Ok, I... ah, have some news. Apparently, my mattress likes to molest me in my sleep. (Let me explain, Richard. Take your seat.) Years ago I was a student at a Jesuit, all-boys, Catholic high school. I lasted one year before the Dean of Discipline (actual job title) threw his arm around my shoulders and said, "Hammer, you can come back next year, but the faculty and staff talked about it and, well, none of us would mind if you didn't." Before that day, though, I had to take a theology class in which we, the boys, were taught, by a priest, about sexual functions. Now before you get your panties in a bunch, let me just say, I was never touched inappropriately by a priest. The knowledge that I wasn't attractive enough as a child is a burden I carry with me everyday. Someday I might be able to let that go. Nevertheless, the priest from theology called wet dreams, nocturnal emissions. Not that catchy, but you get the point, every sperm being sacred and all.
Let me be blunt, my mattress jerked me off two nights ago while I was sleeping and I awoke with the fitted sheet glued to my legs (yeah, there was a LOT of "glue" on the sheet). Immediately, I sat up, peeled the sheet off my leg, and began trying to inhale, really hard, through my cock in an attempt to vacuum the cum back into my balls, essentially creating a cock-uum (get it? ... whatever). When that didn't work, I cleaned myself up, and went back to sleep.
With the 100 day torture project in jeopardy, I began to research the claim that 100 days of 0 male orgasms was in fact the goal to reach. I was able to find several articles that were more boring than watching whale shit sink to bottom of the ocean from a surface vessel (avast). This one, Hello, was the easiest to understand. Apparently, what I have to shoot for, by not shooting loads into my spankerchief, is 100 days of abstaining from sexual activity. I'm gonna give myself an A-OK on that, because I can't control what my mattress does to my junk when I'm sleeping, anymore than pornstars can go back in time and stop their creepy uncles, fathers, or older brother's friends from touching them in the naughty place.
That being said, I thought I'd share some un-obstacles with you savages. Un-obstacles are things that I encounter that I feel help me to not crank out daddy butter. Here we go:
First among my allies in not draining an erection, TLC. The Learning Channel has long been the place to find marginally informative, though most often modern freak show, programming. With shows like
The Little Couple, Hoarding: Buried Alive, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, and Sarah Palin's Alaska, this network has put on display some of the most interesting sideshow freaks, mongoloids, and (in Sarah Palin's case) imbeciles that television has ever had to offer. That being said, this screenshot of a "coming up" screen has done more to stop me from reaching for my skin mallet than saltpeter did for the American Revolutionary Army to give Abigail Adams something something to do so she would stop bitching at John. (Make the saltpeter, bitch, I'm writing the Declaration of Independence and Jefferson is a temperamental ass!) Uterus Canon?!? Super Quick Weddings? The Divorce Horse (I had to read that one 3 times to make sure I was seeing it right). Cake Whores sounds like what happens when a Twatish fatty washes out of the Biggest Loser bootcamp. YIKES. Here's to TLC keeping my junk limp. Thank you.
Next up, this creepy fucking picture. I think I get what they were going for, but the girl is topless in jeans wearing her bridal veil facing a goofy picture of herself as an elementary school kid. I checked with the pedophile that lives behind my apartment complex and he was even creeped out. What I do love love love about this image is the two tattoos just visible under the veil. I think if this girl had any curves at all it would approach titillating, but in this state, the back of her body makes me think the front of her body looks like a 10 year-old boy (No, uncle pedo, I don't really have pictures of a 10 year-old boy).
And the final un-obstacle for this post, the National Creation Museum, yilch. I still cannot believe that people in the world believe that the world was made by an invisible man with a big white beard in the span of 6 days (day seven is for rest, you heathen) and all that was done 5,000 years ago. I bet these cousin fuckers use cell phones and computers and drive cars. I just don't understand how bible fanatics can use some technology but completely ignore the fact that SCIENCE DOESN'T JUST WORK WHEN IT'S CONVENIENT FOR YOUR BELIEF SYSTEM. And if I have to hear how "evolution is a theory because they're still not sure about it" I promise I will anus punch the person who says it (man or woman, I can hear you uncle pedo - I will not need you to anus punch any children. Yes, I'm sure.). At this point in human history there might be more evidence and wide acceptance of the theory of evolution than there is for the theory, YEAH, THE THEORY, of gravity. Guess who gets the first Monkey Blowjob in the history of this blog, yup, the National Creation Museum. Fuck-tards. 
Well, that's going to just about wrap things up here. I have to go wash my sheets because of my stupid cock stroking mattress. I hate doing laundry. If I could punch Doing Laundry in the throat with my foot, I totally would. So, bye for now fuckers.
BTW, it's day 29. Fuck.
Danny Hammer signing out.
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