This is a response to your tweet on raw dog:
From one spellcaster to another, there’s a ring under a rock outside of the Friendly Arms Inn that gives you extra spells per day. It’s a godsend. Also, jury nullification is the shit. I once was on jury duty for this kid who got busted with some Meth and couldn’t wait to get on so I could fuck shit up. I mentally prepared myself to express my utter lack of any emotion or opinion involving drugs. I would take on a persona not unlike that of the hitchhiker from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas; completely innocent and unbiased. I didn’t get picked.
When I was twenty-years-old I had unprotected sex for my first time with an old classmate of mine. It was this girl who had a beautiful, hairy cleft of Venus and very small tits. She was kind of chubby but my standards at the time were that she be (1) alive and (2) plausibly female. I successfully paleobated to the memory of this mediocre girl on my parents’ toilet five years later – which actually happens to be a few weeks ago. Later that week she texted me saying how good the sex was and that my penis was the nicest she had ever encountered. This was probably a poor compliment to pay me since her boyfriend read her texts and now has to live with the knowledge that she ranks his penis below mine. They are married and live in Oregon now. Anyway, after banging this chubster, the head of my dick became consumed by a massive, round sore that had an opening. It was like when you eat too many pieces of pineapple and you get one of those sores in your mouth. It hurt too. I put neosporin on it and got these little round band-aids that covered the sore perfectly. My friend, his Mexican girlfriend and I went to Teriyaki-To-Go and as soon as we sat down I blurted out “I think I have an STD” and I started to sob like I was in Japanese court trying a little pathos in hopes of getting a lighter sentence. Since I had a suspended license they had to drive me to planned parenthood where I sat waiting among the underclass while a baby screamed a dissonant note into my left ear. I recognized this black chick in the waiting room from high school but she didn’t say “hi” for some reason. When I finally saw the physician (or whoever) she looked at my flaccid member and said “hmmmm, this doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before” which I didn’t find that comforting. I asked her “is it The Herp?” She said it didn’t look like it because it didn’t have the cluster pattern. I guess I knew that though. She asked me if I had ever had sex with a man. No. Had I ever been incarcerated? No. Had I ever shared needles? No. Then I got an HIV, syphilis, and gonorrhea/chlamydia test which all came back negative. The sore took a fucking month to heal. Every day I examine my dick in anticipation of its return. I’ve used a magnifying glass and a reading lamp to survey my penile topography on multiple occasions. I don’t recommend this because you’ll see sores and lesions where there are none – like horrible patterns in the clouds.
One year later I was an avid condom user but I still managed to contract a wart on the base of my cock (just out of the covered zone). I didn’t know what the wart was so I decided to cut it off in the shower and it bled. Then it spread. Pretty soon I had two warts so I became concerned. By the time I saw a doctor I had sixty of them. He gave me this gel that burns them off. You use it for two days then stop for two days and repeat until they’re all gone. I was somewhere in the middle of my treatment when I got drunk at a house party and went piss. I looked down at my dick, now literally covered in warts and burning badly from the medication and whispered to myself “I’m a monster.”
All of this has left me with a crippling anxiety after sex with new women; even though I still do it with a frequency that leaves me in a constant state of mild unhappiness. The anxiety is badly exacerbated by consuming alcohol which is, of course, always involved. I am thirteen years younger than you. Fucker.
P.S. Huge fan.