TMI Thursday: A Touching Story

One day, sometime around my freshman year in high school, while digging around through a box of books that my dad had stored in what we called the "back room", I found this non-descript story about baseball. I thumbed through it, and, not having anything better to read, I decided to read it. The story itself wasn't terribly intriguing; the book was not very well-written. It had a definite Bad News Bears vibe to it: some middle-aged guy, going through a mid-life crisis, decides to coach his son's baseball team or some bullshit like that. The guy who sponsors the team doesn't come through with the money, mostly because he's an old cocksucker, until they reach the (insert shocked face gasp here) championship game, which they, predictably, win.

Like I said, nothing too interesting. Except, the dad, who is having some trouble at home, meets one of the other kid's moms, who is, apparently, quite the milf. He tries to play it off all cool, but he's totally staring at her tits the whole time he's talking to her. Inevitably, he has to take something over to the other kids house, and the mom, who happens to be a smoking hot divorcee, invites him in and then they fuck.

If the book wasn't particularly memorable and terribly well-written, why do I remember it so well? For one, the Milf reminded me of a girl I had a crush on at the time (you know, minus the whole "middle aged single mother" thing). She had blonde hair and blue eyes and--shocker--so did the girl I was crushing on. So, Milfy Divorcee Mom who kept getting naked in the book and doing all sorts of sexual things to the Coach held my attention between her mysteriously still-pert breasts.

The second reason that I remember the book so well is because it was the first time I had ever encountered sex in the written form. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. In fact, I remember dog-earing the first time when they bone because it was sexual in great detail, including Milfy Blonde taking her clothes off and desperately pulling at Coach's zipper until she got his cock out and started sucking it.

I'm 99% sure that the author of the book was a guy.

I'm also 99% sure that this dude never coached a youth team in his life. At least, not one in North Carolina. *glower* Not that I'm bitter or anything...

I dog-eared the page because, sometimes, when I was feeling randy (and, apparently, like writing out my guilt in my Guilt Journal), I would open that page and read the passage and, inevitably, I'd get rock hard. I'd set the book aside, and go to town on myself.

Now, despite the fact that I have my hands down the front of my pants nearly 24/7, I've only ever been caught beating off twice, and one of those didn't really count. I remember, it was a particularly hot summer, and the air conditioning in my hundred year old house didn't work too well upstairs. Neither my brother or I (we shared a room) could sleep. My brother went downstairs to enjoy the cooler air; I turned the fan on myself and suffered. Eventually, I decided that I should rub one out, hoping that the rush of endorphins and such would make me sleepy. So, I turned on my light, read through the passage where the Coach banged his Milf friend, turned the light off and began the deed.

A couple of seconds later, I hear something moving in the room. I look over, and there's my brother. Thankfully, it was dark; I could only see the outline of his form looming near the doorway. He comes over to the bed; I have a sheet pulled up over my rigidity.


"Dude, the Reds got into a huge fight with the Pirates tonight," he reported. "It was massive, all over the field. You want to come see the highlights?"

Well, I do want to cum... I thought. "Nah, I'll catch them in the morning."

"Okay," he whispered back. He then turned and left.

Relieved, I returned to the task at hand (heh) and finished. I fell asleep and rose refreshed in the morning. And, he was right: that brawl was massive.

The second time, or the true time, I once again turned to my faithful tome and read through my favorite passages. I wish I had some idea as to the title of the book, or the author, or the names of any of the characters. Anyway, fully aroused, I pulled down my pants and began going at it, hoping like hell that I would finish ere one of my family members came up the stairs. Besides, I thought, I could hear them on the steps. It was an old house and most of the steps creaked.

"Having fun?" my brother asked, and, mortified, I looked over at him standing in the doorway. Stammering for something to say, I pulled my pants up and panicked. It had been just a few months earlier that this dude, Danny LaFollette, had been caught jacking off in the bathrooms at school. It had ruined what little social life he had. And this other guy, Donny Rousch, had done the same thing a week later. And his social life had fallen further. Oh dear God, what if my brother told everyone at school?

I'll never know. My brother told no one. It never got out that I had been pounding putz that fateful Saturday evening. He could have told any number of people, and yet he didn't.

And that's when I knew that blood was truly thicker than semen water.

Totally Blowing Shit Up Tuesdays: Because You Demanded It

Unlike most radio stations in this country, which feature a boring glut of mediocre pre-programmed tripe, I'm willing to take requests. So, today's episode is brought to you by the letter C, as in, Mr. Condescending. He asked for it, and since I'm a whore for my readers, I'm obliging.

So, today we're going to explore the wonders of the Diet Coke and Mentos Eruption.

I'm sure you've all seen the episode of Mythbusters where Adam and Jamie were certain that some form of internet legerdemain was at work during the infamous Diet Coke/Mentos fountain symphony that started the whole craze in the first place. Of course, the idiots boys were proved wrong, and then they tried their best to get to the bottom of why this thing goes off like it does.

My first guess was that it was an acid/base reaction, the base coming from the Mentos (I was guessing some kind of preservative) and the acid being the carbonic acid dissolved in most sodas to give it fizz. Carbonic acid is basically the bastard child of water and carbon dioxide, and it's decomposition reaction looks like this:

H2CO3 -----> H2O + CO2

The problem is that it's not a chemical reaction at play here. Instead, as Adam and Jamie proposed, it's simply a matter of physics. They postulated that the tiny pits, grooves and swirls on the surface of the Mentos helped form tiny bubbles so quickly that they erupted in a fountain of Diet Coke. In a paper published in New Scientist of June from last year, a physicist from Applachian State University here in lovely North By God Carolina unraveled the mystery of the Diet Coke fountain.

Seems as though it's simply a matter of gravity, surface tension and the aforementioned nucleation sites on the surface of candies. The aspartame (the artificial sweetener) dissolved in the Diet Coke is perfect for breaking up the interactions between the water molecules making them more willing to give up the goods. The same trick works with college chicks and alcohol. The surface of the Mentos, which is covered with gum arabic, helps to make tiny bubbles quickly, and the specific gravity of the Mentos helps them to sink to the bottom of bottle, exposing themselves to more Diet Coke. Crushed up Mentos, despite their higher surface area, don't sink as quickly and therefore don't work as well.

That's a fancy way of saying that Diet Coke + Mentos = Fountains of Wayne Awesome.


Now, if you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. If you teach him to fish, you've just lost yourself a fish junky that will pay you for what you catch. In the same vein, if you give a man some candies and a bottle of diet cola, he'll make a fountain. If you give a man a cap along with those candies and diet soda, he'll make a rocket. Robert Goddard would be so proud.


Well...he probably wouldn't have been proud of that guy.

As Scope pointed out last week, it's all fun and games until one of these rockets goes flying through the window of your house or your windshield...or your abdomen... Then things might not be nearly as funny. Well, at least not for you, but the rest of us will sure point and laugh at your misfortune. So, should you decide to try making your own amateur rockets, do it in a wide open area, alright?

Sadly, I have been proven wrong. Studies of the pH of the Diet Coke before and after the fountain have shown that the pH (measurement of the acidity of a solution) does not change, so the reaction has nothing to do with acid/base chemistry. Dammit! I hate being wrong, but I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong...just not to my wife.

Good thing I didn't tell her that it was an acid/base reaction. Ever. *whistles innocently* I'll be out back with some Diet Coke and fresh-makers if you need me.