Archive | July, 2012

Love Tips

14 Jul

Some tips are good. Tips that help you through life–good. Tips that you give waiters and waitresses–great. Tips that you spot but think little of because you don’t realize they’re just tips and not the entire mass and then you hit them with your cruise ship that you had told everyone was unsinkable but then boom you hit the damn thing and it was under the whole time how were you to know but so what you hit it and now you’re sinking but don’t worry you’ll be famous forever for it–and dead–bad.

This is a collection of the first kind of tip. The kind of tip that improves your life and makes you a better person. And a better lover 😉

[Editor’s Note: It ruins your credibility when you use emoticons in your articles.]

[Kyle’s Note: :-P]

1. Gently caress her body with your finger tips. Run up her spine, along the backs of her arms. Whisper “…targeting…” in her ear. Then, every few seconds, pinch her as hard as you can and say “Kaboom.” The light nerve stimulation combined with the images of incendiary bombs releases endorphins that amp up sex drive.

2. Women love nose play. While she’s laying in bed, looking up at you expectantly, her eyes soft and pleading, leap on top of her like the great ape that you are. Straddle her torso. Look at the flash of fear in her eyes. Let it pass. Start scooching forward. The feel of your taint sliding up her sternum drives her wild and releases endorphins that amp up her sex drive. Push your hips forward. Say, in your most effeminate voice, “Eskimo kiss” then tickle the tip of her nose with your penis until you climax.

3. Take your lover from behind. As she gets close to climaxing, scream “There’s another guy in here!” This will terrify the shit out of her and kill the mood. Make sounds like you’re struggling with someone, but don’t get out of her. Fall forward, pressing her onto the bed. Keep making sounds like a fight. Maybe even give the other guy a funny voice. This tactic could have big rewards, as your lover may be turned on by listening to you defend her so bravely, but it will most likely kill the mood for the both of you, turning your erection into little more than a boneless crotch finger. See tips 1 and 2 to reclaim the mood.

4. Put on a pair of silk gloves and dawn a top hat. Undress your lover slowly, running your silk-laden fingertips along every inch of her body. When she’s good and hot, move to the foot of the bed. Stand there, completely nude and completely aroused, letting your manhood swing proud. Bing bong bing bong, it will say–like a disgusting grandfather clock. Remove your hat and introduce yourself. Say “I am the Love Magician. And I am here to make my lunch–disappear!” And then take an enormous dump on the ground. The smell of your feces will release endorphins that will make her south mouth salivate with desire. Get back on the bed. It’s show time.

5. Scream “BOOM!” every time you thrust.

6. Cover a pearl necklace with lube and stuff it into your butt. Once you start making love and she’s close to climaxing, pull out. Throw yourself onto your back and spread your legs wide. Say “You have given me a gift from your vagina. Now let me give you a gift from mine–from my boy vagina.” Reach with your thumb and index finger into your butt and draw out the pearl necklace. When she starts and tries and backs away from shock, fear, and carnal desire, pursue her. Being chased with an object recently removed from a human body releases endorphins that put her sex drive through the roof.

7. While she’s on top of you, reach out and grab both of her hands. Tense your arms to give her some support while she’s grinding. Then, do your best impression of her parents. Alternate between father and mother. Do not let go of her hands. Scream the name of her family dog as you climax.

8. Leave a bouquet of flowers at your lover’s office. Inside the bouquet, include a note that reads “Flowers for my flower” or something along those lines. “A rose for my rose.” Resist all “Seed” entendres; they will send the wrong message. Stick with more romantic, erotic messages. “I want to stab you with a shovel and put roses in you.” “You are dirt.” Then, leave a gift card for her favorite restaurant and tell her her next clue is there. When she gets to the restaurant, have a table set out for her. Leave a note there that reads “You better get used to stuff like this.” Leave a note on her entree that says she has fifteen minutes to eat before the building explodes. When she runs out to her car, have a note under her windshield that says “…with desire.” She will not understand and neither will you, but that’s not important. On the back of that note, write “You need to get home before your dessert gets cold.” She will hurry home as quickly as possible. When she walks in and calls your name, don’t say a word. Put cut out paper arrows on the ground that lead to the bathroom, where you lay in a tub full of red water, fake blood poured all over your wrists. She will scream and cry, but don’t move. The sight of a dead body releases endorphins that can moisten even the driest flap of lady meat. She may even climax right there. When she drops to her knees by the tub, burst into life and scream “SEX!” Leap on top of her. Your sudden resurrection will fill her with desire. For you.

Making a Record

3 Jul

My band, Savage and the Big Beat, is finishing up recording our first EP. It will be called Love and Hunting and should be out soon. My friend, Roy Robertson, recorded us in his home. Below is a brief account of that process.

I arrive at Roy’s house. As soon as I open my car door, I hear a buzzing like an electric razor. I look around to see who is shaving outdoors, but see no one. I locate the sound. There is a pile of raw chicken meat in the middle of Roy’s front lawn.

Next to the pile is a piece of poster board affixed to the ground with a stake. “HUNGRY YET?!” it says. I don’t know who Roy is attacking here. The obvious answer would be that he’s attacking meat-eaters. I think it would also be easy to assume he is attacking chickens with this display–making some sort of example out of these poor bastards. I consider throwing the chicken away–the smell is awful, and I’m worried about neighborhood dogs eating the chicken and getting sick, but then I remember a time when I was jogging and a bunch of dogs ran up and started barking cat calls, baffling me on a zoological level and offending me on a personal level, because all their cat calls were about my rounded bottom and soft, human genitals. Remembering this moment, I decide that the dogs probably have it coming and leave the chicken exactly where it is.

I go up to the door and knock several times. There is no answer. I can hear drums being pounded inside the house and assume they can’t hear me. I don’t want to call one of them and have a ring on the recording, so I open the door and walk in. Roy and my singer, Max, are sitting in the living room. Roy has an eggplant in his lap. There are several small bite marks taken out of it, as if it had been nibbled by  a rodent.

“Oh,” I say.

“Just walk on in, Kyle,” Roy says. He is wearing dark shades. His beard is wild and his hair unkempt. He is wearing an off-white t shirt that used to be regular white.

“Hey man,” Max says. His palms are resting on his knees and when he looks at me he looks very tired. He has brown hair on his head.

“We’re talking about recording,” Roy says.

“Oh. What’re you talking about?” I ask.

Recording.” Roy says.

“I mean what about recording.”

Roy grumbles and gets to his feet. Max flinches.

“Kyle, what does this look like to you?!” he asks, shoving the eggplant in my face then pulling it away.

“It looks like an egg plant.”

“Wrong!” He screams. His free hand is clenched. Max looks at me, confused and frightened.

“That is an eggplant. It looks like an eggplant,” I say.

“No talking!” Roy commands, his voice cracking violently on “talking.” He tousles his hair and pulls a section over his right eye. “Max!” He spins on his heels to face Max. “What does this look like?”

“A…b…a…dinosaur egg…?” He looks at me and smiles sheepishly.

A few seconds hang after he answers. Roy shakes his head, looks to the ground, then emits a shrill howl, throwing his head back, facing the ceiling.

“A liver!” Max shouts, his hands out, attempting to calm Roy. “A tumor! Bob Dylan!”

I scramble. “Vegan things! Quinoa!”

Roy is suddenly silent. “It looks like a giant jelly bean, dip shits.” He throws the eggplant into the chair he has just vacated. “What is the point?” I hear him asking as he walks into the kitchen.

“How’s it been going?” I ask Max. Max tells me that he hasn’t gotten to record yet. “You’ve been here for hours,” I say.

“Roy recorded all the vocals for our songs already. He told me to take them home tonight and listen to them and then come back tomorrow and I’d know how to sing them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s only kidding if he tells you he’s ready to record. He’s not ready to record.” Roy spins on his heels and throws a deck of cards into the air. They fly all over the room.

“What have you guys recorded, then?” I ask. He looks at Roy and then looks at me. He begins to speak, but for a moment, his mouth opens and nothing comes out.

Then, he says “We’ve recorded–we went through the keys and the drums for two of the songs, but then Roy took us on this twenty minute walk that ended back in the recording area and he showed us that none of the mics were plugged in.

“A Rude Awakening!” Roy says from the floor as he picks up the cards.

Max continues. “Then he plugged the mics in and told us to take our places and start on the first song on his signal. He positioned his chair so he was facing us and we waited for his signal. Then we sat there in silence for twenty minutes.”

“The sssssound of silence,” Roy says directly into my ear, startling me. “Ssssslippery, ssssslimy, ssssssnakes” he says, gritting his teeth and doing a slithering motion with his hands.

“What happened after twenty minutes?” I ask. “Did you record anything?”

“Roy recorded himself slow clapping in an empty room.”

“And then?”

“Then he spent a while trying to put effects on the clap. After that, we tried to record ‘Castles,’ but Roy was playing the slow clap in our headphones while we were doing it, so it kept throwing our timing off. He also let his dog in the room and kept throwing its toys at our feet. It bit me.” Max rubs his enormous foot and looks sullenly at Roy.

“The dangers of expressing ones’s self!” Roy says. He tousles his own hair, claps once, and then produces a loud yelp.

“Okay, Roy, we need to express our songs into microphones without being bitten by dogs.” I pause for a moment, thinking of what I just said, taking an inventory of my life. “Can we please do that now?”

“Oh yeah totally,” Roy says, then smacks Max on the top of Max’s head and runs back into the recording area.

“Roy, don’t hit!” I yell after him, but it’s too late. Max sits in the chair, rubbing the top of his hair and looking sore.

“I’m sorry for that, Max. That’s just–that’s Roy. You still want to record?”

Max nods slowly, his hand still on the top of his head. I suddenly realize that Ryan is in the backroom and has been playing the same beat since I arrived.

“Roy said Ryan could stop playing when his drums sounded like the heartbeat of a whale. He’s been playing for hours. He just can’t get it.”

I sigh and motion for Max to follow me as we head back to record our EP.

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