In life we often find ourselves in interesting situations.

I have found myself in many.

Now before we begin I would like to clear up a few things because I have, in the past, caught shit for some - well most - of the things I say. Regardless of what your social and political views are I ask you to please take this story in stride - and try and see past the obvious offensive shit and into its heart - which I will mention is buried pretty deep under offensive shit. So, as I said, try and read this with an open mind and realize that it wasn’t something done out of malice or misogyny - it was done out of a thirst for knowledge and, well, frankly so I would have this exact story to tell.

With that out of the way I shall begin ….

Back a few years I was working two jobs and about 95 hours a week. I didn’t even shit in my own toilet I was at work so much. Basically I had an apartment to shower and sleep in - shaving and shitting optional. Now, mind you, this was during a very lonely and dark time in my life - one I’m not necessarily ashamed of but one that I’m definitely glad is a thing of memory. I had a full time day job that was akin to working with a cartoon super villian as a boss - which is a story in its own right - but I moonlighted as a clerk at my part time job. My part time job at a porn store.

You know I once told this story to a boss of mine - during my brief flirt with corporate America - and he looked at me and simply said, “I’ve never heard anything like that.” And folks, he did 3 tours of Iraq and was one impressive son of a bitch.

So I worked part time at a porn store on Route 22 in Union, New Jersey,a nd it was far from trashy or skeezy - but also far from upscale and PC. It gently caressed the border of smut store and a place a middle aged man goes to buy the wrong vibrator for his sexually frustrated wife. To detail the place out a little - we had a pretty big store with row and row of stock smut and a generous section of toys and accessories. The outer windows were painted red (classy huh) and the inside color motif was blue and orange. Puzzlin’ isn’t it. Either way, it was a decent store with a decent clientel of, well, decent people. We would get our occasional pervert, but shit, so does your average school yard so it was what it was. The best part was the fact we never saw the owners sans once a week when they came to pick up the weeks take - and no, although they were Italian, I don’t believe this place was mob funded, which is something nearly everyone asks when I tell them this story - like its the fucking Bada Bing or something. But basically, the boss only cared about the money at the end of the whole process and only had three employees to worry about so we were good.

There was the morning guy - the manager - a former clown and Puerto Rican. No correlation.

There was the afternoon gal - the college student - a Goth clubber and rampant homophobe. Yes, correlation. As a side note - I find it funny that a culture such as Goths find it necessary to rebel against the judgements of society by judging every single god damn mother fucking thing they see. And I know a Goth Fuck’s gonna read this and say they don’t, or quote Voltaire or some ignorant shit, but fuck you - I’ve witnessed you people in the wild, you’re pretentious and goofey looking. Now take off the leather pants, ruffled shirt and heavily yet poorly applied make up before I go carve a stake out of the bar stool and put your lifestyle to the test - jackass. I only prey Dusk till Dawn vampires come back and fucking murder Edward Cullen so vampires can again have balls. This of course excludes Anne Rice, who’s vampires were both sexy and bad ass - plus she is a very talented writer and Stephanie Myers was called bad, by Stephen King. When Stephen King calls you a bad writer its time to examine your so called artistic process. Sorry for taking time away from the point but that last part was something I’ve wanted to say for awhile now and since your attention was already on me I figured I’d take a tangent and run with it.

Moving along ….

Then there was the night guy - me - an angry young man with an opinion, and self proclaimed asshole. Obvious correlation.

The shit of it is we all got along very well. In fact we were friends - good friends. We all complimented each other and kept it open and fun - plus we all smoked weed so that helped.

It was a kind of porn clerk tribunal if you will. And it was in that interesting dicotomy that this bizarre tale came to be.

You see afternoon gal was rather naive- actually she was horribly naive. Almost to a fault - like a character flaw. She was blind when it came to the world and like most women saw things as they wished them to be as opposed to how they actual were. Don’t get me wrong, up until she got involved in something she shouldn’t have we were - like I said above - very good friends. I looked past the paper thin persona and accepted her - so at this point in the story we were on good terms, and shit, we’d have to be for her to ask me what she asked me.

I’m sitting in my apartment - alone - one night when I get a call from her - afternoon gal. She tells me she’s never been punched in the face. After I try and figure out whether she’s been drinking I ask her what the fuck difference does it make. She replies by saying she’s never felt what a punch to the face feels like and wants to. It’s at that point I can hear her friend in the background mumbling about not wanting to do this. Then she tells me her friend is going to punch her and she wanted to ask me where she should punch her - so she could get the maximum effect. I remember sighing and thinking this was something I wished I could witness, but eventually told her to have her buddy punch her in the cheek, below the eye. That will give her the maximum impact without causing permanent damage. I also made a point to tell her to make sure Rocky follows through on the punch and stays clear of her temple or jaw, lest she pop an eye ball out or smack her head against the coffee table or something. I thought it relevant at the time to warn them out of some strange sense that it would go awry and end up as an after school special. Last thing this country needs is another set of mothers on TV forming a coalition and complaining - sucking the fun out of life like a bad blow job. So I assured her she’d be ok as long as her buddy didn’t throw a haymaker and blind her in one eye - then she hung up and I sat back, watched an episode of Rosanne and had a good laugh.

The next day - as I usually had nothing to do anyway - I stopped by the shop to hang out and waste time. The morning guy, who was also the manager, was finishing up his shift and waiting for afternoon gal to stop by. After an hour of so of witty remarks shot back and forth between ourselves and a few unsuspecting customers she came in for her shift. I immediately checked out her face, half expected to see her walk in with a black eye, possibly missing a tooth. Nether of which was apparent. At first I figured her friend pulled it off and the red mark had simply faded while she slept it off.

I was, however, quite wrong.

I asked what had happened and she told us that her friend chickened out and didn’t want to do it. She was visibly upset and for the next half hour pouted about missing her chance to get punched in the face. That was, until she looked over at me, opened her eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen and said something all men at one point in time have wanted to hear.

She said, “Will you punch me in the face”.

And she fucking meant it.

Of course I chuckled and laughed it off, saying no at first. Basically I was trying to make sure she was serious cause what guy wouldn’t want to pop a girl in the face and have absolutely no resourse taken upon them, especially when she is literally asking for. I’m no misogynist - but come on - that’s a request I couldn’t pass up. Plus, you know, a friend wanted to know what it was like to get punched in the face - who am I to deny her the experience. I’m simply a delivery service, she placed the order.

So I let her ask a few more times before I said ok. Of course I made sure that our manager, and close friend heard the request and everyone was sure of the intentions. Once he heard what she wanted he crossed his arms, shook his head and settled in for the show. I even called over a customer - nice guy in a business suit - and made her tell him what she wanted me to do. He laughed and almost looked around for a hidden camera, but eventually acted as a witness to her request, paid for his lesbian hardcore DVD, and went about his way. I could tell he wanted to stick around and watch, but come on, that’s just wrong.

Once again we’re alone - just the triad - and she gives me that, ok what next look. I tell her to go over into the toy corner, away from the cameras. She does. The manager stands behind her in case she falls and I square off. She immediately flinches. I drop my hands and tell her if she flinches and moves I could hit her somewhere undesirable - like the temple or jaw. I didn’t want to hurt her but told her once I swing its not like I can radically change direction easily. Surprisingly she understood and was very open to this whole experience, which came off as oddly child like in its innocence. Either way, she closed her eyes and stood there, and there was a moment - with my hands up and my feet squared up - that I looked over at her and admired her. She really wanted to know what it was like to get popped in the face and had the balls to go out and experience it. It was something I respected and didn’t think she was capable of.

Then I punched her.

Square on the cheek and with enough umph and follow through. I felt her cheek bone impact against my knuckles and knew I’d hit what I’d aimed for.

Her knees buckled and she dropped - but not all the way. Surprisingly she caught herself before she fell completely and knelt to gather herself. I could see her cheek begin to puff and turn red and it was a second or two before she opened her eyes. The only thing she said for those first few moments was, “Whoa”.

She stood back up eventually and thanked me, with a smile on the entire time. The manager looked at me in amazement, I think more at the situation than the fact I had actually done it. Then she went over to the register, cashed in and went about labeling the box of gay porn no one had touched in two weeks. I noticed a glow about her, like that of someone having come to understand something.

Part of me wanted to just waffle her - haymaker to the fucking head, knock you on your ass, blood trickle out your ears kind of punch. Not out of malice, but simply to show her what it could have been had the experiment been outside a controlled environment. But I didn’t - partly out of respect for our friendship and part in fear I’d seriously hurt her.

The day was like any other after that - and our friendship went unaffected. In fact - and this is not to boost my cock’s ego here, at all - but she was actually friendlier and (I think) flirty after that. She actually began to show up randomly at my apartment to hang out, smoke, and play Guitar Hero - something she had never done before our rendezvous. The morning guy - our manager - mentioned to me after the fact that he thinks the punch got her wet. You know, turned her on. At the time I understood where he was coming from but didn’t think too much of it. But in reflecting on it I believe he was right, because she was nicer and accommodating afterwards, and I think that makes a statement about women - not all mind you, but most.

Regardless, the event passed without incident - well, not intirely. A few days later I came in for my shift and she was ranting that her boyfriend, a guy she’d been dating for several years, was mad at her and she couldn’t understand why. I asked what the deal was and she told me. Now this part, if anything, shows her naivety. She told me that she told her boyfriend about what happened and he got mad at her. Naturally of course, I’d be rounding up the lynch mob had my girl come home and told me that. But then she said he asked why she asked me, of all people, to do it.

Her answer - because she trusted me to do it right.

And with that I say goodnight, folks.

In life we often find ourselves in interesting situations.

I have found myself in many.

Now before we begin I would like to clear up a few things because I have, in the past, caught shit for some - well most - of the things I say. Regardless of what your social and political views are I ask you to please take this story in stride - and try and see past the obvious offensive shit and into its heart - which I will mention is buried pretty deep under offensive shit. So, as I said, try and read this with an open mind and realize that it wasn’t something done out of malice or misogyny - it was done out of a thirst for knowledge and, well, frankly so I would have this exact story to tell.

With that out of the way I shall begin ….

Back a few years I was working two jobs and about 95 hours a week. I didn’t even shit in my own toilet I was at work so much. Basically I had an apartment to shower and sleep in - shaving and shitting optional. Now, mind you, this was during a very lonely and dark time in my life - one I’m not necessarily ashamed of but one that I’m definitely glad is a thing of memory. I had a full time day job that was akin to working with a cartoon super villian as a boss - which is a story in its own right - but I moonlighted as a clerk at my part time job. My part time job at a porn store.

You know I once told this story to a boss of mine - during my brief flirt with corporate America - and he looked at me and simply said, “I’ve never heard anything like that.” And folks, he did 3 tours of Iraq and was one impressive son of a bitch.

So I worked part time at a porn store on Route 22 in Union, New Jersey,a nd it was far from trashy or skeezy - but also far from upscale and PC. It gently caressed the border of smut store and a place a middle aged man goes to buy the wrong vibrator for his sexually frustrated wife. To detail the place out a little - we had a pretty big store with row and row of stock smut and a generous section of toys and accessories. The outer windows were painted red (classy huh) and the inside color motif was blue and orange. Puzzlin’ isn’t it. Either way, it was a decent store with a decent clientel of, well, decent people. We would get our occasional pervert, but shit, so does your average school yard so it was what it was. The best part was the fact we never saw the owners sans once a week when they came to pick up the weeks take - and no, although they were Italian, I don’t believe this place was mob funded, which is something nearly everyone asks when I tell them this story - like its the fucking Bada Bing or something. But basically, the boss only cared about the money at the end of the whole process and only had three employees to worry about so we were good.

There was the morning guy - the manager - a former clown and Puerto Rican. No correlation.

There was the afternoon gal - the college student - a Goth clubber and rampant homophobe. Yes, correlation. As a side note - I find it funny that a culture such as Goths find it necessary to rebel against the judgements of society by judging every single god damn mother fucking thing they see. And I know a Goth Fuck’s gonna read this and say they don’t, or quote Voltaire or some ignorant shit, but fuck you - I’ve witnessed you people in the wild, you’re pretentious and goofey looking. Now take off the leather pants, ruffled shirt and heavily yet poorly applied make up before I go carve a stake out of the bar stool and put your lifestyle to the test - jackass. I only prey Dusk till Dawn vampires come back and fucking murder Edward Cullen so vampires can again have balls. This of course excludes Anne Rice, who’s vampires were both sexy and bad ass - plus she is a very talented writer and Stephanie Myers was called bad, by Stephen King. When Stephen King calls you a bad writer its time to examine your so called artistic process. Sorry for taking time away from the point but that last part was something I’ve wanted to say for awhile now and since your attention was already on me I figured I’d take a tangent and run with it.

Moving along ….

Then there was the night guy - me - an angry young man with an opinion, and self proclaimed asshole. Obvious correlation.

The shit of it is we all got along very well. In fact we were friends - good friends. We all complimented each other and kept it open and fun - plus we all smoked weed so that helped.

It was a kind of porn clerk tribunal if you will. And it was in that interesting dicotomy that this bizarre tale came to be.

You see afternoon gal was rather naive- actually she was horribly naive. Almost to a fault - like a character flaw. She was blind when it came to the world and like most women saw things as they wished them to be as opposed to how they actual were. Don’t get me wrong, up until she got involved in something she shouldn’t have we were - like I said above - very good friends. I looked past the paper thin persona and accepted her - so at this point in the story we were on good terms, and shit, we’d have to be for her to ask me what she asked me.

I’m sitting in my apartment - alone - one night when I get a call from her - afternoon gal. She tells me she’s never been punched in the face. After I try and figure out whether she’s been drinking I ask her what the fuck difference does it make. She replies by saying she’s never felt what a punch to the face feels like and wants to. It’s at that point I can hear her friend in the background mumbling about not wanting to do this. Then she tells me her friend is going to punch her and she wanted to ask me where she should punch her - so she could get the maximum effect. I remember sighing and thinking this was something I wished I could witness, but eventually told her to have her buddy punch her in the cheek, below the eye. That will give her the maximum impact without causing permanent damage. I also made a point to tell her to make sure Rocky follows through on the punch and stays clear of her temple or jaw, lest she pop an eye ball out or smack her head against the coffee table or something. I thought it relevant at the time to warn them out of some strange sense that it would go awry and end up as an after school special. Last thing this country needs is another set of mothers on TV forming a coalition and complaining - sucking the fun out of life like a bad blow job. So I assured her she’d be ok as long as her buddy didn’t throw a haymaker and blind her in one eye - then she hung up and I sat back, watched an episode of Rosanne and had a good laugh.

The next day - as I usually had nothing to do anyway - I stopped by the shop to hang out and waste time. The morning guy, who was also the manager, was finishing up his shift and waiting for afternoon gal to stop by. After an hour of so of witty remarks shot back and forth between ourselves and a few unsuspecting customers she came in for her shift. I immediately checked out her face, half expected to see her walk in with a black eye, possibly missing a tooth. Nether of which was apparent. At first I figured her friend pulled it off and the red mark had simply faded while she slept it off.

I was, however, quite wrong.

I asked what had happened and she told us that her friend chickened out and didn’t want to do it. She was visibly upset and for the next half hour pouted about missing her chance to get punched in the face. That was, until she looked over at me, opened her eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen and said something all men at one point in time have wanted to hear.

She said, “Will you punch me in the face”.

And she fucking meant it.

Of course I chuckled and laughed it off, saying no at first. Basically I was trying to make sure she was serious cause what guy wouldn’t want to pop a girl in the face and have absolutely no resourse taken upon them, especially when she is literally asking for. I’m no misogynist - but come on - that’s a request I couldn’t pass up. Plus, you know, a friend wanted to know what it was like to get punched in the face - who am I to deny her the experience. I’m simply a delivery service, she placed the order.

So I let her ask a few more times before I said ok. Of course I made sure that our manager, and close friend heard the request and everyone was sure of the intentions. Once he heard what she wanted he crossed his arms, shook his head and settled in for the show. I even called over a customer - nice guy in a business suit - and made her tell him what she wanted me to do. He laughed and almost looked around for a hidden camera, but eventually acted as a witness to her request, paid for his lesbian hardcore DVD, and went about his way. I could tell he wanted to stick around and watch, but come on, that’s just wrong.

Once again we’re alone - just the triad - and she gives me that, ok what next look. I tell her to go over into the toy corner, away from the cameras. She does. The manager stands behind her in case she falls and I square off. She immediately flinches. I drop my hands and tell her if she flinches and moves I could hit her somewhere undesirable - like the temple or jaw. I didn’t want to hurt her but told her once I swing its not like I can radically change direction easily. Surprisingly she understood and was very open to this whole experience, which came off as oddly child like in its innocence. Either way, she closed her eyes and stood there, and there was a moment - with my hands up and my feet squared up - that I looked over at her and admired her. She really wanted to know what it was like to get popped in the face and had the balls to go out and experience it. It was something I respected and didn’t think she was capable of.

Then I punched her.

Square on the cheek and with enough umph and follow through. I felt her cheek bone impact against my knuckles and knew I’d hit what I’d aimed for.

Her knees buckled and she dropped - but not all the way. Surprisingly she caught herself before she fell completely and knelt to gather herself. I could see her cheek begin to puff and turn red and it was a second or two before she opened her eyes. The only thing she said for those first few moments was, “Whoa”.

She stood back up eventually and thanked me, with a smile on the entire time. The manager looked at me in amazement, I think more at the situation than the fact I had actually done it. Then she went over to the register, cashed in and went about labeling the box of gay porn no one had touched in two weeks. I noticed a glow about her, like that of someone having come to understand something.

Part of me wanted to just waffle her - haymaker to the fucking head, knock you on your ass, blood trickle out your ears kind of punch. Not out of malice, but simply to show her what it could have been had the experiment been outside a controlled environment. But I didn’t - partly out of respect for our friendship and part in fear I’d seriously hurt her.

The day was like any other after that - and our friendship went unaffected. In fact - and this is not to boost my cock’s ego here, at all - but she was actually friendlier and (I think) flirty after that. She actually began to show up randomly at my apartment to hang out, smoke, and play Guitar Hero - something she had never done before our rendezvous. The morning guy - our manager - mentioned to me after the fact that he thinks the punch got her wet. You know, turned her on. At the time I understood where he was coming from but didn’t think too much of it. But in reflecting on it I believe he was right, because she was nicer and accommodating afterwards, and I think that makes a statement about women - not all mind you, but most.

Regardless, the event passed without incident - well, not intirely. A few days later I came in for my shift and she was ranting that her boyfriend, a guy she’d been dating for several years, was mad at her and she couldn’t understand why. I asked what the deal was and she told me. Now this part, if anything, shows her naivety. She told me that she told her boyfriend about what happened and he got mad at her. Naturally of course, I’d be rounding up the lynch mob had my girl come home and told me that. But then she said he asked why she asked me, of all people, to do it.

Her answer - because she trusted me to do it right.

And with that I say goodnight, folks.