Always Practice Safe Sex Noises

This blog sucks. I hate reading it. This is especially troublesome because if anyone likes it, I should, since I'm writing it. Alas, I am discontented, which I guess is what happens when you have to let the entirety of your life fall by the wayside (Wayside? Where's that? Oh, these silly expressions. Was Saved By The Bell based on Wayside High? Bayside? Oh whatever, Lisa Turtle.) to move.
I promise I'm done talking about moving, because it really makes for the least interesting reading ever. So...done.
Hokay, so I didn't have topic, until two seconds ago when one of the small children waiting for the doctor asked his mother, "Mommy, can I play with the toys?", she, of course, said, "sure" and then he said, "Why don't grown ups play with toys?" and she said, "they do...just grown up toys". Insert inappropriate cackle from unprofessional looking receptionist with a Werthers butterscotch in her mouth.
Recently I've been thinking about people's sex lives. A lot. Like everytime I look at someone I wonder if they're Rick James in the sack (see: Superfreak) or more like a dying manatee (see: sea noises and low moans....ew). Also, who are the people that are really into toys and games and backdoor lover kind of activities (you know, besides those who have no other options. see: the homos--who I love so dearly that every once and a while I decide I'm going to be a lesbian...and then five minutes passes and I decide I'm not cut out for that kind of work...just like I'm not ever going to be able to do math).
Before I post photos from random google image searches and tell you what I think these people are like in bed, I just want to say that this morning when the movers were loading the truck-which later got a $115 ticket...glad we have to split that guys, thanks-(I know, this is the last thing about moving) I went upstairs to clean up some of the dust before we were officially out and I realized that on the disgustingly dust-bunny-ridden floor was not just an empty condom wrapper, but and empty NYCondom wrapper. How gross is that? These twenty year old guys sweating over my 400 pound dresser had to see a wrapper from the least reliable, most obviously "free" source. Yuck. And I left the whole bag of condiments in the fridge forever. My large container of lowfat mayo and my three Coors Lights are gone forever. I mean, it doesn't really matter about the food or the condom wrapper, but that and the small child talking about "adult toys" with his Mommy made me want to do this today:

Okay, so I started to do my Google Image search with random names in it and I was thinking what I would write and the thought of writing "She's a biter" or "He whinnies like a horse" next to pictures of people I didn't even know started to make me feel sick. I mean, that's somebody's baby, right? Not mine, persay, but still somebody's (that being said, it could be my baby if I keep relying on NYCondoms for protection. Shuddup.)

So I'll leave you with this gem...think about your 5th grade teacher. Think about your 5th grade teacher having sex. If you've done this before, you either a) had a pretty hot 5th grade teacher (mine wasn't bad...) b) are a sick fuck or c) are a pervert OR d) have played this game and I have failed at entertaining you on a Friday afternoon. Get out of the office people...it's gorgeous out! Get out and think about what kind of O-face the woman (or man) who taught you long division has/had.

Pip, pip, cherrio!

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