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You Circled What Now?!

June 24, 2012

Before we begin, I’m TOTALLY going to do the responsible thing here and issue a warning.  The blog which follows is not for you.  Don’t read it.

Okay, seriously, here’s the actual warning.  The following blog is filthy.  It’s not at all the sort of thing children or Republicans should be allowed to read.  Also, it’s pretty disgusting, so if you have a weak stomach, you should probably stop here.  Also, seriously, if you DO read on… DO NOT complain about how disgusting and horrible and distasteful this blog is.  You have waived the right to complain by reading beyond this point.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

With an Intro Like That, How Can I NOT Keep Reading?!

Yeah, I know.  I do that, too.  But I swear, that was not the intent of the warning AT ALL.  The idea was to give fair warning to people before launching into a story from my childhood about a phone call which damn near SCARRED ME FOR LIFE.  That’s all.  Okay, it didn’t impact my childhood that greatly, except that I can remember every horrible word of this phone conversation, when I can’t really remember what I had for breakfast yesterday (it was Cheerios… or maybe Frosted Flakes…).

This phone conversation took place between myself and one of my closest friends in the summer between our seventh and eighth grade years.  We lived in rural North Carolina, where it was common for kids to spend most of their summer at camp.  I did this as well, although my family couldn’t really afford to send me and my brother off to sleep-away camp… so we usually ended up going to a day camp (by the way, if you don’t know the difference between a day camp and a sleep-away camp, WOW you’re good at overlooking the obvious).  And usually there was some form of child labor involved.  By that I mean either my mom or dad (usually, both) would end up WORKING at a day camp over the summer, and my brother and I would get to attend for free, but since we were there after all the campers left for the day we would end up hauling bags of trash or putting away all the craft supplies or something like that.  My friends got to go to sleep-away camps, which I always assumed was this awesome magical world of s’mores, camp fires, sing-alongs, and ghost stories.  Some of that stuff probably happened.  But when my friend called me after returning home, I learned that some fucked up shit also went down in sleep-away camp.  Some shit I was, for the first time in my life, glad I was too poor to be a part of.

Ring!  Ring!

This takes place on a Friday night.  I know this because there wasn’t a damn thing on television on a Friday night back then.  We lived out in the country and the rabbit ears only pulled in like five or six channels to begin with.  And when those channels went into their Friday night lineups, somehow children were NOT on the forefront of their scheduling concerns.  So on Friday nights, the family would sit together and read books, almost always Hardy Boys mysteries.  Yes, cheesy as it sounds, my family would sit in the living room, and each person would read a chapter aloud, then pass the book to the next person. I think we gravitated toward the H-Boys because we could knock out a mystery in a single Friday night.

So, as we were all gathered in the living room, reading another amazing adventure of the Brothers Hardy, the phone rang.  My mom answered, and after a moment came back into the living room with the cordless phone.

Mom: It’s your friend…

Whoa.  Okay I can NOT divulge WHICH of my friends called me here.  Not even a first name… or an initial.  We’ll call him Friend X… and not because his name started with X.  It didn’t.  So there, I’ve narrowed it down to the other 25 letters of the alphabet for you.  Anyway, I took the phone from my mom, intending to politely tell my friend that I couldn’t talk right now, and ask him if I could maybe call him in the morning.  That was the unspoken rule of Book Night: everyone participates.  But, instead, THIS happened…

Me: Hey, Friend X.

Friend X: Dude!  Do you know how to jack off??

What the fuck?  Or… more to the point… what the fist-fuck?!  My reaction?  I FROZE.  I said nothing.  My face, likely turned a deep crimson as I sat between my mother and my father… his words echoing in my brain.  What the hell happened to hello?  There’s phone fucking etiquette to consider here.  Give me some sort of WARNING before launching into a discussion of masturbation… which, as you can tell by the question, WE HAD NEVER FUCKING TALKED ABOUT BEFORE.

Friend X:  Hello?  Are you still there?

Me: Uh, yeah.

Friend X:  So?  Do you?

Me: (Squirming now in the uncomfortable position between my parents)  Hmmm.  Yeah I guess.

Friend X:  You guess?  Or you know?

Me: Uhhhh

Friend X:  Your parents are in the room with you, huh?

Me: Yep, that’s the one!

Friend X: So take the phone to the bedroom!  That’s the whole POINT of having a cordless phone!

Holy shit.  The point of having a cordless phone is so you can have a private conversation about masturbation?  I had NO idea that was the driving force behind their design.  Now I was really in an awkward spot.  On the one hand (holy shit… PUN NOT INTENDED I SWEAR), I didn’t particularly want to have a conversation with my friend about jerkin’ it… NOR did I want to fly in the face of the rule of Book Night just so I can have this uncomfortable conversation with my friend.  On the other hand (well, yeah, now I just gotta roll with it…), I didn’t want to look like a prude for avoiding the conversation, nor did I want to have to explain to my parents why I looked like a deer in headlights when I got off the phone.  Besides, we did, after all, have an awesome cordless phone.  This was apparently what they were made for.

Sweet technological freedom… this model featured an extendable antenna for tens of feet of static free conversation about masturbation.

I cupped my hand over the receiver.

Me: Uhm, mom?  Friend X just got home from sleep-away camp.  Do you mind if I take this?

Mom: (clearly suspecting something was amiss)  I guess if you really want to.

Me: Sure.  Let’s go with that.

This, by the way, was my go-to phrase when I really didn’t want to talk about something.  My mom would make some sort of guess, and I’d merely say “let’s go with that,” and the subject was usually dropped at that point.  I walked back to my room and shut the door, walked halfway to my bed, stopped, walked back to the door and locked it before lying on my bed to continue what would doubtlessly be a train-wreck of a phone call.

Me: Okay.  I’m in my room.  Yes.  I know how to jack-off, as I’m pretty sure everyone in our class knows at this point.  And… Friend X are you there?

There was a sudden panic in my heart.  OH GOD PLEASE let him be the only one on the line.

Friend X: Yeah I am.

Me: (letting out an audible sigh of relief) Okay… anyway, so, yeah.  I know how to jack off.

Friend X:  Yeah.  I figured that, but I needed to make SURE you knew about jacking off before I tell you what happened at camp.  Have you ever heard of a circle-jerk?

Wow… I wish there was some way of tracking exactly at what point in a blog readers stop reading.  I somehow feel that last line sent a huge portion of my blog readers packing.  I suspect a fair percentage of you  just gave an audible, “oh, FUCK no!” and clicked a link… ANY link… or just plain clicked the X to close me out.  For those of you intrepid readers still with me: read on my blogbabies*!  It only gets better from here!

Me: A circle what??

Friend X: A circle-jerk!

Me: Okay, no.  I can honestly say I’ve never heard of that.

Friend X: Okay, check this out!  A circle jerk is when a group of guys go into a room, and they put some awesome porn in the middle of the room.  Then, everyone takes out their dicks, and sits in a circle around the porn.  Then you put your hands on the two dongs to either side of you and jerk them off while looking at the porn.  And the two people beside you are jacking you off at the same time.

I.  Was.  Speechless.  There was no way this existed.  He was messing with me.  That’s it.  It was a big hoax he had dreamed up to get me to freak out.  So I, being mature and totally in tune to when a practical joke was being played on me, began laughing.

Friend X: What’s so funny?

Me: Dude.  That DIDN’T happen!

Friend X: It totally DID happen.  And it was AWESOME!

Me: (Still laughing) Bull crap.

Friend X: Seriously!  This isn’t a joke!  It was like the most awesome thing EVER!  I mean, at first, it’s a little weird…

Me: (No longer laughing) A LITTLE weird?!

Friend X: It sounds weirder than it is.  I mean, yeah, there’s a moment where you’re like… oh man, I gotta touch these other two wieners.  But then there are two hands on your dick as well and you’re looking at porn and…

Me: Wow.

Friend X: You can say that again!  Awesome, right?

Me: Awesome isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe it.

Friend X: What then?

Me:  Hmmmm… how about… gay?

Friend X: WHAT?!  What’s gay about it?!

Me: What ISN’T gay about it??  You’re … (remembering how thin the walls are in my house) … lending a HAND to… you know… while two other guys… you know… lend you a hand.

Friend X:  It wasn’t GAY porn we were looking at!

Well, THAT makes all the difference in the world!!  My head was swimming.  Holy shit.  How is this gay?  Let me count the ways… or, more to the point… let me count the number of PENISES in the ROOM.  Who on earth DID such a thing and didn’t immediately see how incredibly homosexual it was?  Who did this, then couldn’t wait to BRAG about it?  I mean this should be like goddamn Fight Club… and he was in violation of rule #1 (that reference would have obviously been lost back then, as Chuck Palahniuk hadn’t even invented Fight Club yet).  And the argument he offered: the porn wasn’t gay??  You are MAKING gay porn!  All you lacked was a video camera!!

Me: Wow.

Friend X: So you see now?

Me: I’m trying hard not to.

Friend X: What??  Really?  Just IMAGINE the feeling of two strange hands…

Me: Again… trying hard not to.

Friend X: Seriously??  It’s not like we did anything like oral sex!

Me: Holy hell!  Okay I gotta go!

Friend X:  Wait!  Okay… you’ll see how awesome it is.  Just give it a chance!

Me: Wow.  That is SO not going to happen!

Friend X: No, seriously.  I’ll do a sleep over and…

Me: And… I will NOT be attending.

Friend X: Oh, come on!

Me: Nope.

Friend X: Seriously?

Me: SO serious!

Friend X: (after a long pause) Wow.  I thought you were more open minded than that.

Me: Hmm.  Guess we both learned something today.  (After another long pause, in which I sort of realized I probably hurt his feelings which PROBABLY made me the bad guy in this fucked up scenario) I’m not judging, but also… not comfortable.

Friend X: Well, okay then.  Your loss.  You’ll never know what you’re missing.

Me:  I suppose I won’t.

What He Didn’t Know…

Since that time, I have had the opportunity to learn much more on the subject of the circle jerk.  In almost every instance in which one was mentioned, the boys sat in a circle jerking THEMSELVES off while looking at porn.  The idea was to be the first to… you know… finish.  It was a sort of race.  A horrible, horrible race… with a messy finish line.  So… yeah.  The story above, NOT your typical circle jerk.

In Arizona, the most common store is the Circle K convenience store.  They are on pretty much every corner, the way 7-11 stores are on every corner in other parts of the world.  So tonight, I heard the store referred to as “Circle Jerkle” and I shuddered.  The phone call on a fateful Friday night in the summer before my eighth grade year came flooding back with a shocking level of clarity.  And I thought, Holy shit, some things you just can’t un-hear.  Or… in your case… un-read.  Good luck with that, my blogbabies*!

*I totally just made up the term blogbabies mid-blog.  I’m not being demeaning, or at least I don’t intend to be.  I was reminded of a story when Conan O’Brien was in an airport and asked to say something to a group of people who were about to face their deep phobia of flying and board a plane.  He agreed to address them, then when he was before the group realized he really didn’t have a thing to say.  So, after an awkward moment trying to tell them all how they had nothing to worry about, all the while watching the horror intensify on their faces, he just gave up and said “Well… just… be cool, my babies!!” and walked away.  Much in the way I imagine the horror was spreading across the faces of my readers as this story rambled on.  Be cool, my blogbabies!

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4 Comments
  1. Wow… This is the first time since I watched Friday the 13th that I am actually happy that I was too poor to be sent to sleep-away camp. Although, I’m a girl, so that actually could have been pretty hot. But with my luck, the chicks would all just be mean and judgmental and I would have ended up low self esteem.

    • Haha! Well, yeah, I don’t think there is a female equivalent to this particular activity… unless it comes as part of a truth or dare game. In which case, yeah, I think mean and judgmental is pretty much the name of the game. Or, well, okay technically truth or dare would be the name of the game, but you know what I mean.

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