And she goes, You have no idea. and she blows smoke rings into the air.
And you can hear jealous haters in the crowd literally say aloud, No fucking way.
She hands the joint back to him and goes, What’re we smoking?
Purple Emerald.
What’s that?
It’s a perfect blend of Purple Diesel and Godfather OG. Getting high on this is the closest thing I’ve found to walking around in a state of perpetual orgasm.
What about smoking this and getting really high and then going at it like animals until we have an actual orgasm? Preferably more than one.
Is that an invitation?
Yes. Do you accept?
Yes, I definitely accept. I’d have liked to extend my own invitation but we just met and I wanted to at least try to respect your virtue.
She laughs and goes, Try all you like but there’s no virtue left. Which is why I’m here.
Here on Earth or here in this club?
Here in this club talking to you.
I see. He hands the joint back to her. It’s one of those cone-shaped ones made with a brown rolling paper so you know whomever rolled it knew what they were doing. She puts it between her lips and takes a big hit off it, staring at him all the while…like an animal!...and then exhales a perfect ghost that is SO good, people actually applaud.
She and he just laugh.
Then they turn and walk out together and everyone in the club is kind of disappointed but also oddly serenely happy seeing the two of them together because they’re so obviously perfect together.
Outside, he hands the door gentleman the opaque childproof parcel of promised herb, they get on his bike, ride away, go back to his place and have the best sex anyone ever had, and live happily ever after.
Or so Season One Episode One would have you believe.
Okay, ready for show nuggets? Got some doozies today.
And don’t get pissed at me, okay? I am not necessarily recommending or advocating any of this stuff. Or anything I say up here. I don’t know enough to really be able to evaluate it. I want a whole bunch of people far wiser, smarter, and more educated and knowledgeable and scholarly than I to do the actual heavy lifting – the real work – the truly difficult part – by evaluating thoroughly and giving their analysis and their opinion.
Okay?
I’m merely the messenger. The translator. I’m scooping my hand in the Rainbow River and this is what they give me. My job is to then report it to you guys. You stay classy, Earth.
Earth.
All of dot dot dot Earth.
It’s funny as shit spelling out an ellipses: dot dot dot.
No, it isn’t, Captain Shitforbrains. Maybe if you hadn’t pointed it out, we all could’ve figured out together if it was funny. But too late now.
Oh. Okay.
Anyway…
Dot dot dot.
So what if all the White people got together and decided to basically retire? To give the other folks a chance to live out their destinies and dreams.
Because of the word Give in the previous sentence. If you don’t earn it, it doesn’t mean shit. Having stuff given to you feels great in the moment once you get over not listening to the little voice telling you not to accept it.
Like a car.
My dad bought me my first car. I felt really humbled and kinda stupid. And like there was a massive paradox at work. I wanted a car; I pretty much needed a car because I was 16 and had my driver’s license and me being able to drive would mean less chauffeur work by my parents, especially my mom. So once that had been established, it was what car to buy. We looked at used cars but they seemed dodgy. So it seemed better to just buy a new one. So we found one that had been on the lot for a year so they discounted it a lot. And we bought it. And I drove it for 13 years and loved it very much and always did my best to take care of it. And I hated it the day I sold it. But the engine was making a sound. And a bunch of mechanics listened to it and said to put a For Sale sign on it because it sounded like it had a spun cam bearing.
I didn’t even know what a spun cam bearing is.
Still don’t.
Because I don’t know shit about cars. I can build a computer for you. But I don’t know anything about actually fixing a car. I wish I did. I would’ve preferred to take Autoshop class and actually learn about that stuff. I could’ve gone on to be a really good mechanic and a Corvette expert. Because my dad had one and I grew up around them. Buying an old Corvette and taking it apart and putting it back together all brand new and perfect would be so much fun.
Anyway, the point is that being given stuff isn’t the best way to get stuff. The best way to get stuff is to earn it yourself. Then you know it’s truly yours.
What does Dido say?
If my life is for rent
and I don’t learn to buy,
I deserve nothing more than I get
cause nothing I have
is truly mine.
Okay?
Learning to buy, by the way, does not mean shopping. It does not mean spending money. It means earning your own money and paying for everything you have yourself, with your own money. And taking charge of your life. Being responsible for it. And not letting anyone else determine your fate.
And that is a process you must go through. A process you must undergo. You’re a wee cute little caterpillar but you need to do whatever you’ve gotta do to get your ass someplace where you can build a chrysalis, seal yourself inside it, and go to work. And then come out as a beautiful butterfly.
Imagine a world without butterflies.
That’s a great title. A World Without Butterflies.
Which is why it’s the name of Brad Pitt’s Autodoc.
Imagine him narrating:
A World Without Butterflies.
Kingdom Animalia,
Order Lepidoptera
Class Insecta
Status: declining due to habitat loss, climate change, insecticides
I do not want to live
in a world without butterflies.
Without the intricate eyes on velvety wings,
graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.
Airy, delicate keepers of hope
Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.
I do not want to live
in a world without butterflies.
A place where they only exist
in oil on canvas or silver trinkets on a chain,
in language, legends we pass to the next
generation of memory-keepers,
a place where tiny ghosts have painted wings.
I do not want this world
without the butterflies.
I could not bear the wailing
of flowers.
And Brad goes on, while showing us amazing footage of a single butterfly in a green meadow full of wildflowers, a meadow that should be teeming with flitting blue butterflies but isn’t:
Kingdom Animalia,
Order Lepidoptera
Class Insecta
Butterflies and moths
to the flame
— and we are the flame
Brad says, That is a poem by Christina M. Ward from her book titled: organic. And this is a beautiful green meadow full of wildflowers. A meadow that should be teeming with flitting blue butterflies but isn’t.
And Brad then goes on to lay out the numbers of butterflies alive in given areas where people keep track of the numbers of butterflies, shocking us all with how much the numbers have decreased.
And by the end, we’re all crying and ready to do anything we can to save the sweet little butterflies.
And then the movie comes out and everyone sees it and goes crazy and the reaction is similar to My Octopus Teacher – which is amazing, by the way – and then the comedians start saying stuff like, Have you ever seen a butterfly up close? They’re grotesque! They’re both horrifying and terrifying. They’re bugs. Okay? They’re bugs. And, yeah, they have pretty colors and are crucial to the environment and all that. But what if they were bigger?
What if they were bigger?
Like bigger than an eagle. One of them could land on you and stick its giant long freaky proboscis tongue down your throat and slurp you up, eating you from the inside out. If it were a mosquito almost as big as a small car, you would agree that we have to destroy those motherfuckers. But if it’s a pretty butterfly, it’s okay?
Have we talked about Bug Hunt? That’s Chris Pratt’s new series. It’s a pseudo reality show. It’s Jurassic Park but you go there to hunt for a billion dollars while evading giant insects..
Imagine that.
Imagine actually doing it.
The goal is not to hunt the bugs but to find a prize hidden in this vast greenhouse full of giant bugs. And Navy SEALS and special operators and hunters and athletes and all kinds of hardcore go-getter people LOVE to go there because they’re confident they will get the $1 billion reward for winning the game and finding the golden ticket or whatever the ask is.
And it’s a big ask.
Because as soon as you get in there with your gear and your weapons, your rifle, your whatever and the very first time a giant mosquito lands on one of your friends and sticks its proboscis into your friend’s back and starts slurping blood and they’re sucked dry like a raisin left on the garage floor somewhere in Phoenix in August and they’re dead before you can even get a shot off, you gun down the mosquito and your friend’s blood sprays all over you and you’re in shock looking at it.
And everyone watching at home is like, Oooooooh!
And the narrator in the control booth goes, Welcome to the show, motherfuckers.
And it’s Chris Pratt in the control booth in full Pratt Mode. Full send all the way big dude Pratt. And he’s yoked as fuck because he likes to work out while he watches people compete on his show. And it’s not The Chris Pratt Show. And it’s not some cheesedick fuckin ego cumming parody pun bullshit like Prattfall. It’s Bug Hunt. And it’s fuckin real. It’s Survivor meets Predator. And the release you sign before you are allowed on the show is a public deposition before a judge in an actual courtroom. And you go in there and raise your hand and proclaim to the world that you’re doing it of your own free will and that you understand you are probably going to die in there and that hundreds of people have already died in there and their families did not get a single fucking penny. Because this is ironclad. And if you’re not willing to get ironclad, you can’t go in.
It’s just like the release Willie Wonka had the kids sign before they entered the factory.
Ironclad.
Only imagine the Oompah Loompahs came at you with bows and arrows and crossbows and spears. Range weapons. Stuff to shoot you with. From a distance. And some of them carry shields that they link together so you can’t get to them while the spear wielders stab you and your party to death, just like what happened to Jon Snow on Game of Thrones when he almost didn’t make it.
Murdered by Oompah Loompahs.
Now imagine being eaten by a giant mosquito. Or having one of those cute and fuzzy butterflies shove a 6 foot long tongue down your throat and slurp you up like flower nectar.
Or imagine seeing that happen to one of your friends.
You guys are all excited because you figured out a way to get the billion dollars, you applied, went through the whole process, got your gear, your weapons, your whatever, went before the judge, did the whole ironclad thing, said a jubilant, fake, totally pretend goodbye to your family and friends, traveled to Chris’s facility, which is in some weird location way out in the middle of nowhere, where the whole thing can be enclosed, and you go in and get checked into the hotel and have a nice evening and a dinner with Chris and everyone plays Get To Know Ya for the audience watching live around the world. And then there’s a big party and everyone gets loose.
For, in the morning, you go inside.
Chris leads you into a courtyard. He then goes up the stairs to the control booth, asks you all if you’re ready, gives you one last chance to back out, offers each of you 10 grand to bail out, 10 grand cash on the spot, which no one accepts, and whomever continues goes inside.
Chris slaps a big dramatic red button, a door opens, and you and your party walk down a long, long, tunnel that has multiple doors in it.
And it’s already creepy as fuck.
And a lot of people crack at this point. And Chris lets them turn back.
And the whole time you’re walking down the tunnel, you and we can all hear his audio and everyone’s audio and Chris says repeatedly that anyone who wants to go back is more than welcome to do so. And you can even come hang out in the booth and eat pizza and watch if you want.
Or you can go home. Or up to your room. Whatever you want to do. You can go lie by the pool or swim and enjoy cocktails at the swim-up bar as well as a full menu of amazing food.
While your friends are being killed.
At that very moment.
By bugs.
Big ones.
Really big ones.
But for everyone in the party who continues, when the party gets to the final door, everyone sees a sign. When you see it, it reminds you of pirates.
And then you realize why: You’ve seen it on Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland: Abandon all hope ye who enter here.
And there is a special lock on this door and each person has to put their hand on a lever and release their bolt. So that the opening of the door requires action. It forces each person to release their bolt. And this action often results in a moment of realization. A lot of people have been walking through the whole process up til now, caught up in the moment, in the excitement, and in going along with their friends. Their party.
But now you haff to actually do something. And Chris narrates: Your party comes to a large door. The door has a series of levers. Clearly cooperation is required. What do you do?
Ergo Pratt is the dungeonmaster.
And anyone who opens their bolt and goes outside is committed.
Until they get out there and feel the sunlight and see a giant mosquito in the distance and say, Fuck this, I’m out.
And Dungeonmaster Pratt goes: Thank God. Please return to the hotel for refreshments. I’m currently enjoying pizza and Captain and Coke. Today’s show is sponsored by Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, my favorite, and by Round Table Pizza, purveyors of amazing pizza, especially now that a corporate-mandated pizza baking time has been implemented so the pizzas aren’t doughy and undercooked anymore like they used to be.
So anyone can bail at any time. And Chris always says, Thank God.
A lot of times, people get outside and seem brave and tough and confident and determined. But then they see a ladybug the size of a Volkswagen beetle automobile, with a shiny red shell with black circles on it, and they see that it has big-ass mandibles that could easily chop a person’s arm or leg off in one bite if it got ahold of you.
And it sees them and it’s pretty red shell flares open like the doors on a Lamborghini and huge wings unfurl and start flapping and all of a sudden this fucking thing is flying through the air at them and making this terrifying deep-pitched sound as its wings flap and buzz.
And everyone opens fire on it.
And if they do a good job and don’t miss because they’re panicking – which happens A LOT – the bug gets chunks blown out of it but keeps coming. And gets scary close before enough of it gets blown apart that it dies and falls on the ground and slides in the dirt.
And that first encounter usually claims at least one person.
They simply go, Chris? I’m out!
And Chris comes on the PA and goes, Yeah, okay, roger that, thank you for coming to your senses. Execute immediate evac. Good luck.
And then the person has to turn around and haul ass to the nearest door. And once they’re out of the park, they can go back to the hotel and freak out or puke or get drunk or smoke a bunch of weed or grab their stuff and go STRAIGHT to the airport.
Whatever.
And then a roly-poly comes out. One of those little grey pill-bugs that look like an insect version of an armadillo. And it’s the size of a big SUV. And you open fire on it and some of the bullets don’t even get through its shell.
And everyone is like, Oh, fuck.
And hopefully someone steps up with something bigger. Someone is carrying an M-60 or a .50 Cal or a mini gun Gatling gun thing, just like Jessie Venture carried in Predator and like Kari fired at the barrel on Mythbusters.
Or even a bona fide RPG.
Or maybe some hot shot pulls the pin on a grenade, rolls it on the ground like a bowling ball, the roly-poly walks over it, it goes off, and the rolly pollie is lifted up in the air and blasted to bits.
And then Chris comes on the radio and says, Those things are harmless, by the way. They’re scavengers. Totally harmless.
And then as if on cue another one comes out and the team whirls on it but someone calls out, Hold your fire!
They stand there and watch as the giant roly-poly meanders about, tapping them with its huge antennae before moving off.
Chris comes back on and says, They’re basically a giant Roomba. Cute, aren’t they? I always liked them when I was a kid. So we had to put some in there. But don’t startle them or they’ll roll into a ball that can squish you like in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Arc.
By the way, this is Chris Pratt’s opener at the beginning of the show: Hello, I’m Chris Pratt. You guys can just call me Pratt. Most of you guys probably know me from Parks and Rec or Jurassic Park or The Terminal List et cetera. Well, in keeping with that theme, I’d like to welcome you to my new show: Bug Hunt. Real contestants, real bugs, real danger. And a very real billion dollar prize for anyone who can survive long enough to go out there and find it. I promise you it’s there. This is not a trick. It will only be moved to a new location and a new set of clues given after it is claimed. But between you and me, I don’t think anyone is going to claim it. But it won’t be for lack of trying. It’ll be because they got eaten by bugs. Big ones. I helped put em in there myself and believe me when I tell you that you should not come here, do not attempt this, do not think you are going to get that 1 billion dollars. Because chances are you won’t be able to. The bugs will get you first. They will kill you. 100%. There is a chance you will make it. A small chance. But it’s totally and completely random and anyone who comes here must understand that. I have nothing to do with it. Once you go in there, you’re on your own. You can leave at any time. And I will be begging you throughout the campaign for you and your party to turn back so you can all come back here to the hotel and we’ll party our asses off all night. It’ll be better than in The Hangover. I promise you. Whatever kind of party you want to have, that’s what we’ll do. Whether it be a quiet game of poker or a full-scale rager with a live rock band on a real stage and naked people everywhere. Whatever you want to do. Because that’s what I want. I don’t want you to go in there and get killed by bugs. Which is what will happen if you go in there. And part of me doesn’t even want to do this. But a bunch of people said it was a good idea and when I tested the idea, there was an overwhelming response. A lot of people want to go in there and take their chances. It’s totally free. All you have to do is go through the application process. There is a 29 dollar fee for the court proceeding during which you declare an ironclad oath before a judge, saying you do this of your own free will and agree not to sue anyone no matter what. And if you get through all of that and you get here and you still want to go for the billion, be my guest. So that’s going to be the question I’m going to pose to you guys in the morning after you arrive: Do you wanna party or do you wanna go for the billion? And I sincerely hope with all my heart that you say party. Screw the billion. I know that’s easy for me to say because I’m a movie star and I’m rich. But I didn’t used to be. I used to be broke. And if I had an opportunity to go get a billion dollars and all I had to do was avoid some bugs, I’d probably do it. I know I would. I wouldn’t be here alive today right now doing this because I would’ve gone in there and gotten eaten by a wasp. Or maybe a mama wasp would swoop down and grab me and fly away with me in her mandible jaw things and she’d take me to her giant mud nest and she’d put me inside and seal me in there with one of her babies, a giant white freaky disgusting larva inside a cocoon thing. And then she seals me in and it’s dark so I turn on my headlamp and I have to sit in there and try to figure out what to do. So I use my knife to try and tunnel my way out. But each time I break through to a new chamber, there’s more crazy shit in there. Or the mama wasp catches me and tries to cut me in half with her mandibles. And my 9 millimeter doesn’t even phase her. So I save one shell for myself. And finally the larva pops out of its sac and starts trying to eat me. Because it’s hungry. After it eats me, it spins a cocoon for itself and goes inside to become a wasp, using me as its nutrients.
Anyway, the point is that would be some scary shit.
And if you go in there, into that park, you could very well find yourself entombed in a wasp nest, in the dark, alone, waiting to be eaten. It’ll be kind of like that King Kong remake with Jack Black when the big worm ate that guy head-first. Except it’ll be real.
Anyway, enough from me.
Welcome to Bug Hunt.
And then each week we get to watch a campaign. And Chris is a great DM. And sometimes people decide to party and sometimes they go for the billion. And we watch them get killed by bugs.
And it’s fucked up.
And it’s the hottest show ever created.
You can imagine the bidding war by the streaming services.
Brad’s butterfly doc is breathtaking and marvelous and far more important.
But Bug Hunt makes more money than anyone has ever made. Productions all over the world sitting there on location watch Bug Hunt going, Fuck, why didn’t we think of that?
And Brad Pitt stands there looking sexy, sitting on a motorcycle and eating onion rings with his fingers. And he says, That guy on the spaceship thought of it.
And the director says, What guy?
And Brad says, That guy on the spaceship. The one who was abducted all those years ago. Remember?
And the Director is all like, Oh, yeah. Fuck, I remember that. That’s him?
And Brad is all like, Yep.
And it’s REALLY nuts because on Earth it was quote all those years ago unquote. But for me it was like a month and a half ago.
And the director goes, Didn’t he say he wants 3% for any project that makes money?
And Brad crunches another delicious onion ring and says, He did say that, yes.
And the director goes, How are they going to pay him? Is there PayPal in space? Google Pay? Swipe? Venmo? Apple Pay? Alipay?
And Brad says, He’s on an actual spaceship. I’m sure they’ll find a way to put a few more zeros left of the decimal in his bank account.
And that, hopefully, will be true.
And here’s another show totally unrelated to butterflies and killer ladybugs.
Call Me, We’ll Get Naked.
That’s the name of the show.
You know there’s that cliche where people meet and then at the end one of them says, Call me, we’ll do lunch.
This is just like that. Except instead of lunch, it’s nudity and then whatever happens happens.
It’s a dating show for desperate famous people. Every season there’s a different host, a different person hoping to find their perfect match, their soulmate. There is a lot of blurred-out stuff. It’s basically The Bachelor stroke Bachelorette but with sex tapes.
Imagine going to a tattoo shop and getting a tattoo on your forearm that is the exact time of your death. But it's done in invisible ink. And you can't read it. You need a blacklight. And they have one in the back room. Would you go back there and read your tattoo?
If you are with someone who is of the dick sucking persuasion and yes that’s a song we’re about to hear, what would happen, what would they say, what would they do, what would their reaction be if you turned to them – at an appropriate time – and said, You suck dick better than anyone else.
Question mark.
That is a question. What would they say or do? How would they react?
Would they be insulted because your statement kind of suggests there have been a lot of others and that feels kinda shitty because it cheapens or demeans their relationship with you?
Or would they take it as a compliment because they are pragmatic enough not to get overly jealous while also realizing that they like it best with you, the way you do it? And by the way, some jealousy is good and appropriate. Some. Just enough that you feel kinda angry when someone flirts with your mate. But not enough that you would go confront them in a parking lot while holding a can of pepper spray in your hand. That’s too much. No need to threaten someone or wind up doing actual physical assault and battery in a parking lot somewhere.
Have you ever been approached by someone in a parking lot like that and had them ask you for money?
What did you do?
Did you give them some?
If so, how much? All you had? Or only a portion?
Did you offer them food? Perhaps some of your groceries?
Did you offer to go back into Walmart with them and to buy them food?
And if so, did they accept?
I was in a similar parking lot once, late at night, in southern California, and was putting my bags of groceries in my trunk, along with a person parked beside me, when a big, clearly homeless dude approached and asked for help, money or food, I don’t recall which. I didn’t want to give him any of my food because I was broke as fuck and everything I had just purchased was stuff I had allocated for myself for the next week. And it wasn’t much. It was a box of cereal, a gallon of milk, a box of donuts, some Yoplait yogurts, and some other stuff. Maybe some ground turkey and Spanish Rice I was going to cook up. With some sliced tomatoes and string cheese on top. And a side of white corn tortilla chips on the side. Point being that those were my meals. It was only 2 or 3 brown grocery bags’ worth. And not a lot of snack food that I could give him, like a bag of chips. Because while I may have had a bag of chips, then what? I go without chips? I like chips, too. It’s my money. I worked my job and earned the money to go and buy the chips on the way home. He was running around all day probably high off his ass on weed he bought using money he’d gotten from other people without working for it.
So I gave him a Yoplait.
I think it was Strawberry Banana.
A little white plastic yogurt cup with the foil lid you peel back.
And you know what?
He was not happy about it. He looked at it and said, Man, what am I supposed to do with this?
And at that moment I went from being scared and feeling guilty to being pissed. I was all three now. Scared, guilty, and pissed.
Me and the other guy got in our cars and left. I think the other guy may have given him money or food, too, I don’t recall.
I don’t know what happened after that, if he ate the yogurt or not. I hope he did.
Fast forward about 13 years.
I’m in a Starbucks, again in southern California. That same big, homeless dude comes in. Through the back door out to the patio it shared with Einstein’s Bagels, not through the front door. He begins going around the Starbucks, which was tiny, asking everyone for help.
Everyone ignores him.
I see him and immediately recognize him. He looks the same. Big dude, long olive green overcoat thing worn over several other layers. I think he was wearing a scarf, too. He was probably hot. But I guess if you’re homeless it’s better to be wearing too many clothes than not enough. Even in So Cal where the weather is good most of the year, even though there are legit freezing-balls cold spells during the winter.
Point being that everyone is ignoring him.
He comes over to me.
I still feel guilty about the Yoplait so I decide I’m going to do better this time.
When he comes over to my little round table in the corner where I’m sitting with my Dell Inspiron laptop, doing my online editing job long before pandemic remote work went Platinum, I stand up. I evaluate our physical statures. He’s not as big as I remember. Or maybe I’m bigger.
We chat.
I head toward the counter. I’m going to buy him a sandwich and coffee or something. A legit meal.
I tell him this.
He says he wants money.
I say, I don’t have any cash. Because I genuinely didn’t.
He looks at me and says, in a pretty pissed-off and cranky way, A-T-M.
A-T-M.
Let that sink in.
The way it sank in for me.
I was like…
Mother fucker.
Ain’t this just the mother of all fuckers?
Motherfucker wants help and when I offer it he says go to the ATM.
You’re probably wondering what I did; what happened next.
Here’s what happened next: I sat my ass down at the little round table in the corner. I did not go to the goddamn motherfucking ATM.
Jesus.
Honestly.
Lesson learned, Cuz.
I did say something to him, telling him I wasn’t going to go do that. He left and went out the front door and I went back and sat down, like I said.
I wonder what everyone in there was thinking. You know they watched the whole fucking thing. Watched and listened. And were probably as surprised and disgusted and as disillusioned as I was when he told me he did not want food and that he wanted cold hard cash money.
Hot out of the ATM.
Courtesy of me. Captain Blank.
I hope you choked on the Yoplait, asshole.
Oh, but Captain, he’s an addict, he’s sick. He doesn’t know any better.
Bull.
Shit.
He’s a grown-ass adult, just like me, just like you, just like all of us.
And in the 13-year interval between the Yoplait and the ATM, he hadn’t done shit. I had done a lot of stuff. Like…A LOT. I’m not even going to go into all the stuff I did in that time. But I remember it well and believe me when I say I did a lot. Like literally drowning in spaghetti. If you’ve been here since the beginning, you know.
Imagine if I had gone to the ATM with him. How much would he have wanted?
What if I had asked him how much he needed?
What would he have said? How much you got?
Maybe.
But I’m pretty sure the ATM limits you to 300 bucks a day so if someone gets your ATM card and gets money out of your account without you knowing about it, the bank will only pay out 300 bucks, because they’ll take responsibility for that, they’ll go ahead and eat the 300; they won’t take it out of your account.
But what if I’d been loaded? And there’d been a bank next to Einstein’s Bagels. And we’d walked over and actually gone inside. And I went to the window and withdrew five grand.
Five grand.
Anthony Michael Hall told us in 16 Candles that that’s about what a grill on a Rolls Royce costs.
Do you have five grand? I don’t have five grand.
And Jake goes, So? Don’t hit anything.
And Ted laughs and throws his hands in the air and goes, Oh, don’t hit anything.
And Jake goes, Do you wanna do this or not?
And Ted goes, No.
And then he turns around and gets in the car.
And then Jake puts his drunk, passed-out, unable to render consent girlfriend in the car with him. And they open the garage and Ted drives away. And he drives to his friend’s house. And one of those friends is John Cusack. The legend himself. And he and his friend have weird electronic beeping booping device machines on their heads. And Ted goes, Take those ridiculous things off.
And then they come out front with a Polaroid camera on a tripod and take a picture of Ted with Caroline in Jake’s dad’s Rolls. And Caroline is so plastered she actually holds up an empty beer can, smiles, and says, Cheeeeers!
If that movie were released today, as-is, what would the reaction be?
California consent laws say that if someone is intoxicated, they’re legally unable to render consent. Are Illinois laws the same? Most John Hughes movies take place in or around Shermer, Illinois, which is where The Breakfast Club takes place.
Point being that the grill alone costs 5 grand. He didn’t have 5 grand and neither did I and so I did not give the homeless guy any money and nor did he want food. So he wasn’t hungry.
He wasn’t skinny or malnourished or anything. He looked fine. Oddly dressed, as I mentioned. And yeah he may have been on hard times but he’d been on hard times for at least 13 years. So the times couldn’t have been that hard.
Dinesh D'Souza tells a great story about when he was a young man in India and one of his friends told him he wanted to move to America and Dinesh asked him why. And his friend said, Dinesh, I want to live in a country where the poor people are fat.
I want to live in a country where the poor people are fat.
Yikes.
Let’s just let that one bake a little longer. It ain’t soup yet, as my friend Harvey used to say.
I’ve seen video on Top Gear or The Grand Tour from India and they showed actual poor people. People who sit on the ground outside of a building, and they’re truly poor. Their clothes are rags and they’re so skinny and malnourished that you can see their ribs.
Those people would’ve taken the Starbucks sandwich and coffee.
They would’ve taken the Yoplait.
And I like to think I’d have given them more than either of those things. They were obviously in dire need. They weren’t running around southern California for 13 years begging for money and eating Yoplait.
They’ve probably never even had Yoplait.
They’ve probably never seen it or even heard of it. They wouldn’t know what to do with it if you gave it to them. Much as that guy held the Yoplait at arm’s length, surveying it, and looked at me and said, What am I supposed to do with this?
I’m pretty sure I said, Open it and drink it.
Maybe that was a total dick move on my part.
I tried to make amends 13 years later.
That didn’t work.
Because of him. It was his fault. He didn’t want food. I offered to buy him food. He refused.
Another time, I was at a gas station, also in So Cal, in Hollywood, actually, and I’d just left work and was getting gas before I got on the 101 to head back home to see my family and spend Christmas with them. A dude on crutches with one leg, a burned face, and one eye sees me there fueling my car. He crutches toward me and I’m like, Oh, fuck.
I’m immediately uncomfortable. I have no idea what to do. This happened prior to meeting the Yoplait gentleman, by the way. That was probably a year or so after this. So this happened first. I’m getting gas, and this poor dude crutches over to me. And he’s holding a paper cup in one hand, pinched awkwardly between his fingers on his right hand because he needs his hand to use the crutches.
He comes over, smiling mostly, and I’m like, Jesus H…. What happened to this guy? He’s missing a leg, half his face is burned and scarred, he only has one eye. And I stuff my hand in my pocket to give him money, knowing I don’t have shit. I was just as poor then as I was during the Yoplait incident. And this poor guy is saying something about it being Christmas and people giving or something. And I dropped my money into his cup.
And he looks in his cup.
And he goes, Oh, that’s 3 cents, dude!
And he was pissed.
And I said, That’s all I got.
And it was true. I didn’t have cash. I was using my credit card to buy gas. I was going into debt on a daily basis just trying to survive.
So I dropped 3 pennies into his cup. And he crutched away.
And when I got home for Christmas, I told my dad this story. And he got mad at me, too. He said I’d insulted the guy.
I guess I should’ve said, I’m sorry, man, I don’t have any money.
Even though I’m standing there putting gas in a shiny red convertible. Which I was. The same one my daddy bought for me and which I cherished for 13 years. I probably looked like a loaded hotshot asshole with bags of coke in my car. Which I did not have, by the way. I’ve never done coke. I’ve seen it and tasted it once. But that’s it. Coke is a no-no for me.
Point being that all this is in my mind when I offer the guy the Yoplait.
And then that, too, is in my mind when I offer that same guy coffee and a sandwich. Or whatever he’d wanted to order.
So, yes, I felt bad. Which is why I was willing to buy food for him. But I was not willing to go to the ATM.
5 grand or no.
Anyway, the point is, to all of you out there of the dick-sucking persuasion, thank you.
I hope that’s not pandering.
Or condescending.
Or whatever.
It’s meant in earnest. I think I can speak for all of us when I say, as dick wielders, we truly appreciate the fellatio. It’s one of the best things in life.
Remember in Conan the Barbarian when they’re all sitting around having weird, stern, yet apparently drunken philosophical debates about what is best in life? One of the guys says something about the wind in your hair.
And everyone laughs.
Dicks.
He’s probably right. But then some other guy yells, WRONG! Conan! What is best in life?
And Conan – Arnold Schwarzennegger – is sitting there in his full-on barbarian getup, although I think he was still a prisoner then, and he goes, To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women.
That was his answer.
And everyone agreed it was a good answer.
Patriarchal and misogynistic as fuck. But for 12,000 years ago or whenever it was supposed to take place, that answer made sense to those guys. They were barbarians and huns and shit. Conquest was their business.
Thank God it’s not like that now.
Point being that my answer would be something like, To make friends with your enemies, find success in your relationships, and receive plenty of oral sex.
Although making friends with your enemies could possibly be indexed under the 2nd one, success in relationships.
So, yeah, more oral. On both sides. For everyone.
SB, is it time for the song?
SB: Oh, it’s well past time for this song. Ladies and gentlemen, coming to the stage now for your listening pleasure, please give a warm Alien Night Club welcome to everybody’s favorite house band this side of the Planet Pluto, here now are The Hot Fudge Sundaes performing their next hit song Dick Sucking Persuasion. Subtle it ain’t. Hit it, fellas!
{musical interlude}
I suddenly want to have a motorsports division with a series of racing teams or motorsports sponsorship under the brand 69 Racing. And if that one does well and makes lots of money, we’ll spin the profits into a sister team called 70 Racing. So if anyone would like to partner on it, get in touch.
A 70, by the way, is a 69. Except that you ALSO eat each other’s asses.
If you ever get pulled over and the officer looks like they’re going to cite you and actually write you a ticket – maybe even ask them straight up, Officer, are you planning to cite me today?
And if they say, Yes, I am.
Then you go, Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. I’m going to tell you a joke. If you hear the joke and smile, you let me off with a warning. Which I WILL do my best to honor, by the way. But if you don’t smile, I’ll take the ticket without a peep.
And, hopefully, the officer will say, Okay.
And then you’re on!
I’ve never actually tried this, mind you. But I’ve always wanted to. The two times I got tickets, one was for running a red light and the other was for speeding. When I ran the red light, I actually turned right on a red from the middle lane. Can’t do that. The speeding ticket was lame, too, because I was out on a distant freeway with NO other cars anywhere around me, just a Harley behind me. And the car I had at the time was a Mazda 6i, a yellow one, and it wanted to cruise on the freeway at 90. 85 to 90. Every time. After a few minutes on the freeway, my foot would just slowly, absently push down on the gas pedal and I wouldn’t even know it. The car would be purring along, perfectly fine. Not making a lot of noise. And it was only a 4 cylinder. And I’d look down and see that I was doing 80, 85, 86, 88. And I’d be like, What the fuck! And slow down immediately.
Well, on that day I got that speeding ticket, that very process had played out. Only the Harley behind me was a cop. And his red light came on. And I saw it the rearview mirror, immediately checked my speed, saw that it was 78, and said, Oh, fuck.
I thought it was so dumb, I even raised my hands, like, What?
And he pointed with one hand: pull…over.
So I did.
And he came up and told me I was speeding and he needed my info. The weird part about that stop was that he stayed behind me. He stood next to my car almost back by the back tire, by the trunk, and he leaned forward to talk to me into my driver’s side window. He didn’t come and stand in front of me next to the fender and left wheel, the way the other cop did when he cited me for the illegal right turn. Same car, too.
Anyway, here’s the joke: How fast can you go during sex?
And hopefully the officer will look at you, pause for a moment and say, How fast?
And you say, 68. Because if you go 69…you’re eatin it.
And see if they smile!
But the point is, more 69s would be nice. There’s nothing quite like burying your face between someone’s legs and feeling their body skin to skin and their weight on you, and you’re both moaning and gasping and licking and sucking and stroking and spreading.
Just like the lyrics to that new Sundaes song:
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading uh-huh
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading uh-huh
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading I’m done
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading that’s fun
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading let’s come
Moaning and gasping
Licking and sucking
Stroking and spreading uh-huh
Dick Sucking Persuasion is its own song.
…Crystal Blue Persuasion…
…Dick Sucking Persuasion…
Hey, Vanilla Ice, do you think that’ll be okay or is it too close to the original?
Crystal Blue Persuasion is – I guess – about love and harmony and the power of the sea. Though it could be a great name for a strain of weed. Or meth. Did they do that in Breaking Bad? I haven’t watched the entire show. We couldn’t afford cable when that show was peaking.
I have a screenplay I wrote a long time ago that I’d love to see get made which could be called Crystal Blue Persuasion. I read a really in-depth article about meth in GQ and got fascinated with the whole cooking scene. So I wrote a screenplay about a small-town boy who moves from Nebraska to Hollywood and hooks up with a total babe who is from there and knows everyone and for some reason she’s taken by his innocent, no-bullshit persona. Probably because she’s sick and tired of having everyone lie to her all the time. Point being that they wind up in the drug world and decide to open their own meth lab. And one of the popular names for meth back then was Finished. So the title of the screenplay is Finished. And during the penultimate scene, their cooker buddy, a guy named Wren, comes walking out wearing his white hazmat suit – because he knows what he’s doing – and he has the most premium shit ever made. And he goes, It’s finished.
And then bullets fly into the apartment. He’s hit several times and falls. Our heroes manage to make it out the back door and to their car, where they go on a high-speed chase through L.A. But they actually get away. Somehow. And they are somewhere industrial, parked near a railroad yard or something, and she’s shot in the leg. Bad. And there’s blood everywhere. Everywhere. Even someone who knows nothing about medicine or the human body or anatomy or physical fitness or ketchup or anything will take one look and go, Okay, that’s bad; that’s probably fatal; I don’t know shit but that much blood can’t be outside of you and you still survive; there’s just no way.
And they both know this to be true.
So they wind up doing themselves in. With a quick bullet to the heart.
All we see from outside their vehicle is a flash of white light and a BANG!
A moment later, a 2nd BANG!
And that’s it. Silence. Until the cops converge and the chopper puts the nightsun on the car. And as the sad but kickass music starts – I’m hearing Paint It Black for some reason – the cops approach on foot, guns drawn, see immediately that it’s over, holster their sidearms, and the party is over.
Paint it Black is probably my favorite song ever. I’m not sure why. I think it’s because my dad fought in Nam and I’m fascinated by music from that era.
Point being that Finished was supposed to be a Romeo & Juliet On Meth reimagining of Shakespeare. Kind of like the one Baz Lurhman did with Leo & Claire.
…Dick Sucking Persuasion….
See? It has a nice ring to it. Of course it does, it’s total plagiarism.
All Along the Watchtower is tied with Paint It Black, though.
Thank you, Bob Dylan.
He wrote it.
That line when Jimi goes, Businessman come and drink my wine, plough man take my earth, I always thought he said, White man take my herb.
I kind of like my version more or better. Morebetter.
You know the guy from that band The Wallflowers? The guy who sings about driving with one headlight? That’s Bob Dylan’s kid. Jacob. Pretty awesome.
Anyway, try the 68 joke with a cop and see if it works.
If a cop ever points a gun at you and says, You spit on my wrist, wipe it off., don’t move. A cop said that to C. Thomas Howell in The Hitcher. One of the best movies ever made, by the way. Rutger Hauer. From Bladerunner fortune and glory. Jennifer Jason Lee.
You ever notice a similarity between Led Zeppelin and Jane’s Addiction?
You ever notice a similarity between Stevie Nicks’s song Edge of 17 and the theme song from Rocky?
I still hear the call of a night bird.
She sings, Just like the white winged dove sings a song just like she’s singing.
I always thought she said, Just like the one-winged dove…
And I always thought it was so sad. Because the little birdie only had one wing. Poor thing.
Have you guys seen the Blondie video for The Tide is High? Am I crazy or does she basically want to be Darth Vader’s girlfriend? That’s what it looks like if you watch the video. He’s looking out into space and seeing visions of her, she’s singing about being somebody’s #1, and at the end, she taps him on the shoulder and is all like, Hey, let’s dance.
Like Mark Twain said, And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Like Darth Vader gazing out the window of his ship and seeing Blondie and then Blondie like the abyss gazing back at him.
That quote is at the beginning of the MGMT Kids video, by the way. And then there’s a little boy in his crib and there’s all these scary monsters trying to get him. And monster claws reaching into his crib, grabbing him, and he’s screaming and crying and terrified.
And then his mom comes and picks him up and takes him out of the room and you think, Oh, okay, it’s a metaphor for being afraid of the monsters in the dark as a child. But everything’s fine.
But then she takes him outside and he sees more monsters everywhere. And he starts crying again. And she puts him down so she can focus on her phone. She’s completely oblivious to the state of her child. And the kid starts crying again and running because he’s surrounded by monsters. And it’s all a metaphor for discovering all the scary shit out there in the world and learning to navigate it. But then in the end the kid is in the palm of the hand of the lead singer. And he turns into a monster and eats the kid. So maybe he became a monster and ate his own innocence.
Point being that imagine filming that video and making that little boy cry like that. Poor kid. It’s a cool video but that must’ve been a rough couple of days for everyone involved.
Back to the dick sucking persuasion, how many people like having semen in their mouth? Eating it. Swallowing it. For real. Truly love it. And how much does it depend on the dick wielder's flavor? Would you like it if they tasted better? If there were a supplement they could take to make it taste really really good, like coconut or bubblegum or spearmint or strawberry or apple pie or bbq or pizza or cotton candy or banana or whatever and it was safe and it worked, would you like that?
Also, all those couples out there, how often are you guys doing it? Having the sex. Because the average is alleged to be twice a week. I think that's horseshit. That’s the lie couples tell in order to save face. I think it’s once or twice a month.
We're all busy. We're grinding. Working and trying to be functioning adults. Not spending too much time feeling sorry for ourselves.
Sex slips. It slides down the importance ladder pretty quickly. And then we go through our days weeks months…years…telling ourselves something is wrong in our relationship and it is irreparable. So better go find a different relationship. And then the same thing happens.
Because twice a week is bullshit. Horseshit bullshit whatever. It's a lie.
And if you have kids and you think coparenting is the way to go, think again. What happens when you meet someone you really like? And they're doing the same thing. And their kids become your kids. And you just doubled the number of kids you're responsible for. And the schedules are never gonna line up just right so that there are no kids in the house.
So stay where you are. Decrease your expectations and your negative self-talk while increasing the frequency of your thoughts, the vibration.
That's a better way.
Then maybe twice a week will seem stupid because you guys average 4 to 8 times a week. Which means sometimes you're getting it on twice a day.
For those of you with a vagina, would you be interested in upgrades? A bionic vagina? It's the same vagina you have now, but enhanced. Stronger, wetter, impervious to infection, able to go for hours. Ready at a moment's notice.
Same with penises. Stronger, more robust. Ready at a moment's notice. Infallible. No longer a victim of your inner voice. Like Viagra without the Viagra.
By the way, that sort of functionality is attainable through regular use. All the muscle and tissue you have down there is similar to your pecs or glutes or abs. Train it regularly and it will hypertrophy nicely.
And, most importantly, the joy is to be had in the journey, not the destination.
So love each other.
More than twice a week.
That’s our show!
Thank you!
Goodnight!
Remember to tip your waitress!
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