Ask Blognigger: A Happy Marriage - Pt. 3

The solution is this:

And let me just say one final piece: I understand your skepticism. One of the greatest disappointments of my life has been learning that whenever someone says they have something that's magic, it's always bullshit. Starting with seeing Doug Henning and those bozos in Merlin when I was 8, and learning that all that shit was fake, and moving on to any time someone has said they had a secret or a shortcut or a strategy or a solution, it has always turned out to be not quite what was promised; always designed to make you work more, or wait more, or buy more shit, but never ever the magic it was promised to be.

I'm sure that what solidified my skeptical foundation must have been my experience with Rembrant Co. X-Ray Sunglasses. I can just smell the pages of comic books and my old room when I look at this:

Gorgeous. I'll probably see something like this in my mindseye on my deathbed. My grampa chillin and beckoning me with those yellowed comic books and that smell.

But goddamnit, look at those bullshit false promises. The lies were so deceptive, so gorgeous, so American...

See through fingers!
through skin!
See yolk of egg
See lead of pencil
Nothing else to buy!

It's like a beautiful poem written by George Bush and Gollum.

See through clothes. See...through...clothes. Now that was the real jam right there, and that's what got me to save my allowance and send in ten bucks. I couldn't tell my parents of course - I wonder why not? Maybe the glasses were just so incredible that I knew my mom and dad would stand in the way or fuck it up somehow. Or maybe I just knew that my parents wouldn't let me have them because my they didn't want me to see naked ladies, like not being allowed to get a Playboy.

I couldn't tell my parents, so I got a fucking money order. First trip to the post office ever - 107th between Broadway and Amsterdam next to the methadone clinic. Anyone feel me? Holla back.

I checked our goddamn mailbox every day after school - skipped mcDonald's and went straight home to beat my mom back to the house. When the package finally arrived and I saw it in that mailbox, I felt like I was going to swallow my own tongue or suffocate.

I hid that shit under my shirt so the neighbors wouldn't see, got upstairs, ran to my room, tore that shit open, ripped out the glasses, threw them on and nothing nothing nothing happened. My hands looked totally normal just darker and it was all fake; all bullshit and fake. I was all alone in my fucking silent room with the torn cardboard mailer and the useless sunglasses and no one to tell.

So I know why you want to protect yourself, and build a wall, and don't want to believe me when I say I have the solution. But I do. I have the solution.

Here it is:

Handjobs from white chicks.

There. Now that you have it, you can relax. There's no more Terrance and Phillips, it's just us, and we have the secret. Now you can relax, and let me explain it.

There are several different locations in New York City, and I'm not talking about little asian massage parlors on top of wholesale garment shops... I'm talking about locations in manhattan in which white college-age girls, who are NOT prostitutes and are not dirty and are not diseased and are not depressed, will welcome you into their neat studio apartments, and for half the price of your cable bill, will take off your clothes, take off their tops, rub your shoulders, work their way down your chest, envelop your redness, drip oil onto you, tease it until you're as hard as a 2-by-4, and finally, while you gently caress their sorority breasts and gaze into their blue eyes, they will grab hold of you and hit 5th gear till you make a mess.

Want to know where they are? Fuck you, I'm not fucking illoogle. Go learn about boolean operators and search the interdex.

I find that practicing this ritual once a month allows me to remain a productive member of society, and stay completely and utterly dedicated to my fantastic and unique wife - without whom I would be dead as Len Bias. I am able to maintain a productive and beautiful sex life with my wife, because once a month I know that I will be able to experience a powerful orgasm with a completely new girl who poses NO threat to my family, and who I never have to see again.

Let me anticipate some of your comments, not that it will stop you:

1) I don't give a FUCK what society says. I absolutely KNOW that this solution is the right one for me, because it lets me deal with my chemicals and satisfies a STUPID, MEANINGLESS chemical urge in a safe and efficient manner. As far as I'm concerned, it's like eating a grape or taking a lexapro: Chemical imbalance, Chemical realignment. Because those chemicals are properly maintained, I won't ever have my head explode in 20 years and have to flee my family the way my father did.

2) The churchy cockmasters who tell me I'm a sinner have already slashed their credibility by giving rimjobs to alterboys. Fuck you.

3) To the judgemental park slope dykes and dads who ask me if I'd want my daughter doing that to some guy some day? FUCK YOU. That's a low blow but I have an answer for you: I'm a dad, and to think about my daughter with ANY man - even one she's dated for 5 years without holding hands - in ANY kind of physical situation makes me want to vomit and cut my own eyes out. So I'm not a good judge. Go fuck yourself.

4) To the judgemental park slope moms who would ask what about my wife? How would I feel if she were doing the same thing? Well Oprah, if she kept it under control the way I do, and was SAFE, and it made her happy AND she didn't let me find out about it?? GOOD. god bless her. I hope she IS doing it.

I guess fuck you too, right?

5) To the judgemental fucks who ask how I can look at myself in the mirror while I live a life peppered with a monthly lie? No, U! TELLING HER would be the most selfish thing I could ever do- it would be all about absolving myself from the nonsensical guilt you're trying to infest me with, and it would ONLY serve to hurt her for no reason in return.

That's the solution, and I feel great.

There's your answer Deb - that's my advice. If you want a long and successful marriage, respect the chemicals, and know that they have nothing to do with whether your husband loves you the most. He's gonna look at tits. He's gonna spank it to the girls in his ibook. He's gonna wish he could have a monthly handjob from a white chick.

Let him do it! Be secure! He's a person and he loves you! Help him be like me; I'm the greatest fucking husband in the world.