n. One who hinders our member from penetration.
You've all been there before. You're hanging
in the bar, and you have a nice, and more importantly:
willing feline cornered against the wall. Your
tongue's down her throat, your bulge is aching
to escape your oh-so-tight Calvin's, and you
think you're minutes away from swinging to your
bachelor pad, Tarzan, when it happens: Said
victim's girlfriend arrives on the scene with
the Jaws of Life and makes the play to pry your
catch away from you. Little tap on the shoulder,
a brief girly whisper-fest, and then you lose,
she's outta there! Best find Cheetah quick.
And you know this "girlfriend" because she's
the hideous Ugly Duckling who has been left
at the punch bowl, all by her trollsome, one
too many times. (Can you say: No prom date trauma?)
She figures that if she goes out with the Queen
Bee enough times, that maybe once she'll get
lucky and pick up the slack. Wrong! Girlfriend,
start your engine, it's called B.O.B... (battery
operated boyfriend)...and I would think you
are quite familar with it at this point.
And dudes can be just as intrusive, perhaps
more so. Because cocks are more in touch with
their animal side, or let's say, more driven
by it, and that leads to territorial battles.
Yes, believe it or not, our mates absolutely
disdain seeing us hook up with someone, because
that means they get to play Steve Martin in
Lonely Guy all over again.
Bartender another drink, please, for my loser
friend. For a while, the alcohol acts as
a deterrent while the intoxicated fool (who
we call friend) is busy holding up the wall.
But when reality strikes and Los Angeles Clipper
(pick any) realizes you are scoring big time
like the Lakers, and they're going home to their
favorite pal, Rosy Palms, it's, "Fuck you, I'm
outta here, you want a ride home you better
hurry up. Next week you're driving. Got any
gas money, dude? Fork it over."
We've all done it: Cockblocking. And bottom
line? it's selfish, and may the guilt be on
your head. Not that one.
a little inventory the next time one of your
buds scores with a female with two legs (one
if she has nice hooters), and leaves you on
the sidelines to cheer. The question to ask
yourself: Are you gracious enough to lead those
cheers? Be a good Yell Leader? Whoop it up with
the best dawg in the pound? Or are you going
to be that ten-year-old punk who takes his balls
and goes home because you can't play? Poor baby,
maybe you should ask your mommy for some ice
cream and sympathy when you get there.
If you wanna be a real friend? You'll take one
for the team, kimosabe. Run cover and intercept
that vindictive creature when you see her limping,
hunchback ass crossing the floor to pry Cinderella
away from your posse member's, GHB-clutches.
Buy her a drink, tell her how hotttt she looks;
hell, sit on a couch with her all night long,
if it means the difference between your buddy
reaching the Tunnel of Lust, or both of you
going home to watch Spank-a-Vision together.
You will have done your good deed for the night,
and the next time, who knows, it might not just
be you that comes in second.
Karma, my horny friend, karma. Thou must giveth,