Jillian Approved: Humor, News and Nonsense

Did any of you ever see the movie “The Inkwell”? The title is a line from the film. There’s a scene where this kid’s Dad is trying to explain sex… along with the importance of the CLITORIS. Now I’m not sure if the Dad actually says the word CLITORIS, I mean it’s quite possible he just meant the VAGINA as a whole.

But something makes me pretty sure he was referencing the almighty CLITORIS.

I have no reason to mention this quote other than to say I still don’t get what the Dad meant. How is it like a guitar string? What exactly is getting plucked? I’m not going to lie: I’m VERY familiar with my “sex” parts, but I don’t know anything down there that requires plucking. Rubbing? Sure. Stroking? Of course… but plucking? Not so much. I pride myself on having a good relationship with the big “V”. We’ve known one another my whole life, and the relationship is so good I don’t even have to call before I visit. And let’s face it: whenever I DO drop by, we both know it’s only for one reason. Well, if you want to get into specifics, maybe it’s more than just ONE reason, but you get the picture.

In other news:

The job is going well… I guess. The money is good, but it’s certainly not doing anything to warm me up to the idea of having kids myself. And I am definitely no closer to being able to tolerate teenagers. As of now, I do a pretty good job of ignoring everyone on the bus and only speaking when someone speaks to me first. I’m pretty sure the students and counselors think I hate them, but I don’t worry about it too much. In the end, the only thing that matters is me getting them to their destinations safely and on time.

So there are these little boys who like to sit behind me and talk to each other the entire trip. Everyone else has enough sense to bring an iPod or fall asleep, but not these boys. The first time they sat behind me I thought they were retarded because they kept making cow noises and rocking back and forth. But it turns out they’re just stupid. Kids these days. I want so bad to turn around and tell them I see many many years of Virginity in their future.

I’ll be honest and say that I’ve thought about shutting this blog down. Jan can’t help but remind me EVERY DAY how many deadlines I’ve missed. Seriously. He tells me even before he says “Good morning”. I would leave him, but then I’d have to get a real job. And well… real jobs suck. However, I do wanna extend my appreciation to the people that visit even though the site has gone to crap. You know who you are.

Don’t worry, I’ll make it un-crappy.

1985 was quite simply the most magical year I’ve ever known. I was just a small boy at the time, with already large and highly threatening testicles; but not unlike other children of lesser testicles (or even, none at all), I was completely immersed in the world of a young, yet burgeoning cable channel called Music Television—or MTV, to those in the know. This MTV was quite different then. They actually played music videos, and had people called VJs that introduced them. From what I could gather of VJs, they were mostly just wicked old people—like 22 or something—that tried to act like they knew all kinds of shit about music. Of course, people that old only listen to retarded, faggy music, so I’m sure they had kids around to tell them what was cool. As far as I was concerned, these VJs could just as easily have been replaced by drooling chimps in diapers (and they eventually would be). The music videos themselves were all that really mattered.

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