The Collegian's Shel Silverstein

As it is his Birthday this week, I will be dedicating this post to Shel Silverstein.  He is somewhat of an inspiration to me.  Taking the most simple elements of language and turning them into boundless ideas and inspiration for kids everywhere.  Before his death, Shel was working on a college-level poetry book.  It was to be his magnum opus.  To commemorate his birthday, I have decided to post up a few of the poems from the unfinished project.

I present, The Collegian's Shel Silverstein.

The Used Condom

If  I’ve been thrown aside,

Filled with seed, his gooey pride.

I know I’ve helped a lifelong pursuit,

To sully the legions of virgin coot.

And if his friend is drunk enough,

I may have use, to save his stuff.

From sloppy seconds, the finest meal

And STD’s, the one’s that don’t heal.
So humpity hump that tender blossom,

Then thank me once, the used condom.

If I’m drunk too…

If I ‘m drunk too,

Then my penis is game.
To thrust here and there,

For Frat House fame.

And if I’m drunk too,

The 360 will break,
“Why is it out, hm?”

I ask for Rum’s sake.
And if I’m drunk too,

A douche I will be.

Not for fun or for laughs,

But for douchey glory.

Pukey Pat

One drink, two drinks, three drinks, four!
Whiskey, vodka, beer galore!

I say I’m the champ then there is no other!
But here comes the vomit, oh my brother!

Blaaaghahghahshhubbleboo,

I think I farted with a little poo!

Five drinks, six drinks, seven drinks, eight!
If I miss the toilet, it is me they will hate!

So I dash and I run to the porcelain throne,

But I trip and I fall and I vomit while prone!
Blagakakagahubbalug,

Sorry, my friend, I stained your rug!

Nine drinks, ten drinks, eleven drinks, twelve…
I knocked all your bottles off the shelves.
So I stumble and bumble and pass out black,

Before the team can even rerack!
Hublablashablahgukat!
This is the legend of Pukey Pat!

The Appearance of Age in the Age of Appearance.

Lately, I've fallen into a slump...  A slump I blame entirely on the awkwardness of being a teenager who looks like he's in his mid-20's.

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t look my nubile age of nineteen, nor do I really fit the demographic of someone my age either.  My facial hair has body, I don’t attend a secondary school, I’m good at communicating verbally and I don’t let my naivety blind me into hating myself and everything else around me.  I let realism do that for me.

Because of this, I’ve found myself dating women in an age bracket slightly above my own.  Now we all have fantasies about bagging a woman who is a bit older than us, men, but when it becomes the only barrel you can fish out of it makes you want to go dive into the Dead Sea with a bloody dick. 

There are two downfalls to dating older women:  The superiority complex and man-hate.

Let’s face it.  The entire reason a woman her age is even bothering with someone my age is shallow.  They desperately cling onto the innocence of my youth while taking advantage of my matured body; I’m the best of both worlds for a woman who is having an identity crisis.  They’ll tell you things like, “Age is just a number.”  That is until they’re complaining about something and, “You’ll understand in a few years.”

Such a condescending phrase, it makes me want to rip her overly-menstruating vagina out.  Eventually the relationship becomes a game of getting as much sex before she has the depressing realization that I was born in the 90’s. 

A woman will be the first to tell you when you’ve done something wrong and if you’re younger than her?  Then everything you do is wrong and she’ll be behind you explaining how grown-ups do things. 

And if the Gods so happen to give you a day where she isn’t nitpicking at your life, she decides to complain about men her age and offer you advice on how to not grow up into the monsters she’s encountered.  The irony, however, is that the man becomes a monster because she’s self-righteous woman on the brink of having her 30-something unable to grasp the concept of self-improvement. 

So why don’t I date girls my age?  The same body and mind that makes me slightly attractive to older women makes me repulsive and terrifying to girls my age.  The fear is so real that even I feel like a pedophile when I’m hitting on them.  Just because I grew a beard and I don’t dress like I can play FLIPCUP LIKE A BEAST doesn’t mean I’m trying to molest you.

I have no clue how to not seem creepy either.  I’m good at communicating with people; I ask questions and stimulate conversation.  But to girls my age, this just comes off as a rapey vibe.  “Why is he asking all these questions about me?”  She’ll ask herself, “Is he trying to molest me?  What a creeper!”

No, you dumbass, I’m trying to be a decent human being by exercising the basic skill of communication. 

Even on facebook, I can’t so much as make a joke about how attractive a girl is without the vicious backlash of creeper comments.  But if my profile picture had me wearing a snapback with a plastic cup, I’d be more-than-okay to talk about your ass. 

It’s unfair, quite frankly.  I’m a teenager!  I like teenage girls!  I’m not a pedophile.  I just look like one.  Christ.

Thursday Bonus: I am woman, hear me slut.

I’ve been dating my current girlfriend on and off for about six months now.  Being as I’m attracted to fucking lunatics, she and I are always arguing about the most nonsensical bullshit.  When I say arguing, I don’t mean debating or having little whiney tit-for-tat discussions…  I mean we’re storming around, screaming at the tops of our lungs, going on the internet to find factual support and smashing shit over each other’s head. 

Just the other night, we were having a screaming match about whose life is harder…  Men or women?  I don’t think men have harder lives by any means; but the fact that she wanted to give women the benefit of the doubt was pissing me off.  So I did what any man would do, I stubbornly disagreed because fuck you, I won’t let you win, I have a penis and you suck.  It got bad, real bad.  Then it got weird, really weird. 

At some point in the night we both shouted, “If you were a man/woman, you’d understand,” in unison.  The skies darkened, lightning stuck the house and then out of no where we both blacked out.  The next day, I woke up with a surprise…

Holy shit, I was a woman.  I was initially terrified, but then I realized I could really learn from this experience and maybe even exploit the opportunity to understand the female psyche better.  Oh, and my girlfriend did turn into a man…  But there wasn’t much to be learned, she knew all she had to do was stick her dick in things (including me) and she’d survive.  Though my research got cut off early - you'll learn why - I did manage to learn a lot in a few hours...

Here are my findings:

As I am a fairly attractive woman, I decided a good place to start would be in public.  I wanted to exercise my toned ass and see how differently women were treated than men.  I decided to wear something conservatively slutty; I went with a turtleneck and an extremely short shirt that my pussycheeks would poke out from when I bent over.  I figured getting the best of both worlds would be most beneficial. 

On my way to the mall, I noticed how easy it was to hail a cab.  Instead of raising my hand, I decided to rub my boobs together and blow kisses at the passing taxis.  Almost immediately, a driver kicked his fare out to pick me up.  “Awesome,” I thought, “This would be one of the greatest days ever.” 

In the cab, I had some free time to explore my body.  The bumps in the road were setting off mild sensations in my panties and it was thrilling…  Here I thought dicks were sensitive, my muffins were getting moist just riding in a cab.  Score.

I finally reached the mall and completely ignored my fare, I just rubbed my tits together again and he happily drove off.  Apparently rubbing tits = female currency.

In the mall, I was receiving a lot of great attention.  I was thrilled to have men feasting on my goodies with their eyes, but it seemed the other women in the mall were so jealous.  Dressing like a slut felt good, why should I be subject to ridicule?  Is it like cheating at the game?  Do I have to dress boring to even the playing field or something?  I wanted to explore this, so I decided I needed to hit the food court. 

There, I scouted the tables for an attractive couple.  I came across two very attractive college students draped in Hollister apparel.  The guy was something to truly behold, he was like if Taylor Lautner and Taylor Lautner had sex to make a more perfect Taylor Lautner. 

The experiment was simple:  In order to understand the strength of sluttiness, I would invite the man to have sex with me in the bathroom.  I figured I needed a control so I was gunna ask with the girl there.  If I successfully fuck this guy, I would then realize the hostility towards sluttiness.  It’s overpowered as a technique and likely forbidden in the female community. 

I approached the couple and went right at it.  I grabbed him by his dick and balls and calmly asked, “Want to go fuck in the bathroom?”  He looked horrified in the best possible way.  I remember being a guy and this look means, “I’m gunna say yes, but I need to collect my blown mind first.”

Success.  Sluttiness was cheating and that’s why women hate it.  It’s super effective.

Having sex was crazy, too.  It was like going from driving a car to operating a helicopter.  My pussygina was tough to calculate and this guy wasn’t helping.  Sure he had a big dick but I learned that big dicks don’t mean anything, anything I tell you.  Having a clit and the G-spot made it so you need to have some sort of formula to level out the right amount of pleasure.  Too much of one spoiled it for the other.  I gained a new respect for women in sex; I realized it’s a lot of work and not just about getting slammed by a fat stick of meat.  It requires finesse.

After it was all said in done, I was suddenly overcome with the sharpest feeling ever.  As a man, I never really had such powerful emotions.  It took an almost physical toll over me when I felt it; I think it was shame…  But why?  I had nothing to be ashamed – oh…  I did just have sex with a guy in a Sears bathroom.  And that guy was with another girl about fifteen minutes ago.  Such compassion and consideration women have, as if it’s embedded into their chemistry.  It’s like an intense version of post-ejaculitis that men face, but we usually just roll over in our beds and sleep it off.  This was more intense, this was like I just murdered someone.

I couldn’t stand this feeling, it was too much for my first day.  I screamed out into the Sears Tire Center, “STOP THIS!”  Then before you knew it, I woke up in my bed in a cold sweat.

Even if it were a dream, it seems being a woman requires a different mind set.  You have to constantly think about what other people are thinking about you.  You have to worry about the things going in you, rather than the things you’re going in.  The most important thing I learned is that women have a sort of daily quota of sluttiness they can’t surpass, but have to meet in order to keep their self-esteems up.  And that’s what men need to learn.  We have to learn how to coax a woman into meeting her quota with us, rather than spreading herself thin and us getting short-sticked because she showed a little leg to her boss earlier.