May 31

Chapter 11: There’s A Penis In My Brownie

Today, I learned everything I ever want to know about marijuana. Last night, I agreed to visit a friend, Smith, whom I hadn’t seen in since college. He was always a party guy and always got the girl, but he never let anything get in the way of his studies. Basically, Smith was always considered “that guy” every high school kid dreams about being. He now lived in kind of a sketchy area of town so I decided take my dog with me to walk with… because who in their right mind is going to fuck with a man who owns a miniature Beagle? When I walked in his house, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn’t a bad smell, but it also wasn’t a smell I’m writing about to Freebeze as if it’s the Penthouse Forum. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by a complete stranger whom I had never seen before. He walks up, looks at me as if I’m the most interesting thing he had ever seen, and says, “Ya wanna eat a… brownie?” The way he emphasized the word “brownie” made me suspicious. Being a complete fat ass, he had my attention. But I was curious as to what kind of brownie we were talking about. I only know of three definitions. One’s a delicious treat, the other is a female child selling cookies, and the last one contains marijuana. Two of those things I could go to go prison for eating, so I had to play my cards right. But unfortunately my hunger had completely taken over this poker game. I took a brownie. When a little girl didn’t come out of the closet, I knew my chances of my not going to prison escalated from 33% to 50%. About 30 minutes later, I realized if the cops walked in, my ass was going to get pounded by a 400 pound white guy named Chuck who had a shaved head and a Swastika tattooed on his chest. I was high. This was my first experience with marijuana. On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about doing it again. I hated it! Why do people smoke weed? All it did for my fat ass was make me dizzy and give me the munchies. If I wanted to get dizzy I would just climb a flight stairs; and if I wanted the munchies I would simply turn on the TV and wait for a Pizza Hut commercial to come on. It was a Wednesday, and Pizza Hut always runs special commercials for their Wing Wednesday promotion. You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m not popping a boner during those amazing 30 seconds of television.

When I was able to stumble my way over to the kitchen counter, the baker wanted to educate me on my marijuana. At this point, I was spacing out. I truly can’t tell you one thing he said. All I remember was him pulling out a marijuana plant like it was no big deal. The brownie I already ate was making me extremely paranoid. I was expecting DEA agents to jump through the windows and haul my fat ass away. Meanwhile, he acted like it was a fake plant he just purchased at Target using a 20% off coupon. When my bones stopped shaking and I gathered my thoughts, I picked up on the part of the conversation he was supposedly having with me that nobody would’ve enjoyed walking in on. He started showing me the part of the plant used to make the brownies and all of its anatomy. If you ever want to lose a buzz, just listen to someone talk about the anatomy of a plant. It’s like masturbating to senior citizen porn. You know what you’re working toward, but it’s just never going to get there. As he continued blabbing on like a three year-old girl talking about her Barbie’s new outfit, I started looking at the plant. Being high, my mind began to head in every direction. For some reason, my mind locked on the thought that plants are not much different than people. While I was deep in thought and staring at the plant, I began to notice how this plant even resembled a human being. It had two stems where the arms should be, a fluffy top for a head, and even two smaller stems where the leg should be. It was uncanny. I then began wondering about the part that was used to make that batch of brownies. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever grow back. Did the plant feel any pain when it was cut off? Does it even realize it’s missing a giant part of its body? Then, for some strange reason, I noticed where the part of the plant used to make the brownies was from. If the plant were actually a human being, we would’ve cut off its penis and made brownies with it. Naturally, this made me shrug. In my mind, I had just eaten a plant’s cock. All that I can think is, “Great! First my coffee, now my brownie. I can’t even get high without a dick involved. Cocks are taking over my life. Whether it’s small, realistic and in my food and drink, or giant and fake and lodged in my girlfriend.” Once the high wore off, I realized how dumb my thoughts were. Plants are nothing like humans. I’ve never seen a plant open a laptop and attempt to masturbate to senior citizen pornography. I’m ashamed to say I have seen this done by a human being (for your own sake, never look at my browser history). However, humans do act like plants. We all love sitting around and doing nothing. Some of us even lay out in the sun and absorb light. In humanity, we call those people, “ugly girls who are trying to look pretty.” In the plant world they call it, “Survival.”

As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!

May 12

Chapter 10: So You’re Dating A Whore?

It seems like just yesterday that the giant dildo arrived into my God forsaken life. I will never forget its arrival; packaged all snug and nice in its bubble wrap (which I was never even able to enjoy). At the time, that throbbing replica of King Kong’s penis was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Little did I know that King Kong’s dong would just be the start of the most ridiculous relationship ever known to man. I was in love with this girl. I even attempted to put the giant dildo behind me (theoretically speaking). But suddenly, the dildo wasn’t even the problem anymore. It’s what it was being used for.

I’ve been single for about 24 hours now. You’ve read the ridiculous break-up stories from the previous chapters, but those cannot hold a candle to what just happened. If I were to pay Taylor Swift to write a song about my break-up, she would say, “Fuck this!” and walk off. What’s even worse is she asked if we could still be friends. That’s like the guy who just raped you asking you out on a date. It’s about as evil as giving Osama bin Laden frequent flyer miles for 9/11. The sad thing is – I broke up with her.

It all started about one month ago. She came to me, dildo in hand, and told me she wanted to be a cam girl. At this point, the dildo had basically become the equivalent of a teddy bear to a three year-old orphan who had no shot of ever getting adopted. It went everywhere with her. It was torn up, dragged through the mud (you know what I mean), and placed properly under her pillow at night. In her defense, she was very nice about it when she came to me, saying, “I’m going to be a cam girl. I can make good money to add to our successful lifestyle.” But what I heard was, “You know how I love shoving this giant dildo up my vagina? Well, I want to do it in front of tons of lonely, obese men while they unfold their fat rolls in an attempt to find their penis and stroke it before their Oreo craving kicks in.” If you’re unfamiliar with what a cam girl does, you are probably not a guy because they are plastered all over every pornography site on the web. They are the Jehovah’s Witness of pornography. They always pop up when they’re not needed. A cam girl is basically a digital prostitute. Lonely guys pay you to do sexual things to yourself in front of about 800 (average night for her) other lonely guys. In all sense of the matter, cam girls are legal whores. Of course, every bone in my body was against it. When she first told me, my body shook like Michael J. Fox in a bouncy castle. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was as if her dildo had come to life and raped my ears. But being the idiot that I am, I told her that as much as I was against it, I would try my best to support her. Actually, I wasn’t given an option. She was going to do this no matter what. I was very attracted to her persistence. I love a woman who knows what she wants out of life and will stop at nothing to get it. It’s just in this case, that happened to be tons of penises! I’m not an idiot. I knew exactly where this was going to end up. It all starts with being a cam girl. Then some producer invites you to Los Angeles to talk about your future… and by future, he means you sitting on his dick for $200, a promise of a great future with endless opportunities, and a giant slap on the ass before the door hits you on the way out. Even then, I was willing to fight the odds. From the bottom of my disgusting, rotting heart, I tried my best to accept it, but I simply couldn’t. I never want to be the guy who tells someone what they are doing is wrong. I believe everybody has a conscience and should be able to make their own decisions, but that horrible opinion changed when King Kong’s dong suddenly started getting siblings. Every week, a new package arrived with a new sex toy for her “shows.” I was in a living Hell. I would be in the living room hearing her smack her ass as desperate guys tipped her with tokens. Why do they use tokens? This isn’t a mother fucking Chuck-E-Cheese! I never remember going there as a kid and seeing Mr. Munch shove his guitar up Chuck E.’s ass for 5 tokens while I shoved disgusting pizza in my fat face. Needless to say, every night ended in a fight, which lead me to sleeping on the couch. I slept their by choice. The room stunk of whore and lubrication. Yes, lubrication. Using that dildo had to be like trying to shove a hot dog in a pen cap. I was more than happy to sleep on a freshly Febreezed couch with no hint of slut. When I broke down and begged her to stop, she simply looked paused, looked me the eyes, and said, “Get over it.”

After one month, I finally caved. I had become the person I hated. I never understood how a man could date a girl who did pornography. That’s when I realized I wasn’t that man. I still loved her, but I simply could not support it. She had earlier arranged to surprise her mom on Mother’s Day on the other side of the country. I could have been a dick and told her family what she was doing, but I didn’t feel it was my place. If what she was doing was truly wrong, karma will take its toll. Instead, I drove her to the airport after a long fight, hugged her goodbye and drove off. Later than day, she sent me a text telling me she didn’t know if she would be able to face me again and may stay on the west coast where she was from. She said she needed her space. I told her, “I understand. Let me know what you decide.” In reality, I was thinking, “Bitch, you are 2,000 fucking miles away! If I gave you any more space it would contend with your vagina!”

The next day, I took my dog and headed about an hour north to watch the NBA Playoffs with my brother, sister-in-law, and their friends. We played a game where every time somebody dunked the ball we had to take a shot of Vodka. Needless to say, we all took 13 shots in about two and a half hours. My brother is a detective, so we always compete to see who got more trashed using the Breathalyzer. After 13 shots, I blew a .074. My lucky streak had continued as I couldn’t even get shit faced right. About halfway through the night, she tries to call me. I ignored it. She then tried to Facetime with me. I ignored that as well. I then received a text saying, “Let’s make this work.” At this point, my brother and everyone knew everything! They would’ve literally killed me had I agreed to it, which I didn’t have any desire of doing. Being the civil person I am, I wrote her a very brief text message. All it said was, “It’s over.” You would have thought Hell had frozen over. I had missed call after missed call. Finally, after about an hour, she sent me a text message that said, “I can’t believe you dumped over a text! Grow the fuck up! What a slap in the face to me!” At first I was bothered by this because she was right – it was tacky. But after thinking about it, I remained calm, took a deep breath, and simply wrote back, “Get over it.”

As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!

Mar 15

Chapter 9: Tales of Teenage Masturbation

Human beings suffer many indifferences in life, whether it is religion, sexual orientation, or even political party affiliation. But one thing we all have in common is the age range in which we discover one of the greatest things life has to offer – masturbation. I was a late bloomer. The first time I masturbated I was 15 years-old. It was a late Sunday night. My parents were in the other room deeply indulged in their awful television program. I was in the computer room with my pants around my ankles watching the sex scene from the movie Wild Things with Denise Richards and Neve Campbell. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I was kind of touching myself, but wasn’t quite sure how it worked. Finally, I hit the “point of no return.” It’s that point that no matter what you do, you can’t stop yourself from exploding testicle yogurt everywhere. I was a little scared when I hit this point, then my legs went dumb and my mind turned to mush. The next thing I know my dick turned into a machine gun, shooting semen into the air like a water works show. This is also when I learned to never masturbate with your mouth open. No further explanation needed. As sad as it is, masturbation has stumped me. Like most people, I mastered the art in my teen years. Girls, if you ever wonder why guys don’t choose hand jobs as their intimate moment of choice, it’s because we can do it better. You will never be able to give a man a hand job better than he can give himself one. Stick to blow jobs. After my first explosion into the world of sinning, I spent many days in high school questioning the art of masturbation while my teacher lectured on about shit I would never use in life. For example, what do blind people think of when they masturbate? Do gay men masturbate to their own penis? If most animals indulge in masturbation, is this why the T-Rex was so angry? Are random boners actually ninja hand jobs? Does God really frown upon masturbation? Personally, I feel if God didn’t want us to masturbate, he would’ve made our arms shorter. I also discovered during a surgery in high school, it scares the shit out of nurses if you masturbate while attached to a heart monitor. If you want to convince your kids that masturbation is wrong, tell them that every time they masturbate, God makes someone buy a Justin Bieber album.

Masturbation has always played a role in my role. I try to masturbate once per day for health reasons. The other four times are just for me. Masturbation actually lead to the most embarrassing moment in my life. It was my first semester in college. I was in an all boy’s dorm at the time, and my roommate was in class. I was standing by my computer desk looking out the window trying to figure out what to do. It didn’t take long to realize I was going to masturbate. I had recently downloaded a porno, so I sat down, dropped my pants, and hit the play button. About ten minutes in I realize that this wasn’t necessarily a porno. It had such a good story line I almost forgot to masturbate. Finally, the “actress” grabbed his cock and told him she could afford to pay to have her pool cleaned. This is about the time I grabbed my cock and began beating my dick like it was Rihanna and my fist was Chris Brown. The porno was excellent! The acting was fantastic, too. The quality was so good you actually see how disappointed their parents were. About fifteen minutes in, I get a knock on my  door. Every guy has experienced this panic. In less than a second, your pants are on and your belt is fastened. It’s truly an impressive sight to see. I went to the door and it was my fellow dorm mate. For some reason, he was very embarrassed and shy. It was unlike him, as he was typically very outgoing. Without making eye contact with me, he told me the most horrifying thing any guy could ever hear. Apparently during my wild masturbation session, I had forgotten to close the blinds. About 10 yards outside of my dorm window was the all girl’s dorm. My dorm mate had happened to be over there visiting his girlfriend when they heard screams coming from the hallway. As they ran out to see what the commotion was about, several girls were gathered around the window. One of the girls turned to him and said, “There’s a fat kid across the boy’s dorm masturbating!” When receiving the news, I tried to act cool. I’m sure my face more as red as Squanto’s. As I took a deep breath, I walked over to the window and starred over to the girl’s dorm. Sure enough, seventeen girls were standing at the window. Some were pointing and laughing, others were simply covering the mouths. What is a man to do in this situation? Naturally, I smiled at the girls, closed the blinds, and collapsed on my bed in pure shock and embarrassment. A few seconds later, I finished masturbating. I then felt so lonely, I cuddled myself after. For the next four years, I would get strange looks from girls I would randomly pass on campus. Some girls would try not to laugh, others would avoid me all together. Regardless, these girls had all seen my penis. A positive thing that did come out of this was my fear of being caught masturbating. It had already happened. Besides, a woman who is uncomfortable watching you masturbate shouldn’t have sat so close to you on the bus anways.

As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!

Mar 8

Chapter 8: My God Is Better Than Your God

I apologize for taking a brief hiatus. I decided to take an adventure to the great northwest to do some soul searching. I actually discovered a lot about myself. As it turns out, I have no soul. This must be what it feels like to be a Ginger kid. I also discovered that everybody in the northwest has a weird obsession with Kurt Cobain. In fact, my girlfriend’s sister even went as far to get me a Kurt Cobain t-shirt. She said, “If you’re going to come to the northwest, you have to love Kurt Cobain.” Meanwhile I’m thinking, “Bullshit.” This was the turning point in my relationship with her sister. She broke down every aspect of Cobain’s life saying things like, “He was a very troubled soul. His thoughts were everywhere and he just transcribed them into beautiful lyrics.” Being a smartass, I replied, “I knew his thoughts were everywhere. I just figured they used a mop to clear them up.” Naturally, this put her in a complete state of silence followed by a good five minutes of being chewed out for being insensitive. But much like Kurt, it just went in one ear and out the other. As much as I hate to admit it, I actually enjoy some of Nirvana’s music. However, I never understood the song, “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” As much as teenage boys masturbate, I have a theory that teen spirit is actually slang for ‘semen’. But then I remember that Cobain dated Courtney Love, and since it’s impossible to look at her and ejaculate, I’m assuming he forgot what semen smelled like so that theory is probably wrong.

Like every single human being, I struggle with religion. To me, religion is just like the boogeyman for adults. I see so many flaws in it. For example, in Catholicism, a male having sex with a male is considered a sin… unless that male has yet to hit puberty. And ‘Islam’ means peace? If by ‘peace’ you mean it leaves people in pieces, then that sounds about right. Don’t get me wrong, I have a personal relationship with what I consider God. But my God is probably different from yours. My God isn’t going to ban you from Heaven because you weren’t dipped in water. My God didn’t make a senior citizen collect two of every animal and put them on one boat. Do you seriously believe a senior citizen could accomplish a task like this? Hell, my Grandpa pisses his pants twice a day and Noah was twice his age. Today happened to be one of those days where I was feeling the troubles of life and I begin begging God to show me some mercy while I was driving to the gym. I never expected any response, but what I got was better. What I got proved to me that God does exist, and He is a sick bastard. I got to the gym and began running my pre-workout mile. About half way through the mile and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the treadmill next to me had turned on. It was very eerie and confusing. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was an electrical error. I even thought that maybe the gym was haunted and it was a ghost. But I was wrong. It was better… much better. It was a midget. If you have never seen a midget on a treadmill, you have not lived. Before this moment, my life was an empty mess. But God put this tiny People McNugget on a treadmill to remind me that there is nothing that cannot be fixed with laughter. The little thing could barely reach the handle. He had to jump to change the speed and incline of the treadmill. It was set on 2mph and the poor little guy was running his little heart out. The only thing I could do was stop running, get off of the treadmill, look up to the Heavens, and thank God for life I have been given. Next time you’re feeling down about your life, just remember – you could be a midget on a treadmill.

Feb 3

Chapter 7: The Greatest Break-Up Story Ever Told

“I think we should see a couple’s therapist,” my girlfriend said. “I want to try to save our relationship because I love you.” I took a second to think of a sarcastic remark, and when my wit finally kicked in, I replied, “You going to a therapist isn’t a good idea. You’re so ugly, he’d probably make you lay face down on the couch.”  As I silently giggled to myself, she stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off of the wall. It was her ugly picture, so I didn’t really care. I was just relieved to be out of that conversation. My solution to every relationship complication is referring to my girlfriend as ugly. We both know she’s not, but it definitely informs her that I don’t want any part of the conversation. Plus, it’s much more fun than just saying, “Let’s not talk about that.”

That has nothing to do with the greatest break-up story ever told. That literally just happened minutes before writing this blog. The greatest break-up ever happened with my last girlfriend and occurred about three years ago. This particular girlfriend was absolutely nuts. She was also very gullible.  We lived in the same apartment complex, and when I got tired of her bitching at me for no reason what-so-ever, I would tell her I was going to work out. Instead, I would go to my apartment and masturbate. I weighed almost 300lbs and she actually believed I was going to “work out.” That’s like Hitler saying he’s going to a Bar Mitzvah. That relationship never had a chance to succeed, and I knew that from the beginning. Why did I stay in it? Why does Tajikistan send athletes to the Olympics every four years even though they will never win a gold medal? They do it to represent their country. Somebody has to take last place. I did it for men everywhere.  Somebody has to take the crazy ones off of the radar. It allows other men to succeed. It’s called ‘taking one for the team’. Men like me go very unrecognized and unappreciated, but sometimes you have to embrace the enemy to win the war. You’re welcome, men.

Our break-up may go down as the greatest break-up story ever told. It’s one of those break-ups that my friends will be telling their grandkids about 60 years from now. For liability reasons, I can’t tell you her real name. So for now, let’s just call her Satan. This entire relationship ran its course during my senior year of college. At the time, I was working as a producer and show host for a local ESPN radio station. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and I was in at the station setting up interviews with former NFL players for the week to come. Instead of going back to my place, I went to Satan’s apartment because the game had already started and I didn’t want to watch it alone. I mean, who wants to watch the Super Bowl alone? That’s like Stevie Wonder going outside to watch a meteor shower. It’s just sad and doesn’t make sense. I get to her apartment and she immediately starts getting frisky. I had never seen her so horny! And of all nights, she chooses the one night when the biggest football game of the year is on. If I blew her off, I’d be a dick who doesn’t meet her needs. If I gave her my full attention, I would miss about 30 seconds of the Super Bowl. Being the man I am, I adjusted to the situation. I took her hand, ran back to her bedroom, and threw her on the bed. All of a sudden, I went from radio producer to secret agent. First, I ripped off her pants like they were bursting into flames and her life depended on it. Second, I started to take off her shirt. This is where things got tricky. I purposely screwed up taking her shirt off. I got it stuck over her head to completely cover her face. This gave me just enough time to grab the remote, turn on the Super Bowl, and mute it. Her back was to the television, so she had no idea. I got her shirt off and immediately went down on her. I ate her out like I was a prisoner on death row and it was my last meal. A few seconds into it, her eyes were closed and she was laying back and moaning like God was tickling her vagina with some kind of magical orgasm feather. I was in the clear. I opened my eyes and started watching the game. It took everything in my power not to react to the plays, and at one point I almost bit down in frustration. I was so proud of myself. I had succeeded in doing what every man thinks about while giving a girl oral sex. Everything was going smoothly until she opened her eyes. She peered down at me with glossy eyes of pleasure. From her point of view, I must’ve looked like a shark coming out of the water to attack my victim. Unfortunately for me, my victim tasted like stale bread and rotten eggs. It smelled like a rat had died in her vagina. It made a dead skunk smell like a Glade plug-in. If I was a shark, I would’ve spit it out and swam into a propeller. But I am a man, and I had manly duties. It was my job to make her orgasm as fast as possible so I could watch the game in peace. Little did I know she was on to my scheme. My eyes were glued to the television, while my tongue was glued to what could have been interpreted as a dead fish that had just been raped by a homeless man who hadn’t showered in eight years. Right at this time, the first touchdown was scored. I stopped with my mouth for a brief second to watch the replay, and she caught me. She looked back, saw the TV, and then gave me the dreaded death stare. It was at this moment that I became scared for my life. She ripped her vagina out of my face, slapped me in my mouth, and stormed out of the room. I was sure she was going to get a gun or a knife. If you knew how crazy this girl was, you would have been just as scared. She made girls with PMS look like small children on Christmas morning. I quickly followed her into the other room as to prevent the impending murder. As soon as I walked into the room where she was, I received another slap to the face. That was the final call for me. I knew I had to end that relationship. And I knew I had to end that relationship quick… or else I would miss more of the game. She immediately starts yelling and cursing at me. Within a ten second time period, I was called every name in the book. And on top of that, my phone would not stop ringing. This, of course, led her to accusing me of not answering the phone because it was probably my other girlfriend. Unfortunately, I didn’t have another girlfriend, so I reached in my pocket and without looking, pressed the ignore button. The screaming match then continued. We were both yelling at each other, pointing out every flaw we could possibly find in the other person. Tears were everywhere, crying ensued, and bodies were trembling. Don’t get me wrong, I think she was pretty upset too. Finally 15 minutes later, the relationship was over. During those 15 minutes, I was told how ugly, fat, and disgusting I was. I left that relationship believing I was the most disgusting man to ever grace this beautiful planet. It was definitely the nastiest break-up I have ever been through, and hopefully ever will.

Later that night, I remembered that during the break-up between the Dark Lord and I, I had missed a few calls. I pulled out my phone and went to the missed call screen. It was empty. I had to ask myself if I had checked them during Hell’s Rising (the break-up), but my mind was blank. I went to my recent calls to call my roommate to see if he had called me, and that’s when I noticed something odd. It said I had recently taken a call. Remember how I had been contacting former NFL stars to set up interviews? As it turns out, the NFL’s all-time leading scorer (at the time) had decided to call me back. He had called me right in the middle of me and my girlfriend’s nasty break-up. My phone said that the conversation with this former NFL star had lasted for 16 minutes. Then it hit me harder than AIDS hit Africa – when I had reached my hand in my pocket to turn off my phone, I accidentally answered the call instead. Not only did I answer his call, but he had listened to the entire break-up. I had never felt so embarrassed and awkward in my entire life. I felt like a Jew sitting on Santa’s lap. How could things possibly get any worse?

The next day, I knew I had to call him back. I couldn’t just avoid the situation because I believe in taking responsibility for my actions, and I needed that interview. When I finally made the call, nothing was mentioned. He was completely cool and incredibly nice. I was in the clear. Maybe he didn’t listen to my break-up. Perhaps my phone had simply made an error. I was so relieved. Guys, you know that feeling you get right after you ejaculate? That’s exactly how I felt. Except I felt like I had just ejaculated all over life’s face, and didn’t give her a cloth to clean it up. My co-hosts arrived in the studio, I played the intro, and we went live on-air. It was a popular show and had an estimated two thousand listeners on a daily basis. Without wasting time, we went immediately to the interview. My co-host introduced him and he acted thrilled to be on our show. He was a class act and very down to Earth. Right after the introduction, there was a brief moment of silence on his side of the phone line. After about five seconds, in a very calm, yet excited voice, he took a deep breath, sighed, and said, “Do you guys want to hear a funny story?”

To make a long story short, my break-up quickly became known as, “The Break-Up Heard Around The World.” As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!

Jan 31

Chapter 6: Sloppy Joe and Blow Jobs

I’ve only had three relationships during my lifespan. Is that bad? I don’t know. Seeing as most phone batteries last longer than relationships these days, I’d like to think it’s not. But the more I look back on my past two relationships, the more I realize how similar relationships and being single actually are. In both cases, I ended up getting more action from my hand. My first girlfriend would brag about how good she could give me a hand job. I would just nod to avoid any argument, but in my head I was thinking, “Bitch, please!” I’ve been giving myself hand jobs since I was 10! If you seriously think you can out-jack me, you’re sadly mistaken. Don’t get me wrong, hand jobs are awesome… when you’re 12. You want to give an amazing hand job? Use your mouth. I eventually did tell her that she couldn’t compete with me, and that lead to her getting mad at me for masturbating. I guess she saw my left hand as competition. Imagine if I could give myself blow jobs. There is no way she could’ve competed with my mouth. I would have been better at blow jobs and not talking. I could never be with a girl who didn’t like me masturbating while we were dating. The sad thing is I rarely do it. But if someone is so clingy that they get mad over that, things are only going to get much worse. That’s one thing I took away from that relationship. I refer to that as my “Masturbation Relationship” because it was actually a lot like masturbation – it was fun while it lasted, but ended up in a mess.

I’ve always been the type of guy who would prefer to be in a relationship with a girl before doing too many intimate things. In the transition between high school and college, I did have a ‘friends with benefits’ situation. The only exception was we weren’t really friends. She was a pretty attractive girl and I knew she thought the same thing about me. One night I took her home from school because her sister forgot to come pick her up. We were at school for a rehearsal and I’m not the type of guy who is going to leave a 17 year-old girl stranded. So she hopped in my ride and we left. (For the record, I’ve always wanted to say “ride” to make it sound like I have really nice car. I drove a black Ford Taurus at the time. And believe me, it was the blackest thing about me if you catch my drift.) We didn’t say a word the entire drive back to her place. It was very awkward. It was as if we had just run over the neighbor’s cat and didn’t know if anybody saw so we could drive away, or if we had to confess. When I pulled in her driveway, I shut off the engine and looked at her, as if to very politely say, “Please get the fuck out of my car.” After an awkward five second staring contest, she pounces on me, starts kissing me, and begins playing with my penis like it’s a Goddamn Bop-It. It was more awkward than Eminem picking Rihanna to do a song about domestic violence with. Two minutes later, she jumps off, opens the door, and gets out. Before closing the door, she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

The next day at school, her and I were paired up to take a load of boxes to the new storage annex. We arrived at the annex (which was an elementary school which only held a few classes), and I was putting down the last box. I hear her shut the door behind me. “Oh shit,” I thought. She walks over, leans in, whispers, “I’m falling in love with you,” and starts kissing me. It starts slow and then quickly escalates. The next thing I know my belt is flying across the room and her shirt is being ripped off of her torso. I undid her bra and threw it on the floor. I went to put my hands back on her breast and… hold on… something’s missing. As she continued to kiss me, I managed to open one eye, glance down on the floor, and notice she was wearing a push-up bra. I was thinking, “What the fuck is this bullshit?” Men’s boxers don’t come with built in socks to make them look bigger. This is false advertising! It’s like opening a bag of potato chips and realizing 80% of the bag is nothing but air! Being a fat ass, there are very few things in life that disappointed me more than that realization. Even after my great grandpa died, the only thing I could think was, “Man! I haven’t been this sad since that one time I opened a bag of chips.” After I realized it was a push-up bra, she got on her knees and my pants came off faster than a Kenyan running from the police. She looked at my penis as if she had just found the Holy Grail. Feeling confident, I asked, “See something you like?” She immediately stopped smiling, looked up at me, and said, “Oh, I was daydreaming about what I thought it would like it. I’d prefer to not start any arguments.” I should have been pissed off, but before I could get a word out, my little “disappointment” was in her mouth. Everything was fine and dandy until she grabbed my ass with both of her hands and started pulling me in, as to get every last inch of me in her mouth. Normally, this would’ve been pretty hot, but not today. Why? It was Sloppy Joe day at lunch, and my stomach picked the perfect time to remind me what I had eaten. At this point, I’m trying everything in my power to hold in what could be the most disgusting fart of the century. The pain of the gas was building up in my system and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it in. Mentally, I’m starting to panic. I knew I didn’t have much time. I had to get out of that room. I felt it getting closer and closer, so I did what any man would’ve done – I faked an orgasm. I pulled out of her mouth, turned around, and pretended to shoot my load into the wild blue yonder. I wasn’t out of the dark yet. I still had horrible gas. I turn back around, and she’s staring at me as if I’m the most miraculous man she’d ever seen. My entire focus has shifted to getting out of the room so I could let the air out of my ass, but I couldn’t just bolt out without saying anything. This girl had just told me she was falling in love with me for God’s sake! With very little time left, I stick my hand out, shake her hand, and say, “Thank you for your time.” At this moment, she bursts into tears. I didn’t have any time for apologies though. I pulled up my pants, and ran for the door before my ass made that classroom look like Hiroshima. As soon as I get into the hall, I slam the door shut behind me, lean against it, and rip the loudest, raunchiest fart you could ever imagine. It went on for at least twenty seconds. Once it was finished, I turned around as if to head out of the building. There was a class of kids in the middle of the hallway. They were in a perfectly straight line, just like we were all taught at that age. They had completely stopped and were staring me dead in the eye. Even the teacher, a young heavy-set woman, was completely stopped in her tracks. I was like a deer in the headlights. Suddenly, I notice one of the children getting blue in the face. She begins leaning forward and her cheeks filled up like a balloon. She started puking everywhere. The smell I had released into the hallway was awful. It smelled like a homeless man had been set on fire, and then extinguished by Indian hair. The poor girl was probably 4 feet from where my ass had been. At that moment, all attention had shifted toward the girl. This was my escape. Without hesitation, I bolt for the front door and never looked back. I was in the clear. To this day, I don’t know whether or not that little girl survived, but I do know she will never be able to eat Sloppy Joe as long as she lives.

As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!

Jan 30

Chapter 5: Vagina Neck Cancer

Before I begin, I would like to thank everyone for the kind words, and not so kind words, you’ve been emailing me. Truth be told, I hated Chapter 4. It gave me a chance to get everything off of my chest, so I appreciate everybody reading.

I have suffered from headaches my entire life. I typically have 3-5 headaches per week. I’m not talking about “I can’t have sex because my head hurts” headaches. I’m talking about a “turn you into Stephen Hawkings” headache. They’re crippling. There has never been a doctor who has been able to determine what causes them. I’ve been on every kind of medicine, patch, and even had nose surgeries because, for some stupid-ass reason, the doctors thought that my breathing may be causing it. It’s like walking into the doctor’s office, telling them you have the flu, and the doctor prescribing a haircut. It made no fucking sense! At that point, I was willing to do anything to get rid of the headaches, so naturally I went ahead and had the surgeries anyway. The last doctor I went to about my headaches, before finally accepting it, was a very interesting guy. He was Asian, so naturally I thought he would solve this mysterious headache puzzle like Rubik’s Cube and I’d be on my way (it’s not racist if everyone wishes they could solve one as fast as they can). As soon as he walked into the room, he pointed at me and said, “Your thyroid is swollen.” At the time, I didn’t even know what a thyroid was. For a brief second, I tried to convince myself that “thyroid” was Asian slang for “penis.” A swollen penis? Where’s the problem, doc? Then I remembered that a new born baby has had more experience in a vagina than I have, so a swollen penis wouldn’t do me many favors. For those who don’t know, the thyroid is a butterfly-shaped organ in your neck that produces a lot of your hormones and serves as your body’s thermostat. After the doctor explained this to me, it was off to get cell samples. If you’re unaware of how they retrieve cell samples, it’s typically done by numbing the skin and inserting a needle to gather the cells. Fortunately for me, I had a really gorgeous doctor’s assistant doing my procedure. Unfortunately for me, she was fucking retarded. It was like they had handed her a PhD. after leaving her Special Ed class instead of a sticker. She “forgot” to numb my skin. If you didn’t know, getting a shot in your neck hurts like Hell. It definitely ranks up there with pregnancy and getting kicked in the balls. But this wasn’t a shot. This was twice that size. She was jamming a needle through my throat and into my organ. I had to remind myself that I was at a hospital and not getting shanked in a prison cell. I’m really glad I went through the entire process too, because the cell sample that Helen Keller took came back “inconclusive.” That’s a good thing, right? No. It means they have to take the entire thyroid out because chances are, it is cancerous. The doctors were absolutely stunned by this. At the time, I was 19 years-old. Only 6% of men under the age of 30 have thyroid issues. Of that 6%, it’s only cancer 2% of the time. Thyroid problems mainly run in females. But if any guy is going to get a disease that mostly women get, it’s going to be me. I contract more female-prone diseases than most females. It’s as if God switched my vagina for a penis at the last second as a really cruel joke. (By the way, I have man boobs and I can cook. There is absolutely no need for me to ever have a girlfriend. God definitely wanted me to be a girl.) At the time, I was co-hosting an internet radio show at the university I was attending. We got into the discussion of this certain medical disaster I was going through and how it typically only occurs within females. One of my co-hosts suggested I must have a vagina in my neck, and that’s when “vagina neck cancer” caught on.

I’m not sure why, but my brilliant doctor decided to schedule my surgery two days before Christmas. I think he did it out of spite. He had to have known I celebrate holidays. I mean, I’m white for God’s sake. Luckily for me, Helen Keller wasn’t going to be in the operating room. Otherwise, I would have probably walked out of there missing a toe and a testicle instead of a thyroid. Once they had my thyroid out, they were able to do a more thorough examination and cell sample. There was one small trace of cancer. I guess I should just be grateful that it didn’t spread, but at the end of the day, I still don’t know why the fuck I have headaches! To sum up this story, I walked into the doctor’s office with headaches, and I also walked out with headaches… and cancer. I didn’t even get a Goddamn lollipop.

I’ve never had much luck with my body. Cancer wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. When I was a teenager, I was cast as the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. During a sold out opening night (400 people, 200 children in attendance), I jumped out of the bushes as they were singing “Lions & Tigers & Bears.” When I jumped out, I tripped on my way down, landed on, and broke, my big toe, and managed to scream, “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs. Dorothy’s jaw dropped, the Tinman’s eyes grew four times their normal size, and I’m pretty sure the Scarecrow shit his pants. Parents were grabbing their kids and walking out. Other children were crying. The atmosphere went from a fun, loving musical to a re-creation of the Holocaust. With all eyes on me to save the show, the only thing I did was sigh, “Well, shit.” By that time, the audio crew had turned my microphone on, so everyone heard that as well. The entire show was ruined. I wasn’t supposed to have any courage, but let’s be honest – would you mess with a lion who jumped out of bushes cursing at you? I didn’t think so. Needless to say, I was never cast in a musical there again.

As always, feel free to comment with your thoughts or email me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter.

Jan 29

Chapter 4: Misery Not Included

If you were re-visiting for a hysterical story about the life of misery I live, check back in a few days. I promise this is a very rare occurrence, but shit is about to get serious. I will try to add as much comedy as possible, but this is my only medium to vent. I have less than a handful of friends and family members whom I can openly talk to, so the only natural option is turning to the 20,000 people who read this.

Let me first tell you a little about myself. I’m not perfect. I’m far from perfect. I have so many flaws that I make Helen Keller look like Marylin Monroe. Somehow, I still manage to maintain quite a bit of confidence. I’m an extremely hard worker and I work up to 60 or 70 hours a week from home. If you couldn’t tell, I write jokes for a barely middle-class living. I also write online advertisements on the side. I meet three times a week with a personal trainer because I’m trying to get my weight under control. I’ve been working with him for 8 months and I’ve lost 3 pounds. I’m constantly dieting and trying to discover new healthy recipes, but for some reason the weight just won’t come off. If there is a God, and this is how he intended me to be, so be it. I’m in outstanding shape for someone over 270lbs! Even in the worst of times, I’ve considered myself a lucky person. I mean, how does a random guy’s blog get 20,000 views in two weeks? That’s insane. I get fan mail for this blog. A girl even said she wanted to “make it all better for me (if I knew what she meant).” Bitch, please! You’re 15 and clearly a whore. Oh, a guy in his mid-20’s got you pregnant and is now serving years in prison for pedophilia? Tell me how that doesn’t sound like a perfect episode of 16 And Pregnant. I can see the preview now: “First, he found a penis in his coffee. Now, he’s finding a penis in his asshole as he rots away in prison.” As much as I hate to admit it, I would totally be the bitch in a prison environment. A fluffy, young man who’s never been in trouble in his life? Please! That screams, “I’m going to rape you in the shower!” I have an amazing family and wonderful friends whom I consider family. But if you can’t tell, my romantic life is absolutely despicable. I actually got fan mail that said, “Your love life makes the Holocaust look a family vacation to Disney World.” My first girlfriend was a gorgeous teenage model (in high school, I’m not actually a pedophile). She was a little on the crazy side, but without going into detail, she had every right to be. My second girlfriend was an athlete with a killer body. She was absolutely nuts and had no right to be. My girlfriend now is absolutely stunning, but we have more problems than a black man in the backwoods of Alabama. By the way, my girlfriend is black, so I can totally make semi-racist remarks like that. That is how it works… right?

I’m far from the perfect boyfriend. I work all of the time and I’m sure I could be more affectionate. Plus, if you’ve read previous blogs, you know my sex drive basically doesn’t exist. That’s right, ladies – I’m a man who has no desire to have sex. I will wine and dine you, buy you shit you don’t need, and then drop you off at the front door like a gentleman. Basically, my body thinks I’m gay. I make a lot of mistakes; like making a joke when it’s unnecessary or being, in her words, “too controlling.” Ever since my girlfriend and I have been together, and granted we spent the first 3 months on opposite sides of the country, she has put herself in several positions where she could cheat on me. From what I know (and doubt) she has never physically cheated on me. But emotionally, she has definitely fucked with me. I’ve caught her telling other guys how she wants to be with them or how she wants to sleep with them. I’ve also caught her talking pretty badly about me to her friends, family, and these guys as previously mentioned. How did I catch her? Well, in not the most trustworthy of ways. I have a very keen sense of reading people. If something is off or if someone is hiding something, I know. There is no way around it. Having been with her, I can read her like a Goddamn coloring book. At the first sign of distress, I hopped on her Facebook account. Was it wrong? Absolutely. I don’t want to be that guy. I hate that guy. That guy is an absolute prick. There’s no righteous excuse for doing it, but I knew something was up and I didn’t want to be played. But sure enough, I was being played. I confronted her, and we both lost trust in each other; but there was still a spark, so we worked through it. A month later, we decide to save some money and go on the same phone plan. Being the idiot I am, I decide to pick up the tab every month. Not long after that I get that same sneaky suspicion that something isn’t right. At this point, she never misses an opportunity to log out of her Facebook. So naturally she turns to her phone. Being the account owner, I’m able to read every single text message online. So being the insecure idiot I am, I go read her messages. Sure enough – she’s talking to an ex-fuck buddy about how awful I am. I should have left her at this point. I can make every excuse in the world as to why I didn’t, but the main excuse is I am an idiot. But much like the previous incident, we moved past it. The most recent incident occurred just a few minutes ago. Again, I read her like a book and knew something was up. To no one’s surprise, she was complaining to her sister about me and about how I hold her back from partying and living the life she wants. In her words, she doesn’t know how she got herself in this situation where she feels so trapped. After reading that, I finally understand what black guys mean when they say, “Bitches be trippin’.” I am pissed off at this point! I work 60-70 hours a week, pay every single bill, and I’m holding you back? Not to mention, she also told her sister this: “By the way, he’s completely intimidated by my new dildo. He said I have to keep it put up and not leave out.” Are you fucking serious? Blue whales would be intimidated by this dildo! And of course I want it put up! I mean, am I being overly classy by not wanting gigantic penises hanging around the house when we have company? I would also be afraid my dog would get a hold of it, but I don’t think she could lift 20lbs (by length comparison I’m assuming that’s what it weighs).

I don’t want to be the bad guy. For some reason, I still love the girl. But I’m not going to continue putting myself through this. If you have a suggestion on the correct way of handling this, please comment or email coffeepenis@gmail.com. By the way, I know I’m an idiot. There’s no need to tell me again.

Jan 26

Chapter 3: My First Black Dick

I experienced my first black penis today. No, I did not go to prison and I’m not talking about in my ass. My penis literally turned black. Have you ever seen a banana that should have been thrown away three weeks prior? That’s what my penis looked liked… minus most of the length of the banana. It all started last night when I started having trouble urinating. It became very painful and I had the constant feeling that I had to go. I knew it wasn’t a STD because I had only slept with my girlfriend who I know is clean. I looked it up on WebMD (horrible mistake, I know) and I discovered I have a Urinary Tract Infection. I know what you’re thinking, “I thought only girls could UTI’s?” Well, apparently my penis is just small enough to be considered a clitoris because I definitely have a UTI. For those who have never experienced this delight, let me describe the misery. You constantly feel like you have to urinate. When you do go, just a small amount comes out. When you’re not sitting on the toilet squeezing piss out of your cock, you’re in extreme pain. Your penis literally hurts. Your dick feels like someone shoved a flaming q-tip in your piss hole. When you have one, you can basically eliminate sleeping. I was already insanely tired from a busy day, so I was bound and determined to get rid of this thing at all costs so I could get some shut eye. I started taking cranberry pills like they were painkillers. That’s apparently supposed to help; however it did jack shit. Finally at 4:30AM, I decide to get up and make this vitamin C and cranberry hot tea crap that my girlfriend had for when she got one. As I stand there in nothing but boxers, I’m trying my hardest not to fall asleep, although I know the pain makes it impossible to do so. I boil the water until the steam is whistling out and pour it into my giant mug. As I turn around to grab the tea packets, my elbow knocks the mug off of the counter, and boiling hot water pours out. Where does it land? You guessed it – my dick. So now, not only does the inside of my dick hurt like Hell, but I now have third degree burns on the outside. After screaming every curse word known man about ten times, I grab an ice pack and shove down my boxers. I couldn’t help but laugh. The boiling water made it burn. The UTI made it burn. And now, the ice pack was giving my dick freezer burn. My penis was experiencing the Trifecta or Burning. The ice also made it shrink up like a slug after you pour salt on it. After an hour of miserable pain, I finally decide to make more tea. I (safely) finished it, and sat down to drink it and get some work done on my laptop. Two hours later, I wake up. I had fallen asleep. Not only had I fallen asleep, but I had fallen asleep with the tea in my hands. Only now, it wasn’t in my hand. It had spilled over on to my laptop, completely frying the hard drive. $400 later, I have a new, shittier laptop to go along with my burnt dick. And for those who were wondering – no, nothing helped my UTI. And now my dick is burnt black. Fuck you, tea!

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Jan 26

UPDATE: Chapter 1

For those who read Chapter 1: You Didn’t Read That Wrong, I wanted to give you an update. If you haven’t read it yet, go read it and then check back so you fully understand the story of King Kong’s Dong.

I finished Chapter 1 before my girlfriend arrived home from work. She didn’t even know the giant dildo had come in the mail yet. When I picked her up from work, I told her she had a package. She tried to hide all of her excitement, but I could see her clinching her fist like a child on Christmas morning. When we got home, she immediately went for the package (ironically speaking). She opened it, and to my surprise, she looked at as if someone had stuffed a dead alien in the box. She looked at me, and said, “I did not expect it to be that big.” She closed the box and went in to the bedroom change clothes. I followed behind her like I was on a leash, patiently waiting for what she was going to. Finally after 3 seconds of being patient, I told her she should just send it back. She nodded her head and I thought I had succeeded. I had defeated the giant dildo before it ever saw the light of the day! I pictured walking down the street and men just stopping and clapping for me as if I was a war hero or just saved models from a burning bus. “I am all that is man!” I thought as I walked out of the room, looked at the box, and raised my middle finger as I pictured it bowing before me in defeat (which would have been completely possible because I’m pretty sure this thing had an elbow). The longest day of my life was finally over… or so I thought.

Two days later, I noticed the box hadn’t moved. I was expecting it to be taped up and stamped, ready to be sent back for a refund. But it remained untouched. I finally built up the nerve to open the box. I figured it would soon be shipped out, and I wanted to give one last look at the enemy. I slowly opened the box as if it was bomb taped an Arab boy’s chest, and low and behold… it was empty! Now I wouldn’t put it past this thing to get up and walk out on it’s own, but I highly doubted it. I immediately started throwing open the drawers in our bedroom like I was looking for a key to save my life in another shitty Saw movie. I swung open the final drawer and there it was. It was out of the package. Batteries were in place. I could see this thing looking me dead in the eyes, as if every move I made played right into it’s plan to enter my girlfriend’s vagina. It knew all along that no girl could resist its vibrating beads and 12 inches of purple rubber that could bring any man to his knees. I’m not sure why she ordered it in the color purple. The only conclusion I can come to is she has some sick Muppet fetish. I quickly slammed the door and went to Plan B. I really didn’t want it to come to Plan B. Plan B was sinister. It was sick. It was mean. I was going to destroy this big, purple cock on my own. If I couldn’t convince my girlfriend to hate it, I was going to have to make her hate it. I rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a roll of IcyHot, and rubbed down my enemy. Am I cruel? Absolutely. I’m an evil genius. Guys, if you’ve ever experienced getting IcyHot on your balls, you can only imagine the amount of pain this was going to cause. But I didn’t want to enforce too much pain. I just wanted it to be uncomfortable. I washed about 95% of the IcyHot off. You’re probably wondering, “What’s the point?” Well, I took enough of it off that it wouldn’t cause any pain. But it would, however, completely numb her vagina. This leads to the assumption that this dildo doesn’t get the job done. In war, you sometimes have to sacrifice your soldiers. This was no different. In order for my plan to work, the enemy would have to enter her vagina. In this case, the enemy will assume I have lost hope as it enters the glory zone. But it will only happen once. And it will never happen again. After one unsuccessful go-around, I will have be the victor. Once again, men will take off their hats as I walk by and applaud my victory over one of man’s greatest enemies.

It has been a few days and the enemy remains unused. I am still awaiting the sacrifice. You will be updated as soon as it is made. God’s speed.