you’ve had it.
you had it bad.
yeah. you what i’m talking about.
whipped. sprung. gone. caught up. caught out there. stuck. hooked. thunderbolted
each word describes that same feeling, that same lustful and libidinous infatuation that gives you that same feeling down there everywhere every time you think about them. this isn’t love. not yet, at least. (although, everyones optimum long-term loving relationship does include these feelings) but it is random doodles and not so random flashbacks at work…the type of ish that’ll get you while you’re sitting at your desk, making you randomly shiver and exclaim “ooh shit!!” like someone just dropped a piece of ice down your shirt, and then nervously looking around to see if anyone noticed your aftershock.
it usually sneaks up on us. one day, you’re minding your own business, daydreaming about crocheting and pears and bowling night and sh*t and then, forty-eight hours later, your body has become a erogenous minefield, a walking, incoherently talking victim of ptfs (post-traumatic f*ck syndrome) and you’re wondering to yourself what the hell just happened and when the hell am i getting some again
thing is, although it sneaks up on us, there usually are subtle indicators that you’re on the sexual springboard, and, as a service from the champ, i’ve decided to give you 3 signs that you very well might be sprung
1. you become gilbert gottfried
i lived in a corner suite (two bedrooms separated by a common/living room type area) with three other roommates my freshman year of college, a somewhat unremarkable arrangement sans for an entertaining bi-weekly occurrence the entire second semester. you see, one of my roommates (jay) had a regular jump-off named kimmie, an extremely demure sophomore who would come through every other saturday afternoon (yes. afternoon!!!), chop it up with us in the living room for a few minutes while we were playing nba live, then head to the bedroom with jay. as you know, dormitory walls are notoriously thin, which makes afternoon sex a community affair, but this obviously didn’t phase kimmie at all.
without fail, within fifteen minutes, the barely audible moaning would began. nothing unusual there though, just your perfunctory garden variety sex moans. soon, though, the moans would then give way to the words. by “the words” i mean that when kimmie was kumming, she’d scream out some of the most bewildering, befuddling, and hilarious word combination’s known to man. from “you’re punching it papachulo” to something that sounded like “f*ckkkkk!! toaster!! f*ckkkkk!! toaster!! f*ckkkkk!! toaster!!”, she’d use horrifically awkward syntax, with word combination’s sounding similar to something you might overhear at in an esl classroom for asian toddlers with tourettes. then, afterwards, she’d come back out with us and play spades or tonk like nothing happened. in hindsight, i probably should have married kimmie.
my point is that there’s sex, good sex, very good sex, and sex that’ll have you doing and saying the most inane and unbelievable sh*t during and directly after the act. the type of sex that’ll make you jump up right afterward and iron clothes butt naked at 3 in the morning while whistling “ordinary people”. nothing you do during or directly after that time can be explained by any type of rational thought or reasoning. basically, you become gilbert gottfried
2. you schedule important sh*t around sex
“you know, even though i dont have any gas, and stopping for gas will insure i wont have any cash to buy lunch today, i need to drive to work instead of catching the bus, just to give me those extra 15 minutes i need this morning to, umm, yeah. f*ck this. i’m driving.”
these are the types of conversations you have with yourself everyday when you’re on the springboard.
3. you’re willing to overlook common sense deal-breakers
she still lives with her ma? so what. stop hating. she has the whole basement to herself anyway.
he has a different colored grill for each season? well…you can’t really tell in the dark.
her baby daddy is kimbo slice? whatever. dat bald n*gga can’t beat me
most of us have been there before, where you’re so into someone that you always find yourself making excuses for them and intentionally ignoring sh*t instead of actually wondering why you’re always making excuses and ignoring sh*t. this is easily the worse by-product of the springboard…the fact that your cognitive sense goes completely to sh*t, and, despite your intelligence, you’re prone to make more bad decisions than tavaris jackson
on a positive note, though, the antagonists in these types of situations have been the muses for some of the best music, movies, and art ever made, so maybe its not all bad.
damn. alot of memories in these paragraphs today.
i need my f*ckin toast
—the champ