Josh Stern's Blog, page 173

February 3, 2013

When you come to a fork in the road, see if it's done

Only the really good male gymnasts practice on a pommel unicorn otherwise pray you have a hydrocele and spare yourself the spinal anaesthetic 

 
In a dog eat dog world, no Poodle is safe…for obvious reasons
 
 
Sometimes at 3 a.m……when I’m piss drunk and calling my local utility…. I don’t want to speak to a real person

Ever feel like Destiny and Fate are just two crackheads on a bender, just simultaneously turning the launch keys ?

 

When someone asks ‘Who does your hair?”……-I indignantly reply that it’s saving itself for marriage



The 60s gave us grey ponytailed old farts in saggy ass jeans and skirts, whose flawed revisionist history has given them an unqualified relevance in a world that scoffs at the very look at them…How I loathe and scorn these fossilized head shop relics, whose memories have waned to the point of erosion and so, valiantly blame everything on the ;it was the 60’s man’  sybaritic lifestyle that few actually lived through…. and mercifully much less survived…



When you look back at archival footage of these badly dressed clowns, it’s more a spectacle of how pointless and wrong you were and how much fun it is to laugh at you now and then…the only mitigating fluke is music and movies as poetry sucks and Sushi was more of an 80’s thing



To think that by now, Grace Slick having successfully gone through menopause, should seriously consider a name change…something befitting her stage in life…something like Grace Vaginal Dryness or just Grace Chafe





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Published on February 03, 2013 11:05

February 1, 2013

I see things as they aren’t…so this testicle that ate Europe is irritating, I’m...

I see things as they aren’t…so this testicle that ate Europe is irritating, I’m going back to see my buds at the hospital on Monday and I fully expect to have it ‘aspirated’ i.e. get a needle…


I’ve also discovered the angle of the ‘Nutri-bullet’  a stupid TV thing that is going to make me positively  Darfurian in a few months.

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Published on February 01, 2013 18:55

Attendance is just 90% showing up

I see things as they aren’t…so this testicle that ate Europe is irritating, I’m going back to see my buds at the hospital on Monday and I fully expect to have it ‘aspirated’ i.e. get a needle…


I’ve also discovered the angle of the ‘Nutri-bullet’  a stupid TV thing that is going to make me positively  Darfurian in a few months.


Yesterday I was finishing off the sundae swirl of a gym workout with a little elevated treadmill action…. when out of the blue, a slamming hot Chick in boy shorts that were two sizes too right, went on the machine next to me. This putting a slight crimp in my shorts, so I couldn’t lecherously leer at her with any proper perversion…This was quite disconcerting to have a level of hotness that is so completely stupid next to me, and not being able to make a lewd inappropriate remark and make a clean get away…. let alone the prospect of picking up where we left off  tomorrow


So imagine my joy at the realization of the revenge of the psyllium warning label…sure I can man up with the bloating, but the flatulence was singularly stunning- it was pure standing ‘O’ …into another room…which in my studio apartment meant the bathroom or hallway…I mean it was toxshockingly bad…so it was evasive action time..


At first, I figured the years of not looking at ‘buns of steel’ videos would probably not have any bearing on this situation … but something was knocking at heavens door and I seriously didn’t know what the environmental impact assessment would be and you only have one chance to make an impression that you have irritable Bowel Syndrome or some reasonable facsimile….


So not having the patience or nerves of steel to beg it off…I looked at her with my eyes bugged and jaw jutted out, and then suddenly hopped off the treadmill as it was smoking and spitting from red line overheating on the highest setting…and then I fled the scene without changing… out into the minus 3 fahrenheit balmy weather


But who cares, as she has a dorky boyfriend 

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Published on February 01, 2013 18:55

January 31, 2013

Tourettes and potty mouths

The sight of your own blood is a pretty cool thing…I take it to the optometrist for a vision test just to make sure…. Not so with the sight of your own pus….just saying…mainly because it is the ‘women’s problems” equivalent of what ails you…..no one is exactly sure…it’s kinda like 7Up in that way…you just hope it’ll dry up and promise never to do it again…

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Published on January 31, 2013 07:39

January 30, 2013

I used to think I was edgy... but it turned out to just be itchy

I freely admit to suffering from premature mojo…but if I ever took Viagra, I’d probably explode….


It’s incredibly demeaning to have to be cognizant of your surroundings, when you have spent your entire life in a defiant disregard….. It’s like relearning to walk without the physio, pain or land mines … just delaminating the arching camber of a once proud independence… the sifting of manhood through aging’s lapse of time (although this current hydrocele nonsense is also prevalent among newborns, proving that humiliations start on a subatomic particle level)


It’s Official! My ball sac is molting like a snake that never got the memo…I hope there’s a real Crackerjack surprise inside, like it’s now made of red python and cotton candy, just polished to a high gloss, with flashes of lucite for that retro feel…I promise you, I would run out and buy a matching pair of Lucchese cowboy boots and chaps on a layaway plan… as this process might take a while


Seriously, it’s a new sensation to think you might have contracted leprosy in the fruits and vegetables section of your local supermarket…I’m trying to  pare down it’s origins as these days, I couldn’t have gotten it at the gym because I’ve been peeing standing up (and forgetting to shake)..  next to the leg machines, which is pissing the trainers off to no end…


I don’t know what to expect on this detoured section of roadmap to the river Styx…..I hope the ferry has room for cars, because if I have to be a pedestrian for the rest of eternity, that would be total hell…


So I’m sitting on a fence, figuratively speaking, as to my next event in the scrotal special olympics…. as in my present distendedly swollen state, sitting on it or running the high hurdles could be fraught with pain and splinters…


Help!  I’m a small testicle trapped in the body of a freakishly flapping ball sac…As the humiliations of  maturation mount, first it was the ‘politics of sex’: actually feeling the stupid consequences of random hook ups. The  breaking up of engagements and marriages, and little girls hearts, all because they actually cared for you…does carry a penalty clause - who knew? But now it’s yielding to the whims of a non-benevolent scrotal tyranny… What a karmic bitchslap, after having successfully dodged the whole STD County Fair; only to get sunk in the mud of a tractor pull…There is a certain Gordon Lightfoot bleak bitterness to this whole whiny singsong


I have always held those guys who are constantly fidgeting with their junk in the highest ridicule…but now I find myself in the necessity of doing the Lipton ‘cup a soup nuts’ every time I go from weight machine to weight machine or bench or um.. blinking…


I’ve always been a ‘no hassle, no tune-up, just jump into my equipment and hit it’ type of guy…which I now see is an exclusive bonus of youth..now, like the aforesaid politics of sex, I have to pick my battles…and most are core courses not electives……..


The landscape changed but the cartography remains the same…Something mindblowing to me is when did my checking out Chicks, transition into ‘leering’…. as apparently, now I’m just too lecherously old to be thinking of such deviant stuff with such youthful exuberance…Can the final humiliation of granny sex be far off? …..I’ll be running a continuous  Viagra IV drip, if I don’t explode from it first….. and then being thrown the final bone of a quick ‘respiteful’ death?


To maintain the delicate balance of a completely immature outlook, after lo’,  all these many decades: no wife, no girlfriend, no semblance of benefits anywhere…not even the escorts of the yellow pages or back of New York Magazine personals is far from childsplay - A life dedicated to the precepts of  worry-free/ responsibility free/ mortgage free and STD free ( or reasonable facsimile, anything not requiring the services of a  rubber-gloved Doctor and a rather cartoonishly long hypodermic…. ).  Having my body fail me with this hydrocele, while my head is still ramping up for another ‘No Skin/No Win”, is ‘lunchbag letdown’… on an epic scale


So as I pick at the last scabs of idle youth and beauty, only to have the ‘portion control’ and routine check-ups of middle age flung in my face; I can no longer take solace in any last vestiges of immortal aces up my sleeve, or dealing from the bottom of the deck….. There’s no solace to be found, only a shrill kick in the nuts, as someone goosed my life’s stopwatch into overdrive.


 I now see my fading reflection in  the next generation of cocksmen, just smugly thumbing their noses at any potential maladies and winging it by feel.  I refuse to compare their exploits with mine, as they burn stronger, and faster on my generation’s trials and errors that we furthered, and they have run with- by seeming divine right and no thank you cards involved just a slight ridiculing of the past


I too feel…but it’s the twangs of envy, jealousy and voodoo dolls….. gladly to step into their shoes for one last bang! 

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Published on January 30, 2013 07:12

I suffer from Premature Mojo

It’s so demeaning to have to be cognizant of your surroundings when you have lived your life in a defiant disregard. It’s like relearning to walk without the physio, pain or land mines … just chipping away at the independence of manhood as one ages ( although this shit is prevalent among newborns, so the humiliations start on a subatomic level)


It’s Official! My ball sac is molting…I hope it’s a surprise, like polished red python underneath…I swear, I would run out and buy a matching pair of Lucchese cowboy boots on layaway as this process might take a while


Seriously, it’s a new sensation to think you might have contracted leprosy in the fruits and vegetables section of your supermarket- as these days I’ve been standing up to pee at the gym..next to the machines which is pissing the trainers off to no end…


I don’t know what to expect on this roadmap to Styx-I hope the ferry has room for cars because if I have to be a pedestrian for the rest of eternity, that would be total hell…


So I’m sitting on a fence, figuratively speaking…. as in my present swollen state, sitting on it would be fraught with pain and splinters…


Help, I’m small testicles trapped in the body of a freakish ball sac…first it was the politics of sex: actually seeing the stupid consequence of random hook ups. The  breaking up of engagements and marriages, and little girls hearts, all because they actually cared for you…But now it’s yielding to the whims of a non-benevolent scrotal tyranny… What a karmic bitchslap, after having successfully dodged the whole STD County Fair; only to get sunk in the mud of a tractor pull…There is a certain Gordon Lightfoot bleak bitterness to the whole whiny singsong


I have always held those guys who are constantly fidgeting with their junk in the highest ridicule…but now I find myself in the necessity of doing the ‘cup a soup nuts’ every time I go from weight machine to weight machine or bench or anywhere…


I’ve always been the ‘no hassle, no tune-up, just jump into my equipment and off I go’ type of guy…which I now see is a bonus of youth..now, like the aforesaid politics of sex, I have to pick my battles…which is a real drag…..Something mindblowing is the checking out of Chicks,which I have now transitioned into ‘leering’…. as I’m too lecherously old to be thinking of such deviant stuff with such youthful exuberance…Can the final humiliation of granny sex be far off? …..I’ll be running a continuous  Viagra IV drip, if I don’t explode….. and then being thrown the bone of ‘respiteful’ death?


The inconsistency of maintaining the delicate balance of an immature outlook, after lo’  all these  so many decades: no wife, girlfriend, no semblance of benefits anywhere…not even the yellow pages or back of New York Magazine personals - A life dedicated to the precepts of  worry-free/ responsibility free/ mortgage free and STD free ( or reasonable facsimile, anything not requiring the services of a  rubber-gloved Doctor and and rather cartoonishly long hypodermic…. ).  Having my body fail me, while my head is still ramping up for another ‘No Skin/No Win” is ‘lunchbag letdown’ on an epic scale


So as I pick at the last scabs of idle youth and beauty, only to have the ‘portion control’ and routine check-ups of middle age flung in my face; I can no longer take solace in any last vestiges of immortal aces up my sleeve, or dealing from the bottom of the deck….. There’s no solace to be found, only a shrill kick in the nuts as someone goosed my life’s stopwatch into overdrive.


 I now see my fading reflection in  the next generation of cocksmen, just smugly thumbing of their noses at any potential maladies and winging it by feel.  I refuse to compare their exploits with mine as they burn stronger, and faster on my generations trials and errors… that we furthered and they have run with it…by seeming divine right and no thank you card involved


I too feel…but it’s the twangs of envy, jealousy and voodoo dolls….. gladly to step into their shoes for one last bang! 

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Published on January 30, 2013 07:12

January 29, 2013

Do genital crabs usually travel south for the winter ?

Ever feel that you are in the near future, and your character is the last guy on Earth who hasn’t been horribly mutated by some zombie-like STD that has ravaged the general population…Their genitals can now do all sorts of cooler tricks with ping pong balls than those rank amateur ‘crotch jugglers’ in Pattaya Thailand…now those ping pong balls can walk tightropes between 2 skyscrapers and flambé … far more sophisticated…


Yesterday was the quantum leap in the ball sac recovery program…the ‘lifting and dropping of the curtain’ finally started to kick in after a visit to some of my favorite internet sites that hold my interest for a time….I was quite concerned with the crotchal equivalent of the bottom of badly tailored pant legs just dragging…it seems like mother nature stepped in to do some alterations and now it has just the right amount of ‘break’ and no cuff


However after a fitful night, where the smoking of my soon-to-be-deceased new neighbor raped my nostrils….. I, for no apparent reason gazed down upon the roto-tilled majesty of my scrotum, only to see some angry reddish pink pustules….bumps ready to explode with who knows what inside….. which from childhood memory looked awfully close to those pictures of genital holocausts they used to scare soldiers from staying away from the Da Nang prostis before they left for Vietnam


So after the requisite freaking out period…where I scratch my head with a fanbelt,trying to figure out who, what and when gave me this transmission fluid…I’m also thinking ‘My perfect record, no clap, chlamydia carrying crabs, venereal warts …nothing…Shot to Hell….


Next stop Dr Pipecleaner-down-my-peehole-for-a-culture”…… a perfect complement to my far too recent ball sac surgery…the nightmare continues.  Well I guess all’s fair - after years of trouble free, reliable service…the mechanism was bound to break down…and here’s my payback from my cock n’balls for not being able to press charges with the police… 

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Published on January 29, 2013 08:02

January 24, 2013