Fun With Pizza (Pt. 4: Students)

First, a bit of hate.

Really, the biggest problem with college students is that they're all dumber than neon tetras.  You know what, junior?  Fuck what your Stanford-Binet Intelligence Quotient came out to be.  Fuck your SAT scores, fuck your 4.0 GPA all through high school, fuck what your high school guidance counselor said about the future success you'd have, and double-fuck how mommy and daddy always told you what a gifted child you are.  News flash, brat: you're as stupid as a box of chalk, and even more worthless.

You know what college students are gifted in?  Taking tests.  That's all.  Outside of that scope, they have the self-preservation skills of a box turtle with fetal alcohol syndrome, the problem-solving skills of crab lice, the real-life comprehension skills of refrigerator mold, and the grasp of how everyday life works of a pine cone.  College students, no matter the meaning of that 1600 on their SAT, are unable to function without massive amounts of hand-holding aid and support.  "Intelligence," as measured via Scan-Tron, is useless unless coupled with a more basic concept: common sense.

Depravity (a.k.a. I Destroy Pedophiles For Fun & Profit)

WARNING:

This particular article has some rather disturbing content.  Please keep this in mind before you proceed.

The Depravity Event Horizon was passed even earlier than the Internet.  I worked in an "adult book store,"  and a few times a week we'd have creeps coming in looking for "the good stuff:" torture porn, rape, snuff (which I don't believe exists), bestiality, and of course pedophilia.  They were always sure we had the "good stuff" under the counter, or in the back.

The answer was "no," for all of it.  If they were looking for kiddie porn, the answer was "fuck no, get the hell out of our store you sick asshole."  I was sort of the semi-official bouncer, and seriously, the higher-ups (the store was part of a chain) told me that if someone came in looking for child pornography, and didn't immediately leave when told, I had permission to knock him around while "escorting" him outside.  "Don't actually injure him, but make it very clear he is unwanted in our stores and to never come back."
"What if he calls the cops for me roughing him up?"
The manager laughed.  "Yeah, right.  Some guy trying to track down kiddie porn calling the cops over a few bruises?  Don't worry: in a million-to-one chance that happens, the company has your back."

Crushes, And "Nice Guy" Syndrome

I have never obsessed or gotten worked up over "celebrity" women.... With two exceptions.  The two women were Wendy O. Williams (of the Plasmatics) and Lois Ayres (of the adult film industry).  Wendy O. was definitely my thing when I was fourteen or fifteen: I liked aggressive women (and the use of electrical tape over nipples in lieu of a shirt); Wendy O. created an obsession with mohawked women that lasts to this day.  Seriously, I think women with mohawks are drop-dead sexy.  (It's been thirteen years now; my wife still refuses.)

A Little Bit About Dominatrices

It seems like I write about sex a lot, and I guess that's true.  But for me, there is no prurient drive in what I write; what I have to say is exploratory (like the article 'Perversion') or discussing things that have happened in my own working life, or the working lives of friends (like this piece).  As someone who has spent a lot of time around sex workers of various types, both professionally and just people who were friends, I appreciate anything that shows the human aspect of people in "naughty business."  The performers in porn?  They're fairly ordinary people who just happen to earn a living with their genitals.  And they're perfectly nice folks, too.

And today, we're going to discuss dominatrices, or dommes.

Fun With Pizza (Pt. 3, Modesto Interlude)

Modesto Interlude...

So I'm driving for an indie pizza store located on University Avenue.  Started off with a 1985 Honda Prelude, then moved up to a 1998 Civic DX....  The first "new" car I ever owned; the Civic was a fleet lease return with about nine thousand miles on it.  I'd change than number upwards, but quick.

I originally started off working a six-to-ten shift four days a week.  It was just supplemental income for my day job driving for a corporate mail service, which paid a crap hourly wage but had health insurance, not a bad trade-off.  The only reason I left that day job was I got snookered into moving back to Modesto, ostensibly to help run a courier service I'd worked for a couple years earlier (a whole different story in itself).  I got out to Modesto to find they didn't want my help running the business at all: they were just so starved for competent drivers, ones who weren't either geriatric or dumber than a boot full of pebbles, that they out-and-out lied to me to get me back.