Dendrophilia

This morning I woke up a bit earlier than I planned.



Since I was up, I figured I would turn on the computer and convert some J-drama files from softsub to hardsub. If I didn't mention it earlier, I love watching TV shows from Japan.

Once my computer booted up, my Windows Messenger activated. I didn't even realize it was set on automatic. I was immediately nailed by an IM from a XX friend.

XX: Hi!

Me: Hi. Sorry. Just woke up.

XX: Morning wood?



Funny she should ask. She hit the nail on the head. I explained the whole story.

I was planning on sleeping in late since it's Sunday, and my noisy neighbors haven't been running the welders in the mornings lately. However, I had to wake up at 7 AM to pee. Since it was still early, I crawled back into bed to go back to sleep.

Then it happened.



Morning wood.

I figured I would just fall asleep and everything would be normal. I was wrong. I must have been thinking of something good because this sucker would just not go away. Now any post-puberty male can tell you that a boner, if left untreated, will cause aches and pains. So after 90 minutes, I gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. I figured doing the file conversions would be non-sexual enough to ease the swelling.



No, it wasn't blueballs.



XX: Ninety minutes?!?

Me: Yeah. But I had worse.

Remember Virginia? The Eastern Unintelligentsia?



Well, there was an incident where she came into my room and woke me up at the crack of noon. Luckily Hilo can be a chilly place, and I was snug under the blankets.



She couldn't see that I was hiding yet another incident of MWS, Morning Wood Syndrome.



It wasn't the typical case of MWS. This one was bad. It was like someone took off the pressure regulator. Mini-me felt like it was going to explode. To top it off, I had to pee. Bad.



So there I was, wearing only boxers, hiding my manhood under a blanket, holding in my pee, with a cute girl sitting on my bed next to me. Sometimes I wish I was an extrovert.

A Different XX Friend Sometime Later: You should have just whipped it out and taken care of it. Tell her if she didn't like it, she could leave.



Like I said, "sometimes I wish I was an extrovert."

I couldn't do it. All I could do was chat and hide for what felt like an eternity. Virginia eventually left, but the wood remained.



I had to bend and contort into several different angles to get a flow going. It was the hardest time I had peeing. Pardon the pun.

Truth in Advertising: Willy

This is going to be crude.

Today's topic for Truth in Advertising is a young man named Willy. It's an appropriate name. Willy has a big willy. He's a bull.



This is Willy. Quite the stud eh? He's a seventeen year old high school student, and one heck of a mountain bike rider.



You may have seen him co-starring in a short movie called Playground.



Now here's the thing. Willy got himself a big tool.



A hammer, if you will. And he uses it to nail, and pound, and hit anything with a vagina and two legs. And I think the girls can either sense it, or they can pick up his genitallic scent because they're rushing for a chance to ride his baloney pony.



I'm not kidding. Girls are literally throwing themselves at him. He's one of the few guys who can do the "smell my finger," routine and have three different punchlines at the same time.



It's lucky for Willy that Cosco opened a store on this island. He can now buy his condoms in bulk. It's also lucky for Malaysia since their GNP rose 8% just on the rubber sales.



If you watched the video, you'd notice that Willy rides with jeans. He has to. Three weeks ago he tried to ride without jeans and his donkey cock kept flapping in the breeze.



One silver-haired granny saw him ride past and remarked, "oh deary my! I haven't been this excited since Nimitz issued shore leave."



Calling Willy's willy a donkey cock may not be all too fair. A more apt description would be whale dork.



I'm serious. In fact, today he was following me on the downhill ride and I felt him tap me on the shoulder. When I looked back, he still had both hands on the handlebar. I never pedalled as desperately as I did today.

I also heard that Ron Jeremy is secretly paying Willy to not show his penis on any public media.



I know some of you reading this are thinking that I'm jealous. Truth be told, yes I am. Willy is such a selfish fuck! How the hell is a mild mannered micro-cock supposed to get any play when Willy's hogging all the chicks?



I'm seething. grrrr.

Even Riley is dumbfounded at the size differential.

The Excitement is Coming!

Wow, over five days of not writing. I'm actually surprised I couldn't think of a suitable topic in a whole week. However, since I owe it to my devoted fan (singular), I better write something.

I couldn't be creative this week since I changed my exercise routine to get rid of this spare tire of mine.



But then I remembered how my last car had four flats, so I decided to keep the spare tire. Instead, I will work on my love handles. I feel odd calling them love handles since I don't have a significant other. Hint hint. If anyone is willing to take the job, I'm offering minimum wage plus tips and a 401K. The only prerequisite is you have to own a live hole.



Anyway...

Since I can't think of a good topic, I will fall back on a sure-fire subject that everyone of all ages can enjoy. Penises!

Yeah, being a tiny wanker does effect the psyche. It lowers your self esteem.



It gets even worse when you hear girls giggle about the size of a normal man's peepee. Then you start to compare yourself with other men. Unfortunately, the only other men you can find to compare yourself to are buff, Hollywood types. I'm like sooo sure I'm way more hunky than Vin Diesel.

The problem with lying to yourself is that it doesn't take long to figure out it's a lie.



OK, time to be jerked back to reality. I don't want to make a mountain out of a molehill, so I'll just stop beating around the bush. This story has a happy ending.



It's a short story, so bare with me.

The other day I was hanging around, just playing with my balls when I saw a commercial for a male enhancement drug.



I sprung up to attention like a dog in heat. I was so excited by the news I was bursting at the seams. I could barely contain myself. I grabbed a knob and exited my room. I needed to take stock of the situation and size things up.

Here's where I stood. Disappointing start, but things could only go up up up.



Now I knew where I measured up, and I stroked my hands with glee. Soon I would be as happy and glowing as the Enzyte man. Once I finished the treatment, I would be so confident that I would be able to sow the seeds of joy a long way across the land. Women would love me and erect a statue in my honor.



I started the treatment. It involved swallowing a lot of sticky fluids, but I had the fortitude to handle any testes thrown my way.

The treatment included not only drugs, but exercise as well. There was a lot of pumping up and down, and some Greek based calisthenics. Butt I could take it all in. I'm sure it wouldn't be too long. Knock on wood.



Then the day finally came. The moment of climax. I looked in the mirror to check the length and breadth of the event. I almost prematurely declared victory, but then I got my head back straight. Taking matters in my own hands, I engorged myself in the moment.



YES! Victory! The added bulk and girth to my anatomy really allowed me to stroke my own ego. I was brimming with self confidence.



No longer would I be considered small and insignificant. I was a giant! I was a man of great talent. Head above the rest. Tears of joy squirted from my orifices. I was a winner! Cocksure and headstrong.



Unfortunately, no one would get to see how well endowed I was. I guess sometimes you win some and sometimes you lose some. I have a big, fat cock, so I don't care. nanny nanny boo boo.

And that's the long and short of it.


***No one-eyed monsters were hurt or beaten during the making of this blog

****hehe just yanking ya. Turns out a few sheep were hit in their brown eyes.


Oh,




and



by the way






This blog is not work safe. Haha caught you, sucker. Don't be hard on yourself. You couldn't see it coming.

Youth in Asia: Socks and Thongs

The Band Teacher came over for a final visit. She's heading back to Arizona for the next semester of college. She stopped by to chat for a bit and to say goodbye.

In case you forgot, this is the Band Teacher's very fit and very firm body:



When she got here, we started chatting outside. I usually don't feel comfortable with people in my room. I have sweaty mountain bike and motorcycle gear in my closet. If the trade winds blow just right, my room smells like a gym.

I showed her the brand new tires on my bike. She came with me when I ordered them, so I figured I may as well point them out. I also explained that I had a bit more scrubbing of the tires to do to kill off the chicken strips.



"I don't know. I would feel more comfortable being enclosed," she said. "I'm not sure what the thrill is about."

"You never straddled a throbbing V-Twin before?"

"I've never owned one before."

That's when I started staring at her inseam. Of course it was to check her leg length. No, really. I wasn't ogling... much.

Her crotch came up about the height of my crotch, so I told her she should try sitting on my bike. She did so cautiously since she hadn't sat on a motorcycle before. I ran back and forth to both sides of the bike to get her into the proper position and to make sure she didn't scratch herself on my new rearsets. Those things have sharp edges meant to dig into boots.



While behind her, I noticed the top part of her jeans was a bit open. I couldn't resist a peek.

"Hey, I can see inside your pants."

"HEY! I'm wearing a thong you know."

"Really?" And I peeked again. I was playing around though. I didn't really try to look at her thong. I told her that too since I didn't want to be TOO crass.



The Band Teacher hopped off the bike. I hopped on right after her. Although our genitalia are located around the same altitude, it was easier for me to get my feet on the ground. Part of the reason could be her weight. She's only 113 pounds compared to my 200. Troll flesh is made of depleted uranium. Her body could only compress the suspension and seat cushion half as much as the orc.

Another reason was her position on the seat. She sat toward the back of the seat. I sat balls on tank, and I pointed it out to her. Not so much my balls, but the fact that the seat is lower nearer to the tank lets me get my feet down. I told her that her brass balls probably got in the way and she agreed and said she would shift them to the left next time.



Next we played with my dog. The Band Teacher first met my dog when he was about 8 weeks old. He's about 10 months old now and about 50 pounds big.

"He seems happy to see me."

"How do you know?"

"Because... he... is."

"He has a boner?"

"Yeah."



I can't blame the dog. If young women gave me that much attention, I would be sporting wood 24/7.

I played with the dog a bit and he slobbered all over my hands. He has this weird thing where he needs to lick things or put things in his mouth. He doesn't bite my hands. He just coats them with saliva.

"Smell my finger," as I stuck my hand under the Band Teacher's nose. "BTW, you always wear thongs?" I know for a fact I have never seen panty lines on the Band Teacher before.

"Almost always. When it's that time, I don't."

"That time? Oh! That's right, you use pads." I once had to help her shop for pads and depilatory creams. I still don't know why these feminine hygiene products come in strawberry and cream scents. Do women expect someone to eat... oh. Never mind.

"Yeah. I can't use tampons. My vaginal muscles are so well trained that I can tie the string into a bow and eject the tampon 20 feet all while I sleep." (She didn't say this. This is what my male brain heard.)



"I don't believe you without video. Did you try ping pong balls yet?"

Then I took her for a ride in the Yaris.



This car is a total chick magnet. They can't get enough of the spacious interior. The well thought out ergonomics. The energy conserving 1.5 liter four banger. The sensible styling. Bland, yet tasteful.

While in the car, I bemoaned the fact that I lack actors to help me make YouTube videos. I'm as ugly as dog poop, so if I am ever going to make videos, I need human-looking people. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who both looks good and is willing to help. The Band Teacher said that Hawaii people aren't great actors. She does have a point. Everyone I know either sucks on screen or is too embarrassed to be of use. But then I remembered Mikey Inouye.

Mike Inouye has a very popular video blog on YouTube. I've watched several of his videos and he cracks me up. What makes it even better is that he collaborated with Abbegirl to make a few. Abbe is a pretty blonde.



"There you go with the blondes again. Are you into blondes?"

"I don't think I have a preference. The other day when I was passing the Shrimp Station," I point over my shoulder even though the Shrimp Station is seven miles away, "I saw a pretty black girl. I swear I couldn't stop looking. She was hot."

"Hey, that's cool that you don't care about race."

"Yeah. I think my only real criteria is that the girl has a vagina."



When we got back to my house it was time for the Band Teacher to leave. She wasn't sure if she would be able to return during the summer or if she would have to wait until next winter to come visit.

"The next time I come back, I'll show you another thong."



Me:



*********************

On December 29, I had to say goodbye to a dear companion. We had first met nearly 14 years ago. Back then I was really into rollerblading. It was through rollerblading that we met. Even after I stopped skating and moved on to other activities like diving and drag racing, my companion remained close by. Then when I started riding my motorcycle, my companion came with me on most of my rides.

However, because of age and a hard life, my companion no longer had any strength left. He couldn't stay up and he couldn't support me. I had no choice but to give my companion a dignified end.

Goodbye, socks. I will miss you.

Three Wishes in the Saddle

For the last few days I had no inclination to write. It's not that I didn't have ideas. I had a few nice topics come to mind. I just didn't feel like sharing. A friend said that I put a lot of myself into my writing. That is true. And that is the reason why I didn't want to write. I didn't want anyone knowing what I was thinking.

During this brief hiatus, I ran into an old, or perhaps former, friend. He's a faster sportbike rider than I am, but I haven't seen him much since he found a new girlfriend. He tends to ctrl-alt-del his whole relationship-tree whenever he changes women. I ended up spending the whole afternoon riding with him. It wasn't too bad since we stuck to neutral topics like cars and motorcycles. It did remind me of a great lesson in history.

Allies can be your future enemies and enemies your future allies.

Perhaps it's time for me to end my inner tantrum and start expressing myself how I enjoy. Oh, and to my future enemies: Fuck off! hahahaha!



I'm sure you've been asked many times what you would do with three wishes. I always ponder about three wishes. Basically, those of us who harbor envy and greed will always hope for those wishes. Oh boy do I envy.

Let's see if I can guess the usual holier-than-thou type answer most people would give. I bet they would wish for world peace.



To end hunger.



And to cure some horrible plague.



Holy shit! If I used my wishes like that, I better be crowned Miss USA and get lesbian smooches from Miss Teen USA. Talk about altruistic. Noah would have to move to the couch away from Johnny for my interview.

Back to the real world. Remembering that only those who envy actually wish for wishes, my real choices would be slightly less noble.

First off, I would wish for a superhero-like physique. I would want the agility and dexterity of Spider-man with the health and durability of Superman.



Why? So I can actually do the things that I want without hurting this trollish body. I would love to be able to control motor vehicles with the skill and accuracy of top racers.



Also, I would love to be able to ride my stupid mountain bike without crashing 50% of the time. Strawberries hurt.



My second wish would be to have good looks. Good looking people don't know how lucky they are. They're at the top of the pyramid. Trolls are at the bottom, slightly higher than kobolds and teletubbies. I would just love to be at the top of the pile when I want to shit on someone.



My final wish would be for a freakishly large penis.

Size doesn't matter? The only women who tell you that are the ones who won't have sex with you. Doesn't matter to them since they're not the ones who will have to fake it.



Truth though, if you thought the amount of breast implants being done annually was high, wait until someone develops penis enlargement. It's not about being able to perform. It's about confidence. If you walked around with a 12 inch johnson, you would be beaming with confidence. No matter what happens or what anyone says to you, you wouldn't be phased a bit. That's because deep down you would be thinking, "screw you little man. I'm hung like a walrus."

So I may not be noble. I may not be unselfish. I am definitely not altruistic. But I am honest and bold. How's that for a rebound back into writing? Eat me!



*done before 2007 yes!*
**Hawaii Standard Time, mind**