Blog Jogging. We're Blog Jogging.

"Your birth is a mistake you'll spend your whole life trying to correct."
~ Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

Welcome Blog Joggers, Friends, People Of Questionable Sanity, and Poor, Innocent ByStanders.

Thank-you for checking out my Blog!

I hope you enjoy your tour of my lunacy, in it's written form. If you don't, well hey - at least you get to leave. I would ask before you begin perusing, though, to please bear in mind that the entire contents of this blog are intended for a mature audience only. The stories of the industry I chose to work in, and the subsequent troubles and dramas, were all events of an adult nature. The tone (and dreadful language) that my blog then spawned was a natural and inevitable consequence.  Much as I wanted to appear normal and balanced and fun-for-the-whole-family in my writing, I could not create a happy candyland setting AND be truthful with my story at the same time. There was simply no way I would have been able to genuinely and sincerely recount my experiences from this past year, or my true feelings and how I had reacted in each situation, or the very depths of my reckless highs and suicidal lows, were I trying to squeeze my x-rated life into a more acceptable, aesthetically pleasing, pg-13 package.

I chose to bare my truths here, for better or for worse, to see if it would be cathartic.

I add this extra disclaimer simply to ensure that no one gets caught wandering around my Blog with their pants down. If you are under 18 years of age or are easily offended, then this Blog is not for you.

This Blog Contains Mature Content. This Blog May Explode If Too Vigorously Rubbed. Please Clean Up Any Projectile Personal Bodily Fluids This Blog May Invoke. Please Leave Tip For Said Projectile Bodily Fluids On Proverbial Side Table.

Anyhoo...When you're done here, and you've had enough of crying on the floor in the fetal position and are ready for a happier Blog in the Jog, head on over to  http://doreenisthewizardofwords.blogspot.com, for some more great writing.

If you would like to visit a different Blog in the Jog, please go to http://blogjogday.blogspot.com

Thanks again, and have fun Jogging!

Kage

Pis.s. Just found the link to my blog on the jog, on Carol Denbow's site, so the blog before mine. She obviously tried  really hard to warn people about my blog, without totally trashing me. So cute!

"When you’re done peeking at my site here, please click over to “Sex, Sequins + Sociopaths” (adult content) http://theragesofkages.blogspot.com. WARNING! The next Blog is LOADED with adult content. If you are under 18 or need to skip over it, jump ahead to http://doreenisthewizardofwords.blogspot.com. "

Legalize OxyContin (But Only For Me)

Essay written for Filling Station Magazine

I do not understand why I cannot simply have a prescription for OxyContin for the rest of my life. Why the hell not?

Millions of North Americans are taking their prescribed antidepressants every day, even those who barely suffer from depression, and just picked up on the fashionable trend of always being pleasant and compliant. I do suffer from a crippling depression that no antidepressant can touch, and I have found the solution in the form of a pill, just like everyone else.

My pill just happens to be an illegal narcotic.

But it’s effects are much the same. It makes me happy, motivated, sure of myself, ambitious. In all truth and fact, it is far more effective at relieving me of my depression than any antidepressant. Prozac, Effexor, Lithium, Seroquel - I’ve tried them all, but the simple truth is that without Oxy Contin, I don’t even want to live. With OCs, not only do I want to live, but I want to live well, and I have the energy and the confidence to do so. If this drug has all these positive attributes, and actually does tenfold what every antidepressant on the market claims to do, and makes me everything that I want to be, why won’t they give me my prescription? Don’t they want me to be happy?

I know there’s the slight side effects to consider - being so physically dependent on a drug that I become deathly ill if I do not have it; the dissolution of my teeth and bones as my body is robbed of it’s calcium; all those pesky weekly trips to the cardiologist to check my EKG because I now have an irregular heartbeat; being in the high risk group for heart attacks at the ripe old age of twenty-four; friends and family praying for my death so that we can all be relieved of the burden that is me.

If the alternative is lying on a floor, unable to move and suffocating on my own sadness, I would say that this is a small price to pay.

At least with OxyContin I would die happy. After all, if any of what I write is true, then I do not believe I am actually living at all.

Super Tan!

Article written for CyberSugar.com

Guys are so funny about masturbating. They will do it fucking ANYWHERE. And while I, and every other girl I know (who will admit it) masturbate too, I don’t think I have ever done it somewhere strange or vaguely inappropriate - save my my bed in the ballet dormitory, while my roommate was sleeping two feet away. But that doesn’t count, because she was wearing ear plugs. Besides, we were there for months - it was bound to happen sooner or later. And she prolly did it too while I was snoring away beside her. Other than that, though, I have never felt the urge to tickle myself outside of my own home.

Until today, that is.

A couple of days ago, Boyfriend and I were upstairs in our bedroom, going at it doggy style. Bf must have eaten his fucking Wheaties that morning, cuz he was pounding me so hard, I wondered, do I owe him money? When he would ram it in really hard, it would hit this spot inside me that felt so good I would momentarily forget that it kept causing me to bang my head into the wall. Twas a thing of beauty.

Anyway, I was running around this afternoon, and after working last night I was in desperate need of a nap. I decided I would kill two birds with one stone and go for a tan, so I could get pretty and get some sleep. Ten minutes later I was lubed up and goggled, and ready for my snooze. I strapped on Mr. Reznor (my iPod) and climbed into the bed, sighing happily as I stretched out for my twenty minute nap. After a couple of seconds, though, I realized that it was requiring far too much effort to lie on my back. I flipped over onto my belly and stretched out again, and as I was trying in vain to get comfortable, I accidentally rubbed my clit piercing against the hard plastic of the bed. A shock rushed through my groin and I laughed, but I kept my body still and tried to ignore it - I really needed to get some sleep.

But alas, the damage was done. My mind started to wander back to the sensation Bf had pounded into me the other night, and before I knew it, I was pushing my pelvic bone into the bed and rubbing my clit ring against the hard plastic.

Now, before you freak out, I was wearing pvc (plastic) underwear, so rubbing myself against a sanitized plastic bed really isn’t that gross. Still, when I knew for certain that I was going to ride this thing through to the end (pun intended), I got out of the bed and grabbed the towel that had been left in the room for me (though presumably NOT so I could masturbate with it). I lay the towel down in the middle of the bed and positioned myself on top of it, then ground my pussy into my hand until I came, just a few seconds later.

It didn’t occur to me until I was finished just how loud a creaking tanning bed could be. One would assume that the tremendous noise generated by the bed would drown out absolutely everything, but judging by the smirks on the receptionists’ faces as I left, one would be so very, very wrong.

Whatever, I thought. It was worth it. And now that it's done, I feel like I am part of an elite crew of people that can masturbate anywhere! Together, we could be like a team of Super Heroes, engaging our special skills in random public places throughout the city. Of course, we won’t actually help anyone other than ourselves, but again - whatever.

Ooooh, and think how cool the costumes would be! All covered faces and exposed genitals, with hand lotion and baby oil attached to our utility belts for "emergencies".

Of course, I can’t really commit to anything at this exact moment. I am obviously going to be very busy in the next few days, looking for a new place to tan.

What The Fuck IS A Donkey Punch, Anyway?

Ohhhhhhh! It's a DRINK.

(Article written for CyberSugar.com)

I remember asking this of a few people, a couple of years ago. The standard response I got was incredulous laughter that I didn’t know what it was, and, well, that was it. No one would actually tell me what it was. I lost interest shortly thereafter, and forgot to pursue my inquiry.

I was reminded of my quest for knowledge last night while watching an old episode of South Park (my only source of intellectual stimuli), in which Mr. Garrison asks the kindergardeners to name off popular sexual positions. I giggled as they were uttered by these tiny kid voices, and were written down on the blackboard - Missionary Position, Reverse Cowgirl, etc. - but I soon found myself in uncharted waters. Hot Carl? Filthy Sanchez? (Okay, I do kinda know what that one is, but please don’t ask me why). Glass-bottomed boat? (I think I can fucking guess. Ugh.) Donkey Punch?

I’ve heard that one so many times before! What the fuck IS a Donkey Punch?!

The only experience I’ve had with a "Donkey Punch” was with this Marine I was sleeping with, back in 2004, when I was working in Guam for the first time. He would ask me if I wanted a Donkey Punch, then he’d jump on the bed with his hands, kick his legs out behind him, and scream “HEE-HAW!”

Of course, I took a video of it. Who wouldn’t? I’ve never seen anything like it, and I also figured one day, hey, I might be able to use this for blackmail. In the video, you can hear me giggling drunkenly in the background every time this tattooed, muscled hottie would kick his feet up at the Guam Hilton hotel room ceiling. Even now, five years later, I still snort water out of my nose as I watch him buck and scream like a demented donkey.

Screamingly funny as it is - and it IS - I have a feeling that it is NOT what is traditionally known as a Donkey Punch. Did my drunken Marine lead me astray? 

I’m off to the Interweb (that series of tubes) to investigate...

...hmmmm. Urban Dictionary’s definition does not exactly coincide with the Marine’s.

"Whilst participating in either vaginal or anal doggy style intercourse, during the instant before the male ejaculates, the penis is inserted (or kept) in the female’s anus, at which point he delivers a swift punch to the back of the female’s cranium. This results in the simultaneous contraction of the anal sphincter and various other muscles in the female, thus producing a tremendous sensation for the male."

Um....what? Really? Is that really what it is?

I’m gonna Goggle it.

Haha! I wonder if there will be some videos of THAT.

Okay, I found a definition that I like better, on menarebetterthanwomen.com.

"What the Donkey Punch is, is a punch delivered to the woman’s ass during intercourse. THAT'S IT.

Try it yourself and you’ll know why they call it the Donkey Punch. If you disagree, why not invent a sexual move that involves a woman jumping off a roof and landing on your cock. Call it the Stupid Jackass."

Snort. She told them.

Her definition's a little better, I guess. But not much. 


  I texted the Marine in San Diego, to let him know what I thought of his depiction of what a Donkey Punch was.

Kage: Hey! Remember when we were humping, back in Guam? Your definition of a Donkey Punch left a little something to be desired.

Marine: Oh yeah? Like what?

Kage: Like an accurate definition of a Donkey Punch when we were humping, back in Guam.

Marine: Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m all about the Dutch Rudder!

Kage (after looking up Dutch Rudder on urbandictionary.com): Wow. Romantic bugger, aren’t you, Romeo?

Marine: Be nice to me, or you’ll end up with a Chinese Fire Dragon. That one’s the ultimate.

Kage (after looking up Chinese Fire Dragon on urbandictionary.com): Tee hee! FUCK YOU!

I have since looked up every other dirty position mentioned on South Park last night, and have come to the conclusion that, a) South Park is the sickest shit on tv, and b) I am so glad that no part of my sex life involves me getting punched in the back of the skull, or anyone pooping on my coffee table, while I lie underneath and watch.

Just a couple of nice, hard slaps across the face, every once in a while. 


  Nice and normal. That’s all I need.