So I was finally able to jerk off today. Nothing too aggressive, because I don’t want to set off the pain in my balls again. I’m just disappointed with myself because I spent about an hour and a half looking for something to treat myself to, and all that turned up was mediocre, at best. You’d think that after all these years I’d accept the fact that there’s no such thing as terrific porn. Except for this one clip a while back, but you just don’t get the same “high” the 5th time around.
An hour and a half… Like it’s the last time I’ll ever be able to do it… What a crappy investment. The only bigger waste of time would be watching Avatar or Happy Feet.
Well, only 19 more wanks to go until I can take my first fertility test. Then 20 more after that. I’m not a super avid wanker. Maybe anywhere between once and 4x a month is all. It feels like homework now.
The doctor sets his cell phone on the counter and asks, “Okay, I’ve got Louis Armstrong, Pit Bull, Black Eyed Peas, and Red Hot Chili Peppers… What do you feel like?”
“Let’s do Louis Armstrong.”
I wanted to stick with just one unpleasant thing at a time, and really didn’t want him listening to that crap while giving me my long overdue vasectomy. More importantly, if the spirit of “The Black Eyed Peas” slipped into my scrotal incisions before being sewn back up, I would certainly need surgery later to scrape out my then septic nut sack.
There’s nothing quite like the smell of your own vas deferens being cauterized. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.
Now, the tricky part is that my juice needs to be tested after my 20th and 40th ejaculations. Seeing as how my wife and I haven’t had sex in nearly 2 years, this means I have to get a pocket calendar to mark down the days I jerk off, and I’ve really got to step up my frequency.
I need to find a quirky name for this calendar. The only half-witty thing that comes to mind is “Fapruary.” Stupid, huh.