The Book of Nine Balls Ch. 2: Premature Muzaculation

In Chapter 1: The Arctic Monkeys inspired deep introspection of the English language, and our hero laments a prior era when the melodious sound of the planet challenged his own stamina. And our hero continues with the next chapter in his tale...

* And speaking of A.D.D., what is the deal with CDs that are 30 minutes long? They want me to rush out to the store on Tuesday morning, breathless and excited, and grab my copy of TRL's latest darling pretty band with catchy, albeit socially irrelevant hooks (oooooohh, they're pretty...but SOOOOOO edgy!) that is waiting on the shelf for me, not a speck of dust to have sullied its cellophane wrapper...clinging seductively to its slender form like Lindsay Lohan's jeans contorting to Beyonce's bootyliciousness. I then saunter up to the cashier, covetously, as I hand over my hard-earned $14.58; I dash out of the store and peel away the plastic with my lips and fingertips, removing the most visual barrier that separates me from my seductive mistress. Slowly...erotically...deliciously. *shudders and exhales slowly* If the plastic wrapping is the allegorical equivalent to low-rise jeans and a retro ringer baby T, then that slender sticky band of adhesive is the matching Vicki S. bra and thong set, in burgundy *yum...*, that teases my senses by being slightly visible, causing my eyes to fixate lecherously, when the light and angle are right. With the confidence and smooth skill of a husky Thomas Crown, I peel away the last inhibition keeping me from an interlude that is best kept to amuse myself in the late, lonely hours of my vivid imagination. I'm in my own palace of joy - I do not bother at this point with paying heed to the minutiae. Slipping it in, nervously, I confess - suddenly dizzy; a blur of motion as we spin like a vortex of excitement and liberated passion. Each successive round, one after the next after the next - I'd swear time accelerates exponentially with each successive aural stimulation. To quote Tori Amos, "...with these little earthquakes..." the world moves in hypersonic velocity, finalizing into one singular, pulsating, omnipotent, ballistic frozen moment of... *a gasp...followed by smoldering anger, gradual in force, foolishly believing the mask of confusion deceives all* ...disappointment. I ask the question men have dreaded for eons, if not longer, "...Is that it?" A 30-minute tryst? That's it...this is what I have spent my hard-earned money on? Not to mention the couple of hours of OT wasted to get that hard-earned money. They must think that I like waking up at 6am to trek out to Staten Island - have YOU ever had the joy of sitting on the BQE waiting as you literally feel your life force seeping out of your pores?

All I get for all the flirting, the suggestion...is a mere pittance of pleasure - over before it has begun. Where are the CDs to ravish my mind, body, and soul for an hour? Some... *blushing* ...even a little longer. *sighs* I want something a bit more substantial than a 30-minute tease of music. I want to be transported to places I have never seen or thought existed. I want to feel my sternum rattle with bass that brazenly challenges my own heartbeat for dominion of my body. For anywhere from $10-$18, you have got to last longer than 30 minutes. I want to feel like I am getting something for my money...other than ripped off.

But alas...our hero shall press on in search of that which he seeks...