*Depression, Revelation and Divine Intervention

*Viewer Discretion Advised

It’s a rainy day in the life of the people’s champion. Legit, it’s pissing down. So I sit here and pine over all that is depressing.

First goes the usual suspects: girls getting the freshman 15, girls going from blonde to brunette because they had one too many funnel cake and beer dinners this summer, girls just generally mailing it in because the summer is almost over, and, well, girls not wanting me for all of the right reasons: bone structure, virility, big hands, packing enough meat to see out a plane crash in the Andes Mountains for a few days, etc…

Ladies, follow me if you want to live. Guys, hang here by the plane, just in case somebody flies by.

But no… ladies don’t like these gifts of eternal happiness. Because they want shoes (plural), cars (plural), cash (yes, the plural kind), and couture. You know, superficial shit that doesn’t mean anything. Here juicy, juicy… Which is why I’m inherently, perpetually and conveniently single all of the time. In fact, I’ve had exactly three girlfriends in my life… and two of them were before 12th grade so they don’t count as actual relationships. I’ve seen dumps go unflushed in the Neshaminy High School Gym 3 Boy’s locker room for longer than most high school relationships… and I’m pretty sure that is the litmus test. Can you outlast a turd? No? Then it didn’t happen.

However, I must pat myself on the back — The year is ’94, in my trunk is raw…In my rearview mirror is the motherfucking law — and my ninth grade girlfriend was a twin… and she was totally the hotter twin… the one that was so much better than the ugly twin that she may or may not have made the ugly one into a full lezzer. In fact, they may not have been twins at all, just born on the same day and taken from the hospital together. Pay no mind… because nobody else did to her. Anyhow, it was a tremendous get too — because she was the new girl in the school. A super cute pint-sized blonde with blue eyes and an eagerness to leave her Catholic school background behind new girl. And, as evidenced by the Epic Feasterville Theater’s showing of Forrest Gump… she also had the G.I. Joe Kung Fu grip.

Soldier: “Gump! Get a load of the tits on her.”
Ninth grade Alex: “Already am, sir. Stop interrupting.”

The force was strong with this one… even at an early age. Somehow that sheer chutzpah — mid-make out — combined with her naivete eagerness just gave her the green light to negotiate my belt, navigate my zipper and sift through the carpenter pants that I probably was most-likely wearing like they weren’t even there. All for the right to play 1v1 Handball.

Now that I think about it, this is a lot like European showers.

Now I’m not sure if Catholic School has a class in masturbation that they teach to girls or she just had really studied Cosmopolitan that month… but christ on a stick… she was better than me at it. Prior to that — I didn’t know what the hell I was doing… and whatever it was it was obviously wrong. Why? Glad you asked, not to be TMI but she extracted a whole bunch of white goo from my balls rocketing out my cyclops. A feat that never occurred prior to that point on any attempt I made. Before that night I just gave up from boredom when it just wasn’t happening. Then again, she also used both hands like she was choking up on a baseball bat, then deciding against it, then rethinking the decision, so on and so forth.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Just let somebody else do all the work for you. Oh, and don’t wear brand new jeans and Chuck Taylor’s when on a date with Catholic School girl. Oh, young love: you forget the tissues. Thank goodness for 142 minute-long movies. And girls should choke up whenever they play ball.

Far left: Honestly, he got Megan Fox. Proof that life isn't fair.

Anyway, that lasted an entire triumphant year of ninth grade… and I had braces at the time — so I wasn’t exactly the best looking bloke in the world. I’m still not — but relatively speaking I looked like a goofy hitting puberty kid with braces and bad 90210 Brian Austin Green hair (pic.). The grunge era… where we all looked like a bunch of extras from Empire Records. Plaid. Seriously. What the fuck? And I remember girls being into overalls during the 1994 campaign… which she was wearing that night. I remember this vividly because, well they provided easy access to her sweater pups. And because I was probably milking her like cow since my experience was limited up until that point. Kids these days don’t appreciate what the Internet has done for them. Back in my day, we had to wait until the parents went to bed, set our alarms for 2 a.m., sneak downstairs in the pitched black, turn on scrambled Cinemax and hope and pray for the bar to freeze for 20 seconds while a tit was being displayed on the Bikini Carwash Company.

OLIVIAAAAAAA! like Activiaaaa just with huge boobs and no yogurt.

Then Christmas came early as a friend of mine stole National Boom Boom European Vacation (1994) and Olivia taught me a thing or two about what I’m supposed to do to her, “big boy”. Presumably while in Europe. Which looks a lot like a Bakersfield, California strip mall. And like the first movie listed on her body of work, I did just that. Because it was the bomb back in the day. When she was 25 and not 42.

But *sigh, now kids can get whatever the hell they want, streamed to their smartphone.

If preteens don’t know what they are doing with all of these technological advances teaching them… well, the youth as we know it, is in fact, doomed. Just like we all thought.

Anyway, I digress… but as we moved up into High School, my little stroker ace met up with some dude over the summer and I was too busy with soccer to even notice. We were state champions in 1994 and I was playing soccer here there and everywhere. I still don’t even think we technically broke up… she just stopped calling I think. So she’s cheating on me currently with the guy she married and had kids with. Oh well, we’ll always have your hands on my cock. Batter up, Fungo!

But yes, I haven’t dated really — I had her… then a horrific mistake that wasn’t really a relationship — just a me feeling bad for her kind of thing that became a three month fling and a prom date. Then I went to college and started up a relationship with a high school senior who took my virginity away. High-5 her sometime if you see her.

Since then, however, I’ve been a forbidden fruit. Unless you wanted to have casual sex… then I was up for it… but dating? In college? That’s like going to a candy store but before you go in, somebody chops off your hands and sews your mouth shut. So many choices! So many oh-why-the-fuck-did-I-agree-to-this-shit? internal monologues. That cafeteria food plan is just ballooning her out. I need to go dip my battleship in some other harbor. A thinner harbor.

So women haven’t really had the chance to make me a married (or honest man). I just wasn’t really into the whole dating thing, but if I had one-night stand every night for the next month or so with a girl, it’d almost be like having a relationship, right? So I found girls that were cool with that. It’s a buddy thing or something. It has a name.

But this bachelor lifestyle may all change on this trip to Europe. That’s because I’m about to book my stay in Kiev, Ukraine.

Ukrainian girls. Pioneers of napkin fashion.

And, according to this guy, I’m about to hit the motherlode. Ukrainians are apparently the most beautiful women in the world from a standpoint of if you are American, they want to marry you. Other “most beautiful women in the world” aren’t of the same belief system. Unless you are Tom Brady. So, in other words, Ukraine is filled with the most beautiful women in the world that you can get. It should be the country’s tagline. Right on the flag. Actually the flag should just be a hot Ukrainian girl because I have a feeling that is the only beacon of light that is going to shine from this place. Everything I have read has been “inconclusive” about whether or not Kiev is a great place to visit. Well I’ll be conclusive… its going to be awesome — so often in fact that I’m not going to be able to say anything about it once I leave.

Live the dream: Only in Ukraine.

And get them I will. I think that I’m going to go and get married on this trip. But its not going to be the traditional marriages. No, I’m going to make my own made-up religion that believes in polygamy. I’m going to call it Awesome. And in the religion of Awesome, I am the Founder and Director. So, in other words, I’m the Director of Awesome. I’ll eventually come up with rules for this religion but I think that I should start it off with pillars. Seven to be exact. And to streamline the process in the literature, the pillars will hereby by decreed as “pills”. Each pill will be named a day of the week, from Monday-Sunday…

And I will treat each pill like birth control. Taken orally. Starting with Svetlana. I mean Monday. Right. Monday. Like that NuvaRing synchronized swimming commercial.

The newer architecture of Kiev

Kiev is apparently one of the oldest cities in Eastern Europe and is lauded for its architecture… which, on any other trip would be interesting. But I’m more interested some of its newer architecture.

I can already see the conversation upon returning to the United States and customs. “Anything to declare?”

Yes, you’re jealous.


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