My eyes hurt from reading that, fuckin smurf humper.

I think I was looking at a Battlestar Gallactica coloring book.

ufoclub said:

Caprica 6?

mdiver said:

If I could paint you blue, just call me Gargamel

I humped a stuffed monkey from Bush Gardens...whats the big deal??

roodboi said:

This is not about humping stuff! This is about ...well, shit I don't know anymore.

Imago said:

grudge humping??

there were so many innocent new orgers who hadn't been scarred by your TMI, dan. why?!

evenstar3 said:

I'm sorry baby This is my fault!

Dan's confession probably would never have happened if not for this thread:

http://www.prince.org/msg/100/189357


[Edited 8/30/07 10:43am]

SupaFunkyOrgangrinderSexy said:

omg

i don't blame you! we all know dan's stories have a way of getting out regardless

ok, many of you know the story of my Smurfs blanket, but if you don't I'll summarize.


The first time I ever had an orgasm was when I was dry humping my Smurfs Blanket. I remember it to this day. I was horny the entire week. I would get spontaneous erections in school, after school, and at night before bed. I was hard all the time.
So one night, I just dry humped my Smurfs Blanket trying to relieve the pressure of my throbbing penis. And it happened. I spooged on it.



But this is not a story about that. This is about what the Smurf's blanket represented to me, and how I viewed my mother because of it, and still do.


My mother is out of touch, bless her heart. She is literally, and I mean this, insane. She lives in a world where old classic movies still rule, and where the lives of old Actors and Actresses, most of them already dead, can still be readily discussed as if the long ago past events in their lives just appeared on the tabloids.
She likes Bob Hope, she loves America, and my god does she ever love the cuteness in things. Flowers, animals, little children--all so cute to her that they make her laugh like she's insane. Cause she IS insane, trust me on this.


Anyways, She bought me the Smurfs blanket when I was 11 years old. I loved the Smurfs when I was 8 or 9 but outgrew them and Saturday morning cartoons by then. So I would constantly take the blanket off my bed, and place it in my closet, and take out the plain brown blanket that I also owned and make my bed with that.

But everyday after school, I would get home and that goddamned Smurfs Blanket would be there. I would tell her that I hated it, and that I was too old to have my bed fixed everyday with a Smurfs blanket. But she would hear none of it. It was "warm" and it was easy to fix on the bed. And besides, it was "cute".

That winter, she had also cut all of my sisters hair off and butchered it to look almost identical to a school boys haircut, parted on one side. My sister begged and pleaded her not to, but she did it saying that when she was younger, they cut their hair short and it was comfortable that way, and looked "cute".
It looked positively awful. Till this day, my sister said that it hurt her terribly to 1) look like that and 2) that her cries were so easily discarded by my Mom.

Life is hell to a child growing up with Parents who view the world in their own way. When they think a certain aesthetic is what is normal, and force that on their children. But it was made more hellish that my mother's aesthetic tastes were so off center. So bizaar. So....cruel in ways.

My mom has softened with old age. Sweet, and gentle most of the time. Never arguing with my sis and I, and accepting our foul mouthed ways as just "part of who were are". But the world she lives in is still a world of some odd , delusional fantasy. George Bush is a good man, Mexicans are responsible for crime, and Phllipinos can not be trusted , in her eyes.



I guess I'll stop here and not ramble on anymore. I'm not sure why I even bothered to share this to tell you the truth. Some demons in me still lurk. Some child still cries.



I guess I'd like to think I grudge fucked the shit out of that Smurfs Blanket.

Anxiety said:

I was hoping for a picture of Papa Smurfs soiled face