This is my Rifle, This is my Gun: I use them both for loads of fun.

 Last summer I was in my friend's kitchen prepping something by her sink when she asked me:
"So, how's the girl?"
I thought for a moment and replied:
"Which one?"
"Uh, Julie?"
I thought for another moment:
"Which one?"
"The one you're fucking?"
"Uh," I was smiling at this point, because I realized I was kinda being a "pimp" "Which one?"
She sighed. "The brunette?"
"Which one?"
She just sighed and finished off with a:
"God Damn it, just pop your collar now."

Yes, I was messing around with several women named Julie (or Julia) simultaneously. Some of them even with the same hair color. Remember my first post where I said I'm a walking application of Murphy's law? I'm also a cosmic weird magnet. Listen to me now, believe me later.

Yeah I'm kind of a dick. (or am I?)

 [If I were to meet myself of 5 years past, this would be my past self's face]

Past me does not approve of my sexual shenanigans. Current me does not approve of retroactively becoming a cartoon.

I am a gun owner. I'm comfortable around guns, I have fun shooting them and maintaining them is pretty fun too. I was approached by the owner of a bar I frequent about clearing and maintaining an old German pistol he came across today. I offered to do it for free just for the experience of learning something new. As you probably would be unable to guess from this post, I don't advertise my interest in guns because there are enough people out there who associate firearm ownership with insanity and baby killing. Being associated with insanity and baby killing can seriously hinder your chances at getting your bone on.

Which leads to my next bout of man whoring hilarity. Picture this setting:

You take an attractive girl home. Attractive enough for you to want to fuck her, albeit you have whiskey dick. (I was satisfied with my encounter the next morning, when I had sober dick and went for round two, but that's irrelevant) You're fooling around in your parents house, because you're not retarded with your finances and are saving for your own home instead of pissing away $6500-$10k a year on rent. Okay, fine. Chicks don't really care about where you live so long as they aren't made to feel awkward or slutty about it.

Now things are hot and heavy. She wants it. You want it. She's on top of you. She tells you to get a condom. Your first thought is "FUCK YEAH! Girl on top!" your second thought is "Can I reach my condoms from here without moving?"

For me the answer is "Yes."

 "Yes" is also the answer to another question:

"Can I reach my scary looking, .40 caliber handgun from here?"

Fuck.

[My personal Cock Block, in every way imaginable]

My Brain:"ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck"

Your condoms are in your nightstand drawer. Next to your handgun. Your instinct is to fling open the nightstand drawer to retrieve the condoms. After all you want some awesome chick on top action. (Which is surprisingly not as good as I expected it to be when I was younger) If you fling the drawer open she will see your "fully automatic, heat seeking, cop killing, freedom oppressing, baby murdering machine" The solution?

A minor heart attack. Luckily your heart attack stops all the blood from escaping your brain to engorge your penis long enough for you to realize that your arms are skinny, and the condoms are up front in the drawer while your gun is in the middle. Open the drawer slightly, get those condoms (which were already strategically separated from each other) and close the drawer. Disaster averted.

Now it's time to tear that bitch open (oh the wit with those dual meanings!) and go at it like a rabid dog. Then wake up 4 hours later and do it again. God Yes.

Here's the thing. Despite the initial heart attack, I have NOT LEARNED MY LESSON. Every time I am about to get some girl on top action THIS IS AN ISSUE.
Plus side: The 18 year old went through my drawer. Didn't bat an eye. Still comes back for more.
Down side: One of these days I'm going to get my face clawed off then maced, while in a girl, because I will forget to close the drawer. Then, with my luck, I'll associate the orgasm with the pain and get into S&M.
Possible up side: Maybe I'll be able to hook up with Rihanna.

 

 [Fuck Yeah!]

 Wait, suggestive picture + S&M discussion makes me frightened for my Johnson.

Sadly the remainder of my sex life, other than a few farting incidents (and faux farting incidents) is rather "vanilla." Further discussion of me getting it on will probably not occur here just because, its lack of anything odd would just be me stroking my own ego, which I possibly already stroke more than my dick. Also I doubt anyone would find my ego stroking rather hilarious or entertaining, thus defeating the purpose of this ridiculous blog experiment.

So, Rocketeers! Until next time, I bid you farewell. Go forth and do your utmost to further the cause of Socialism for the Glorious Soviet Union! Or just go get piss drunk and fuck a random. That's cool too.