Alex finally comes to terms with the fact that he'll never fuck a Playboy Playmate of the Year and gets really drunk and writes about it
Written by:  Alex Sandell

I'll never fuck a Playmate of the Year.  At least not an official one.  Maybe I could fuck one of the fake ones that throw condoms off of Disney floats on those Main Street Parades that Walt Disney puts on once the kids have all gone to bed and all the costumed Mickey's have popped a boner.  BUT I DON'T WANT A WALT DISNEY PLAYMATE OF THE YEAR, DAMN IT!  I want a Playboy Playmate of the Year.  And I don't want Hugh pulling tricks on me.  Like letting me fuck the official Playboy Playmate of the Year from 1971.  Saggy Playmates may be alright, and all, but I did the whole saggy thing with this chick from Canada and it really wasn't my bag.  It felt kind of like having sex with a Shar-Pei.  I have a pet Shar-Pei!  The last thing I want to do is feel like I'm fucking one!!!  I want a Playboy Playmate of the Year from either 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999 or 2000.  I want it . . . but I have now come to terms with the fact that it is something that I am not going to get, even if my birthday is on December 8th, and if anyone cared, they'd send me a Playmate.  Did I mention my birthday is December 8th?  If I didn't, you better start wrapping the contributions and sending the presents because an empty PO Box on the day of my birth means an empty webpage for like 3.5 billion years.  It may not be that long, but I'm really drunk, and everything is exaggerated to convey the appropriate level of my drunkenness over the Internet. My mom says that the first time you get drunk alone you're a fucking soak, so I guess I'm screwed, since I'm alone right now.  Fuck.  Two blows in one night, and neither of them have brought me  to orgasm.  First, I realize I'm not gonna fuck a Playboy Playmate of the Year, unless she's old and wrinkly like my Shar-Pei, and second I find out I'm an alcoholic, even though I don't drink very much at all.  Sometimes things don't seem quite fair, but if the shoe fits, lube it up and boink it, right?  I've never gotten drunk and written an update before.  I actually kind of hate it.  When you're drunk you'd rather be doing other things, like not writing.  Now that I've started this, I may as well finish.  There's this special on TV right now about John Lennon, who was a guy from the band "The Beatles" which is one of the best bands of all of time, even though they sort of ripped everyone else's style off (like Jay Leno rips off my comedy), and made it their own, and anyway, Mr. Lennon was shot on December 8th, 1980.  That was my birthday.  I turned 9 that day.  Now I feel all guilty.  MY BIRTHDAY IS A CURSE NUMBER AND I'M GOING TO BURN IN HELL!  Sorry, that was drunken paranoid delusions.  Still, it's weird, cuz on December 8th, other important things happened, too.  I don't remember many of them, but I remember that I was born, and then there was some more stuff.  The other benefit to December 8th is that I get to eat what I want.  Being that I usually do eat what I want, and that's why I'm a gigantic blob of lard, this isn't THAT special, but I can push people to like pay for what it is that I want to eat.  Like, I think on this birthday I will get pizza and buffalo wings AND breadsticks.  The whole 9-mother-fucking-yards.  Then I may drink beer and write another drunk update.  That would be funny.  Speaking of beer, I have to go drink another one.  What was the point of this update again?  I remember it had something to do with John Lennon dying and bad VH1 "Behind the Music" episodes.  Do you think the Beatles would have been as popular if they picked a more stupid name like "The Megadeths"?  I think the name coulda killed 'em.  I mean, "The Beach Boys" didn't really take the guys places when they tried to expand their horizons.  It was pretty much, "gotta sing about beaches and girls and girls on beaches."  Which brings me back to my original brainstorm, and reason for getting drunk; I MAY GET LAID SOON, BUT IT AIN'T GONNA BE BY A PLAYBOY PLAYMATE OF THE YEAR!  How old is the average man when he figures this out?  I am 28, and I sincerely, for these 28 years, thought I had a chance.  Sure, it may have involved unpleasant things like necrophilia, but I thought I could do it.  Now, I'm just not so sure.  Drug overdoses in pretty young models isn't as common as it used to be.  Getting drunk alone sucks.  You sort of sit in one spot and hope someone calls or comes over and gets drunk too.  It's kind of boring.  Like taking acid without anything psychedelic to stare at.  Oh well, it's a fun experiment, and if anyone's still with me, they're even more lame than myself.  It seems I had a point to this.  I remember, when I was sober, and thinking this was going to be a good idea, that there would be something powerful to end it with.  I have to go drink another beer and see if I can't recall.  When I was drinking my other beer, I watched a Playboy Playmate of the Year DVD that I have and I only get frustrated.  Fuck arousal.  These bitches wouldn't do me if I was the last slightly-overweight webmaster typing drunkenly for his knowing fans on this pathetic earth.  It sucks to say it, but the only hot chicks I've boffed are those that were attracted to my "mind."  WHAT ABOUT MY WONDERFUL BODY?  It takes a lot of gawd-damn Fritos to bring a man to this level, you scrawny-guy lovin' retards.  I am talking to this black Juicy fan on the phone quite a lot lately.  She's the next Juicy Gets Juicy Girl.  If you want to see her, click here. She's super cool, although sometimes I think she's maybe too normal, but if you knew the women I've dealt with lately, "normal" is a blessing.  She is a different color than me.  I think that's cool, cuz if we get it on, we'll look like those small boxes of Crayolas they give kids at Denny's.  Who hasn't wanted to look like a small box of Crayolas?  I say nobody!  I know what my parents bought me for my birthday, cuz they already gave me it.  Wanna know what it was?  It was a beard trimmer. It cost them $49.95.  I can now make my chin-guard type beard look all hip and cool and all the people at the next coffee house I hang out in will say, "wild man, he's one of us."  Without this shaving utility, they would simply say, "get away from that dude man, he's fucking Amish."  I'm not Amish, but if I happened to be mentally insane, like they were, I would try and fuck all the Amish virgins I could, so I could be like the rotten band The Scorpions and call myself the "Amish Virgin Killer."  That would be cute, in a Hallmark sort of way.  Anyway, the ending I was talking about?  It's my dog, Brady.  She means the world to me, and that ISN'T a joke.  She is my golden angel and she is the only reason my life has managed to be a 4 or 5 or 6 on a scale of 1-10.  Through all the shit I've went through in the last 5 years, she's the only thing that made me think, I better stay alive.  Well, she's had a SEVERE kidney problem for the past 3 years, and it just acted up again today. I laid with her all night tonight, missing even the Simpsons (to those of you who know how much I love that show, you know what a sacrifice that was) and she shook, and she shivered, and she tried to sleep.  Whenever she would wake up, she would immediately look for me, and if I was there, she would wag her tail three times, happy that I didn't leave her!  Three times in approval, she'd wag, and fall back into slumber land.  I learned tonight, that it isn't about Playmates, and it isn't about beard trimmers making you look "cool," and it isn't about dead Beatles members; it's about a fucking dog.  Therefore, the present I want more than any other this year is a HEALTHY Brady, so if you cats could pray for her, to whatever God you do or don't believe in, I'd thank you for it.  It's hard for me, and I can't lose her, she is all I have.  She may be "only" a dog but she's my everything.


Alex Sandell

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If you really DO want to send me a gift or contribution (all I'm gonna get is a razor, so it would be appreciated) send it to:

Alex Sandell
3613 Columbus Avenue
Minneapolis, MN 55407

(Don't forget to send Brady a "get well" card!)

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