So as some of you may know, I have a particular friend, let's call her Andrea, (she blogs here) who I’ve been quoted as saying "is Awesome". Someday's I question my sanity, I still think Andrea is awesome, but when I run out of things to observe, usually because it’s winter and the forest is blanketed in a beautiful white carpet of snow. So pristine in fact, that you don’t even want to tread on it for it would disturb its very majesty. I think about footprints in the snow, and the first thing I think, how the fuck did Olaf in Frozen not leave behind a print as he dragged his snowy ass around in the snow throughout the whole movie. I’m sure he did, but I don’t have a memory of it so it hasn’t happened yet. If a tree falls…….
So back to my Sadistic friend Andrea who thinks that she is clever and witty. (She actually is the funniest person I know.) I had a brief and by brief I MEAN BRIEF, conversation with her. You see I have access to some technology out here in the middle of nowhere. I would be pretty stupid not to equip myself adequately for the expedition. So, I shot out a message to her using some sort of Satellite device that I can only explain as “wizardly.” The message was probably as abrupt as the last few telegraphs coming off of the Titanic, it simply said. “Fuck me! I’m horny, and NO Blog title.” Now the message out seems vulgar to some, but this sadistic friend knows that by my professing my ravenous “hornatious” state, was the same as saying “All is well, I don’t need anything.”
A few hours later, I received the following reply, “Fuck yourself, how about Drive-thru, dumps, and trail running.” I thought, what a bitch, that’s not funny.… It’s hilarious!!!
I was thinking about the Drive-thru, dumps, and trail running concept slightly and didn’t know how my current reality would be able to really have any relevant point of reference to that whole nonsense. I know that her intentions were simple. Andrea was probably being a twat about the fact that I like to hit up drive-thrus for just about anything. I thought a bit more deeply, and remembered, she’s completely self-involved, I’ll bet I caught her in the middle of trying to read email while simultaneously watch netflix as she wiggled her nose, and couldn’t be bothered with helping me figure out what type of retrospect to share. This was likely her blog post title for the week. Somedays she's so transparent, but I accept her challenge, and will kick ass in writing a killer post to share with you. I’m really just here for you.
Back to my love of drive-thru, if it has a drive-thru, I’ll buy whatever they’re selling, I really don’t like the drive-thrus with the rules that you have to be in a vehicle. Really, if I want your product, you should be willing to provide it to me if I wanna stroll through on a pair of stilts, a unicycle or whilst being piggy backed on my cranky uncles back.
I thought about a few of my favourite drive-thru memories, one in particular was with Andrea, she was wincing and moaning about how there are no hot navy guys to have sex with on this particular day. I was confused about this particular rant, but I went with it knowing I would forever be changed/scarred/regretful, I boldly asked her; “What makes navy guys different?” Andrea snorted a retort, “having sex with regular guys is like wanting a latte with whatever seasonal spicing from Starbucks, and getting the equivalent of someone just dumping a single creamer from a gas station into a cup of lukewarm coffee, it’s almost as pointless as eating hemp hearts.” I laughed at her description, and could only imagine what her colourful depiction of fucking a seaman would be.
Andrea didn’t naturally go into detail about the seaman difference, likely because something shiny distracted her, and really, she thinks everyone can read her mind. Sometimes, they can’t Andrea. So I was forced, and I asked, “so you’re telling me that’s not what it’s like with a naval member?”
She snapped her head around and looked at me with a crazy gaze as if I had just spit out a mouth full of oil of oregano on her, she had been distracted by something on the outside of the car, and when she spun her head around it was so fast that it was almost like she spun it three times on her shoulders as she glared and gasped in unison; “No, have you seen sailors? they’re fucking hot man!” as if that was enough of a response for me to understand. I had to change my approach, she was obviously hyper-focusing on something new, and If i wanted the answer, I would have to change the way I’m asking the question, or hit her with what I call a “Riti-Pen” which is basically an Epi-Pen with a dose of Ritalin so intense that it would give Pauly Shore the focus of an Asian Violinist.
Not wanting to waste my Riti-Pen on her, I decided that I would just tell her I’m stupid and that she needed to be more clear, because she was clearly more affluent in the fucking of sailors than I was. I personally only had experience with Air Force, they’re usually self involved to the point where they call out their own name in bed. Yeah, it’s like they don’t really need anyone else in the room.
Andrea started on about some sailor she knew, and his variety of very attractive man friends. Immediately, I was imagining the start of just about every gay porno I’ve ever seen that had a naval theme….. Was that it? She was liking the idea of a bunch of people that were more into each other than they were into her? No, she elaborated on how they seem eager, and have the best stamina ever. I may be paraphrasing, but I think she said something to the effect of. They can run half marathons, you know they are good in bed. I run half marathons, and I make people crazy when I have sex with them, I’m so good. Well, that settled that.
As soon as she started talking about marathons, I remembered a time when we had gone travelling together…. sometimes, there are things in life worth doing, and some worth doing again. Travelling with Andrea is something I would do again in a heart beat. A few years back, we went off to San Diego, and spent a week looking for seals, and monitoring bowel movements. Apparently that trip helped us determine that I help with regularity. I’m like fibre, I guess. My friend had been having some issues taking dumps and she didn’t know what was going on. She went on holiday with me, and it was like all of a sudden her body realized that I was awesome, and that she should poop regularly while she was in my company, it was an honour thing.
Lucky for us, we were wise enough to get a private room for the duration of our stay, and I’m sure the other patrons appreciated it too. I will credit Andrea with the new paint that they had to put in that bathroom after we left. I’m not sure if I got charged for the damages to the paint or not. Oh well, some things just don't matter.
So while Andrea has been able to dump regularly ever since, You’re welcome, She and I have grown closer and closer over the years. It’s to the point when she tells me she’s going trail running, I know what she means. However, I don’t usually know why. I don’t ask why, anything that gets her out of the house for hours so she can’t comment and tag me in every thing on social media is a win!
This week, she decided that she is going to take a dump, lock down a naval guy, and take him trail running. I can only imagine one of them will come back with a dick in the ass. I’ll bet it will be the sailor. I envision Andrea tripping and falling (Read: pretending to trip and fall, and be hurt) so that this poor unsuspecting seaman will come along and flex his muscles and carry her off the trail to safety. She will faint and insist he take her back to her place and make sure she is okay. Now anyone that has ever been to Andrea’s place knows she has a narrow hallway from her doorway which leads to a 90 degree turn into another hallway, first door is her bedroom, second door is her bathroom. Somehow she has managed to make it so that her bedroom door blocks the exit when people come in so it’s like a funnel for people to go from the living area of the place, into her bedroom. Now, my question is, why not just have the hall go through the bedroom. Everyone ends up in there some how anyway. So with this poor unsuspecting sweaty, muscular seaman in her place, she will need his help to make sure she doesn’t fall in the shower, and then to dry her off. When he least expects it she will have him in a headlock with her thighs in a move that I call the “preying mantis” sealing his fate, and her deal. Some people should be in institutions right? So the take away from this, is…. If you trail run, don’t go with people named Andrea, and if they get hurt. LEAVE THEM BEHIND.
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