The writings of Oddpoet

So I am at the Had­don­field Speed line’s park­ing lot and this chick has my dick in her mouth. I’m wax­ing philo­soph­i­cal watch­ing the social insects scurry to their next task.

“I won­der what my future ex-wife is mak­ing for dinner.”

My future ex-girlfriend looks up with fawn­ing eyes and asks “How is it?”

I blurt out “Meatloaf!”

What?

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

I love that line when I’m get­ting a blowjob and I never miss an oppor­tu­nity to use it, much to the dis­may of the blower. It is a bad blowjob. There are two schools of thought on “The Blowjob” One states: “there is no such thing as a bad blowjob”, the other, is the dialec­tic antithe­sis of the first pos­tu­late, “There is! because I have been the recip­i­ent of far too many”

I won­der if it would be push­ing things if I left a “How too” Blowjob sex video on the front seat when she drops me off around the cor­ner from my future ex-house.

My mind wan­ders back to the tableau before me and I start count­ing the insects who are wear­ing sneaks. Footwear was never a big deal to me but when you’re get­ting a bad blowjob, well, Ya got to think of some­thing besides meatloaf.

So I have a pop­u­la­tion sam­ple of about 200 insects and a 45% sneaker wear­ing rate with a stan­dard devi­a­tion of about .5.

“Moan”… “Moan”

Oh yea, I’m drop­ping a few well placed moans for the chick’s ego stroke. You can never tell a chick that she gives bad blowjobs; in fact you can never tell a chick any­thing neg­a­tive because they take that shit per­sonal. A babe can tell a man he sucks at eat­ing pussy and the dude could care less. Okay, he might say: “Wash that stench pit and maybe then I could take off my res­pi­ra­tor and actu­ally eat it Bitch!” But that would be it. He’ll go back to count­ing sneak­ers or think­ing of meat­loaf, whatever.

Now if you tell a chick that shit she would plot your emo­tional destruc­tion. Chicks are the Han­ni­bal Lecters of emo­tional manip­u­la­tion and ulti­mate mind fuck. Yea, you’re pretty well doomed when you piss a chick off.

She comes up for air and I could tell she was about to say some­thing stu­pid like: “I love you”

I don’t give her the chance.

I push her head back down on my rod: “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Back to the sneak­ers, I think I’m on to some­thing, I’m pretty sure I’m close to a Uni­ver­sal Truth. Uni­ver­sal Truths have been fuck­ing with my head ever since I was a kid. I can never nail the suckers.

I’m always danc­ing around the edges.

She gets up and smiles… I smile back. I won­der if our smiles are real smiles. I won­der if I am danc­ing around another Uni­ver­sal Truth.

“Have to get home babe, I have to cook for my future ex-Husband and my gay son is home from school.”

She starts her car and holds my hand dur­ing the short trip. She is squeez­ing my hand like a tea bag try­ing to get as much of my essence as she can.

“Call me Babe!”

I promised I would.

As I get out of her car an old lady shakes her head.

She knows I’m sling­ing dick.

I notice how disheveled the cor­ner prop­erty is since the pre­vi­ous owner got busted for insur­ance fraud.

I turn the cor­ner and my future old lady is walk­ing my future ex-dog argu­ing with my future ex-Son

Some­thing about beer money.

She sees me.

Her smile is a dis­guised wince; she knows I’m sling­ing dick too.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Meat­loaf “I blurt out.

I walk up my future ex-driveway,

I’m pretty sure there is a Uni­ver­sal Truth here; I’m always danc­ing around the edges.