Tag Archives: Mr. Blog’s Tepid Ride

Mr. Know-It-All: Teen Sex Advice for Troubled Kids

13 Nov

from November 5, 2007

Hi Teens!

Mr. Know-It-All is back with another “advice” column ass-packed with crude sexual jokes, rampant drug abuse, and alcohol-fueled stupidity.

Mr. Know-It-All has found that the world is moving too God-damned fast. Like the other day at the liquor store. I was on line waiting to pay for a six-pack of something cheap when there was this lady ahead of me. She was talking on her cell phone, texting on her PDA, rocking a baby, and paying for her vodka while all the time she was carrying on a conversation with her boyfriend. What the fuck is that? That shit is productive, that’s what! Mr. Know-It-All’s idea of multitasking is taking a leak while eating a sandwich, with a chicken parm hero in one hand and his ginormous schwantz in the other. And that woman on line? I was so drunk that I puked on her. Serves her right for being sober at noon.

But I know I’m just preaching to the crazy choir here. Like everything you hear during the day. Just complain complain whine whine whine. “Global warning”- boo hoo. “The war in Iraq” waah waaah. “I’m 58th on the heart transplant list and I don’t think I’m going to make it.” Suck it up, crybaby. Want to worry about something? I’ll show you these warts I’ve found all over my ass. I swear, some of them are way inside deep.

Anyway, on to the advice. Remember, these are all real letters found in real advice columns. So enjoy! Your buddy Mr. Know-It-All finds that giving advice is better than jerking off- less chaffing.

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“My very first sexual experience was a wet-dream. I was 11 years old and I awakened to find something wet in my pajamas. I was sure I was sick, maybe even had cancer. Is this normal?”

-from a 12 year old boy

Way to go kid! Mazel Tov! Wet dreams are the orgasm’s kid brother: You get all of the mess but none of the fun. Sure, you wake up with your crotch full of the sticky juice, but look on the bright side, at least you’re sure it’s yours. Wet dreams are your body’s way of saying “Kid, time to masturbate.” You’re a man now. Stick with it and soon you’ll be more familiar with the back of your hand than with any actual girls because, let’s face it, you are a loser.

And yeah, I think you have cancer. Sorry kid, them’s the breaks. But enjoy your new hobby!

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What sort of things are expected of a girl during oral sex? You see, I want to give my boyfriend a blow-job, but I don’t know what’s expected of me, what I am supposed to do. – Becca, 16.

 Yeeeaaaaahhh, this is why I became a Certified Advice Columnist. Kid, how strong is your gag reflex? Can you train yourself to ignore it? How long can you hold your breath? What is the biggest banana you have ever eaten? Do you drive? Do you know where 1852 Canoga Park is? Are you willing to be here by 8 o’clock, alone, and tell your parents you are staying at your aunt’s? I think I can help you. Bring viagra, valium, and vodka.

Sixteen is legal right? Somebody IM me fast with a lawyer’s number. I may have a problem

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I’m 67. Will there be a time in my life when I will no longer feel the need to masturbate? I read that more and more people are living to be 100 — do they masturbate?

 You’re not a teen- get lost.

No, wait, you have a funny question, stick around. Look Gramps, Mr. Know-It-All doesn’t want to stop- why do you? Thank your lucky stars that you can still get it up at your age. I’m lucky if the old limp worm wakes up at all some days. People who live to be 100 sure want to masturbate, but they’ve got other things to worry about, like their kids looting their trust funds and sticking them into shady nursing homes. Then they get so drugged up that they can’t even remember how many toes they have, let alone masturbating. I remember this one time,  I found myself hiding under a bed in a nursing home when some old broad rolled in on her wheelchair. She was like 190, but what did she do? Took her tube of arthritis cream and did the in and out on herself. I gotta tell you true, kids, it wasn’t half bad.

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I am 16 and have never, ever masturbated. I’ve ejaculated in my sleep 3 or 4 times, though. Is this normal? I think this may make losing my virginity a much more incredible experience — am I correct?

No. Talk to the old pervert in the letter above.

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I have been masturbating for a year and a half now and do it about once a day. I masturbate in our bathroom with the door locked. I usually take 15 or 20 minutes to finish, and then I usually wait 5 more minutes for my erection to go away. My problem is that my parents think I am really going to the bathroom and that I am not feeling well, since it takes so long. I’m afraid they may bring it up at a doctor appointment. How can I can speed up the process and make my erection go away sooner?

BWAH HA HA! HOOOOO! HA HA HA HA HA ! Kid, you’re kidding, right? HAW HAW HA HA! 15 to 20 minutes? What the fuck are you thinking about, horses? Shit, if it took me that long to jerk off, then Mr. Know-It-All wouldn’t have time to write this column! And 5 minutes for your erection to go away? Mine poops out usually about 30 seconds before the climax, then I just dribble all over the place. THIS IS WHY I DO COKE!

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How come whenever I’m done masturbating, I feel like I was being stupid and have the urge to put on my clothes immediately?
– age 14, New York

14, welcome to adulthood. That thing between your legs will make you do very stupid things throughout your life, and the sad part is, you always know they are stupid. Guys will climb over jagged rocks if their cocks tell them that there may be a naked boob on the other side. An erection is like a stupid-finder. The first time I ever did heroin was because I was trying to impress my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Clausen. Man, what a rack she had. Oh yeah, Mrs. Clausen, ohhhhh……..

What? Oh yeah, the 14 year-old kid. Look kid, just pull up your pants and forget about it.

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That’s it for this week’s column. I hope that you have all learned something form your pal Mr. Know-It-All. I would like to leave you now with the advice that my father gave to me- “Wipe that up son, and don’t let your mother catch you in her closet.” 

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I wore a dress today……….. and I liked it.

13 Nov

from October 25, 2007

Mr. Social went to lunch today.

“Who is Mr. Social?” you’re wondering, “and why do I give a fuck if he went to lunch?”

Mr. Social is me, so watch you language. And you care because the odds are you went to lunch with me. (This reflects very poorly on the size of my friends list. Especially since one of my friends is a fake-news organization and another of my friends is a fake me, which I will continue to deny even though we all know otherwise. So don’t shatter my illusion, OK)

STATISTICS- Length of time working at the HS- 7 ½ years. Percentage of coworkers whose name I know- 12% or less.  Times I have gone to lunch with them- oh, three or four. (Tell me about the rabbits, George!)

I like my coworkers, at least those I bother with. I really do, especially this group. (At the risk of ripping off Sally Field at the Oscars, “I like them, I really like them!”) So it only took 7 ½  years to find a bunch of people I’d eat a meal with. (And I am neither Kosher nor too picky about my food.)

So I went to lunch with a group of very nice and attractive female coworkers, four of them and me. So what did we talk about? Gossip, silly! We talked girl talk! All the latest dish about Mr. X, the trash-collecting man­slut, and Ms. Y, who is under the delusion that she looks like a movie star, and we talked all  about what Z, D, E and did behind closed office doors and in what positions. We especially talked about whose closed and shuttered doors hid secret orgy rooms. This just brings up the point- why am I so oblivious to all of this? And why am I not invited to the fun? (And this brings up another point. Do people gossip about me? I sat back and pondered this, as well as why I did not start a new paragraph right here. Well, at the risk of making this paragraph long and unmanageable, like that ever stopped me, I had to figure that if anyone did gossip about me it would be pretty boring. As I said to someone or sometwo today, I don’t shit where I eat. Over the years I have been here I have gone one exactly one date with a colleague. And since it was while we doing summer school it doesn’t count. And she left the following semester and got married too- I drove her to marriage, ha ha- and that was as far as that went. Maybe people wondered if I was gay, that was about all I came up with. Ah well, I’m boring. There was a mini-flurry of tepid speculation last year, and that was it.)

But all of this isn’t to say that I wouldn’t [CENSORED FOR MR. BLOG’S OWN GOOD, AND CENSORED SOME MORE, JUST TO BE SURE THAT NO ONE GETS THE WRONG IDEA.] but I work with them.

Anyway, I fit right in with the girls. And that says a lot about me. I’m not sure what, but maybe I’m just the non-threatening brother type.

Well, ignoring that can of worms, there is the fact that when I am at work, I am Work Mr. B. Work Mr. B. is more serious than Not At Work Mr. B. NAWMB might not be the brightest star of the entertainment sky, but he gets to say what WBarry might think but not say. Too bad NAWMB was with work friends. But I have to say that it is rare that I get to spend time with four women and not worry about who brought the condoms. Just kidding! I am always a gentleman. (And I don’t kiss and tell. Remember that, my friends. I carry on only discreet affairs.)

But to get back on track and away from some dangerous territory, I liked hanging out with the girls. I am already planning our next lunch; a trip to Macy’s, some Hagen Das ice cream, and maybe a kicky new hairdo and getting our nails done at the place with the purple awning, or was it the blue awning, or was it the one that had the name on it? I don’t know, someone figure that out. All I know is I want the guy near the sink, right?

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