"I can't wait to savagely cut off your balls and shove them in a mason jar, honey...metaphorically speaking, of course."Scientists have confirmed that, statistically speaking, one (1) out of every eight (8) marriages will end in a brutal murder-suicide pact. That's simple mathematics, folks, and you can't argue with that. Given these staggering numbers, I guess I should consider myself lucky that my parents ended their marriage in divorce years ago, otherwise I might have ended up like one of those kids you see on the news being carried out of their house by a police officer. Now, for some married couples a divorce may seem like a life-altering event, but fortunately for my parents, divorce is as natural as calling in sick to work because your mouth herpes is acting up. My parents collect wedding rings the way most people collect jars of their own piss, which I have heard is quite a common practice. My mother has been married and divorced twice and has currently just begun that magical third marriage. Seriously, my mom has more hyphens in her name than a message in Morse Code. My old man is 0 for 3 in the marriage department, and has since relegated himself to harassing check out girls at the local grocery store. Unlike my mother's third marriage, I was not present for her second marriage-the one to my father. But I do know that their wedding vows were more like funny anecdotes and after my dad said, "I do," he suddenly turned to the congregation and shouted in a wild bout of hysteria that it was he who had originally come up with the concept for the movie Blade Runner. When the priest explained to my father that Blade Runner was in fact based on a book by Philip K. Dick, my father punched the priest in the balls and screamed, "Vader lives!" At this point my mom had divorced one husband and my dad had divorced two wives. The relationship that I am in right now has lasted longer than my parents' first three marriages combined. Anyway, over the next twenty years, Mom and Dad spawned a multitude of children who would not become useful until they could be used as leverage in in divorce proceedings. After the break up of my parents' marriage, I knew that I could do one of two things: either become a whiny emo douche or get the fuck over it. I decided to become a whiny emo douche. For two years I dressed in black and posted video diaries and songs on Youtube. I'm sure they are still out there. My best numbers were "Skullfuck My Heart," "Your Divorce is the Reason I'm into Bondage Porn," and the tearjerker "Is the Reason I Hate My Father Because I Am Actually In Love With My Mother?" Good stuff. Eventually I got over it and moved the fuck on. In fact, the only real change that happened after my parent's got a divorce is my dad went from saying, "Your mom's really got me by the balls." to saying, "Your mom's still got me by the balls." It was an amicable split, and us kids were all old enough to be spared any emotional damage caused by the divorce...emotional damage caused by the marriage is another story. Last year I went to the doctor to get something checked out. The doctor looked me over, gave me his diagnosis and a prescription and I went on my way. They very next day I returned to the doctor's office without an appointment and waited over an hour before I was called in to see him. He asked me, "Eric, why are you here just one day after we talked?" And I explained to him that I felt I did not adequately explain my condition the day before, therefore he may have erred in his diagnosis. He then proceeded to give me my second check up in two days. Afterwards we talked for a moment before he finally said, "Eric, would you be interested in seeing a psychiatrist?" I replied that in a perfect world I would love to share my paranoid fantasies in a neutral setting with an unbiased person, but it costs money, and I didn't have a job or insurance. He gave me a worried look that told me he was probably calculating how long it was going to be before the crazy took over. The reason I tell you this is because my parents' marriage has instilled in me a neurosis so volatile that my only recourse is pessimism. Here is what I mean: I had no job, no money, no health insurance, but I still went to the doctor. A medial professional who went to school for this shit told me I was fine. I didn't believe him. I thought, "There's no possible way he is going to know for sure unless I tell him this." So I went back to the hospital the next fucking day. Waited for a fucking hour to see him, only to have him tell me the same shit he told me the previous day, except this time add that I may need psychiatric help. I was later billed for two visits that came in at just under six hundred dollars. And the worse part was, the doctor didn't find anything wrong with me, and nothing ever came from it health-wise. It's almost like I wished I had cancer, just to say, "I told you I was sick." You see, I expect things to go bad for me and for others around me. Hell, I have even written out eulogies for people I know are still alive, and who might not even want me to speak at their funerals. But I'm getting off topic. Some people might say, "That ol Eric is an odd duck," and I say that is because I witnessed my parent's marriage erode over a twenty-year period. Now, my obsession with midget porn, OK, that's all me...but the neurosis, that's Mom and Dad. Not long after the divorce my mother had a gentleman caller whom she invited over to her house to cook out. This was the first time I met my mom's future third husband. Anyway, as the gentleman caller was outside grilling, my dad stopped over to drop something off for my sisters. Steve-O comes into the kitchen, and just then GC comes in front outside, and they both stare at each other thinking, "What's this asshole doing here?" I thought a black hole was going to erupt right there, causing a seismic rift in space and time. The awkward silence was so thick I felt it covering me. I don't know how this meeting ended, because I got the fuck outta there. So, Mom moved on pretty quickly after the divorce. My dad completely swore off marriage, pretty much swore off women, saying he just wanted to be with his kids and his friends, then almost immediately after the divorce he goes out and starts dating a woman who looks almost exactly like my mom and even shares her first fucking name! Dysfunctional does not even begin to describe my first five years out of high school. But things are starting to look up...my jars of urine are starting to look half full now. I've been dating Steph for nigh on 5.5 years. She's a wonderful girl; wonderful because she doesn't yell at me when I show her my wiener. And although I have no idea what a good marriage should look like, I have no clue as to what make a marriage work, I feel myself stepping closer and closer to the gallows of marriage. Actually, I already have the noose around my neck...I'm just waiting for the guy in the black hood to drop the floor out from under me. Before I end this I also want to say a few things as a sort of post jerk-off mop session: out of my parents' failed marriages my army of siblings has nearly doubled. I discovered that I have a (much) older sister from my dad's first marriage, which in turn has also given me a niece, and from Mom's Marriage 3rd Edition I got two (2) step-brothers. And the real kick in the balls? I'm still the one my uncles say will probably be gay.
The Moore You Know: There are many reasons why I love porn, but one of the most important reasons is how simple the adult video companies make it for the consumers. Everything you need to know about the porn you are watching is right there in the title. The titles of porn movies are so specific you would think that Vivid's major demographic is paint-huffers and pant-shitters. But the titles make it impossible to get confused. Because of the title you know exactly what you're getting into. She-Male Cum Guzzlers is more than likely going to show people, most of whom will have both boy and girl parts, imbibing copious amounts of human seed. There is no need to think when watching a porn. It's the only time you can look at something and immediately comprehend what is going on. No one should watch Asian Schoolgirls Like It In All Holes, and at the end credits say, "So the chick with the glass dildo up her ass...was she a ghost the whole time?"
© Eric Moore - 2010
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