Reinstatement of previous response to the rules of masturbation: 11/6/03
Confirmed as a Lutheran, that a girl would ever touch herself was never a thought, a problem, or by any means, EVER a sin because it didn’t exist. I don’t think there are any denominational bounds for this popular idea.
After a lot of porno and very misguided exploration, I found that pleasing one’s self needs no male marketed video of visually painful examples to make one’s own woman happy.
Soon after, impacted by stand-up and too many Hawaiian shirt clad “life of the party”s, I saw just how awful women really have it. The never ending male masturbation references (which were fine) accompanied by THEIR never ending jokes about women and shower massagers, and then, later, HOSTING a show and seeing women follow suit with the same bullshit because the male standards of funny, stupid females wanting to get off were/are the only acceptable humility.
Yeah, it made me sick and even more so – really really pissed off. The only way to make fun of ourselves successfully was to laugh at its ridiculousness and pathetic frivolity through the inaccurate pigeon-holed assumptions of another sex’s jest.

I began doing chick masturbation jokes at the theatre.
They fucking flew.

I later began doing them at the paying gig. Though an older crowd, I figured traveling businessmen and Marines have wives they would like to point and laugh at, a rare window into “gusset typing” comic realism. A lot of nervous laughter and collar loosening, but I didn’t give a shit. I got free beer.
Shortly after, also at the Hilton, I was told by a male comic I had introduced that no one wanted to hear a woman say “fuck” or poke fun about poking themselves.
As taboo as it was to come back on after a headliner, I got back up that night and did every nasty joke I had ever written (which was pretty much ALL of them).
I bombed,
but I didn’t care.
I did, though, tell everyone to drive safely.
Oddly enough, after the show, the patronizing prick STILL was trying to sleep with me.


After one of my first ROCKIN’ sets back at Bessie’s after moving to Las Vegas, I had an old college buddy come up to me backstage and remark, “Very funny…, but sexually frustrated much?”
I asked him when was the last time he got laid.
We haven’t talked since.

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If there were only a cheap, collective, hindsight laser surgery…

I can only assume that it would be less painful than electro-shock and vomit-reversion therapy. Effectiveness is of no concern. At least, you gave it a shot (though you had not much choice). I can see agreeing that 2+2=5 is a quick conversion when you have smoking circles all over your forehead and genitals.

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So the pamphlet wasn’t such a big revelation outside of the southeast. It just struck me that something so innocent and natural could become such an extreme issue of moral struggle. And also, it excluded women – saying again that touching oneself so-called inappropriately was a process that just doesn’t apply to inverted genitalia.
The audacity to leave pussy out of any subject should have some penance of its own.

I also thought it interesting that self-bondage could be a solution to not wanting to pleasure myself. That’s certainly not the message the pornography I have suggests. It also gives one an excuse to yell, “Ah-HA! I was really left-handed ALL ALONG!”
without actually having to own a sword.

The idea of the body as a temple is very familiar. It’s what I was given and all I’ve got.
I should respect the only physical possession I’m allowed. Makes total sense, but I don’t. Don’t know of anyone I know personally that does… consistently.

I used to get onto Tripp’s case that if he really respected himself, he would not pollute his temple with smoke.
Then I remember being more disheartened with him for standing on the side of the road holding up a sign that said, “Abortion Kills Children.”
When we,…sorry…
When I had a scare,
I saw no picketing.

I’m a smoker now.

The phrase, “Slap mah fro” also left a big impression. At first, I thought of it as extremely racist. Strangely enough not coming to this conclusion on my own, it was Sherry that pointed out that it makes for a very hilarious masturbation reference.

**Aside – I was in Boulder, Colorado smoking on a roof of a bar (the only place you could smoke at a bar in Boulder, Colorado) and the sound of a car crashing into metal echoed across Hill Street. The girl that had driven us there in a Jeep turned to us and said, “I better check my beast.” She went over to the edge of the roof to survey any damage. I turned to my friend and said, “Oh, she meant the Jeep! I thought it was a euphemism for going to the bathroom!” I would have given her more credit if it had been. ***

Slap mah fro!

Of course, no “honky jibe” was really weird too. (Though spelled wrong.)

Maybe “slap mah fro” was intended to be a way of expressing: “Well, hit my forehead, I shouldn’t be touching the only physical possession I own!”
What a silly bastard am I!

Who knows? I am transfixed by its hilarious implications as well as its sudden application to EVERYTHING.

There we are. I can now agree with the acid trippin’ hippy trying to explain the Phish lyrics. “Dude, it totally means what you WANT it to mean.”
Well, slap mah fro! He turned out to be right after all.

*Yet even another 2003 revision of an old ideal.
As I climb higher, the scattered glass below slowly evolves shard by shard into diamonds…
While the silver lined cliffs ahead keep turning out to be tin foil.
(thanks again eso)*


I’m a little concerned that giving one’s self an orgasm could possibly even fund counter instruction beyond increasing the size of the smile and pleasure it brings. The fact that anyone even gives a shit…

The description that came with the instructions of ejaculation was that it was a natural process to be expelled by the body itself unconsciously because of the excessive amounts produced. The damnation results from intentionally causing an emission because it is not for the purpose of procreation.

Belching is a natural process. It is a form of build up and release that aids digestion.
I’ve never heard of eternal warnings of sinful belching.
Not of hormonal origin, but a function that also expels naturally for a reason and if induced: guaranteed a great party trick. (Same as masturbation actually)
A good fake burp does not further the process of digestion, but I’ve yet to see literature addressing my wavering piety as a result.
If there was, I’d probably do it more.
Feeling guilty about it adds a little spark to its execution. Wow.

As I’ve said MANY times: Anyone who thinks belching is disgusting, just can’t do it well.

Though I never thought about it before, I suppose I feel the same about masturbating.
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Maybe leaving women out of the wrist slapping keeps their curiosity of mono-ecstasy at bay with the façade that they are superior to this evil temptation. Gotta hand out the credit there. Smart tactic either way.
1) If women’s jacking off doesn’t exist, then it must be wrong.
2) If men have so much trouble with its suppression, then they are weaker than women– sweet fodder for a chick to chew on while cooking a meal hopefully tasty enough for him to thank the hell out of her. (A small hope that the throbbing will be quelled if the man is served satisfactorily – even then there is no absolute- better luck with the pot pie tomorrow for a decent release)

At least men have it a little easier, you are allowed full reign over your internal processes. I have numerous male government officials roaming around my uterus every couple of months posting memorandum upon memorandum that they have full executive decision of its contents. My power of attorney over my own flesh, blood, and tissue is revoked because a bunch of aging limp dicks can get away with using democracy as a tool to control women. “Sorry, ladies, making decisions is too much a burden. Raising a child by yourself is what we think God would approve of. So, it’s right because we think so. Plus what’s the small price of being a single mother compared to what we believe will happen to you if you don’t. Really, there’s nothing to it. All you do is… well, you… - It’s just right damnit or we’ll through you in jail until you understand that we know what’s best. You raise, we rule. It’s the law.”
Basing self-appointed dictatorship over a gender from selectively picking ULTIMATE LAW from a book that cannot be classified into fiction or non-fiction makes me a little skeptical of blindly and involuntarily relinquishing my reproductive freedom. Yet I pay every fucking check to fund this federal moral crusade into my womb. I am, by law, required to pay for my own pillage.
I have no choice.
Yeah, men have it a little easier.

Although there is a large difference between what we are put through, what we put ourselves through, what actual obstacles there are, and what ones we give ourselves, everyone has their own entrance and exit. It’s all a matter of recognizing what of yourself changes with circumstance, and what never will.

Sometimes it’s a surprise.