A drunken monk's tongue (Plus: for other uses, see Facial (disambiguation).)

So I tongue-kissed an ex-monk the other day. It was your basic double-dare situation. We were standing in front of a bar we'd just been kicked out of with this fantastic couple from Queens whom we met by accident. They were in town visiting a brother, and they were off the next morning to attend the annual Maryland oyster-shucking championship. We, the monk and I, had been suckered to the bar for interdepartmental hobnobbing, unbeknownst to us when the invitation was extended, and having decided that the stakes of hobnobbing were too high, we decided to talk about sex and breakfast and shotgun Yuengling and PBR (bottles!) with this couple from Queens. Eventually, after last call and every other patron had come and gone, we were asked to leave the bar. So we were standing out front, awash in the glow of having met people you actually like by accident, and there was some talk of inhibitions, and then of not having inhibitions, and this somehow naturally precipitated a drunken monk's tongue wiggling around mine for upwards of a second. It was weird. It was also just like that movie, Tremors.

That movie's fucking awesome.

The couple from Queens finally left, and it was sad to see them go. Then, we peed in an alley, and because we yelled back and forth across the alley about how we were peeing in an alley, we got yelled at by a woman in a house for peeing in the alley. I yelled something about how I was peeing in somebody's private residential something-0r-other, and this woman yelled, pissed but amused, "how's it going guys?" I stifled my urge to say "morally inferior!" and simply shouted "great!" up at her bedroom window.

And that's the story of why I had the savage hangover that kept me from reading 150 pages of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's theo-politics yesterday. Now, I have to read 150 pages of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's theo-politics, and write 6-7 pages about them in all their inscrutable neo-Kantian glory, by Tuesday morning. And I'm not very happy about it.

So I figured I'd at least get a blog post out of it, you know.


Edit: I can't believe I wrote this any more than you can.

It's a familiar hypothetical: If aliens came to earth, and I was charged with introducing them to the highest achievements of the species, I'd...

Well, the first thing I would do is dial up wikipedia and show them how there are independent entries for "facial," "pearl necklace," and "cum shot" ("redirected from 'money shot'"), all of which link to each other. More importantly, in the "pearl necklace" page, there's a picture of, well... a girl with a pearl necklace. There's no room anymore to kvetch and moan and claim the encyclopedia didn't really teach you what a pearl necklace is because you can't visualize it from the description. Oh no -- it's all there. Too, there is no longer any cause to wonder whether the world was better off when the minds of its citizens were informed by the professional thinkers and good old boys who board-chaired the Brittanicas and Collier'ses. The wisdom of the mass of men, the mob mentality's instinct as an editor and redactor, is no longer subject to reproach or second-guessing. Amazing, in retrospect, that we were willing to put up with the many bricklike volumes of you fickle, instantly outdated editions, given what essential chunks of human knowledge you elided. Veritable worlds of universal wisdom simply stricken from your record, which paraded around with unearned, undeserved, intentionally misleading epithets like "unabridged" and "compendium" attached to their shirtfronts as credentials. Swindlers, the lot, I defy you!

"An encyclopedia, or (traditionally) encyclopædia, is a comprehensive written compendium that contains information on all branches of knowledge." The 2007 Brittanica macropaedia consists of 699 articles on subjects as diverse as physics, quantum physics, and special relativity. But it can't muster a 700th to chronicle the noble, neglected facial? ALL branches of knowledge. Except the facial. Until now!

You know how I know how many articles the Encyclopaedia Brittanica has? I looked it up on wikipedia.

The "facial" entry even has a sort of quasi-philosophical discourse on the visceral appeal thereof: "Often viewers will be particularly aroused when copious amounts of semen are ejaculated onto the female's face. Sometimes this is met with wincing, flinching, and disgust from the female. Other times she is excited or surprised, which can add to the viewer's arousal... Other viewers claim the appeal is a snowflake or uniqueness argument. Namely, that the appeal and the excitement of facials is linked to the fact that no two facials are identical. Each facial has unique elements of: splash pattern, amount of semen, number of semen shots, location of semen deposits on the face, speed at which semen is ejaculated, etc."

Index. Chaos theory: see, mathematics; physics; facial (random splash pattern of).

A considerate editor has taken it upon him or herself to note that this very same "facials" entry cites not so much as a single source (which is odd, since the "pearl necklace" entry cites no less than three). What I hope this means is that somebody sat down and invented a dialogue to rigorously investigate the latent psychosexual underpinnings that give rise to the meritorious aesthetic supernova that is that most valuable few frames of B-roll. But it was probably just a guy who spent way too much time on message boards.

It's the unique splash pattern. But oh, it's so much more!

Hence the etcetera.

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