I am sick as a mother fucker today.  I feel like I did about a month ago, like little land mines have been placed between my skull and my flesh and in my ear canals and they’ve been going off about every four hours.  Fucking head cold.  Last night, I woke myself up about every half hour between 12:30 and 4 because I was making extremely loud gargling noises.  After waking up, I’d spend two to four minutes coughing up golf ball-sized phlegm into paper towels I had stashed next to my bed, saying "Mother fucker" over and over again.  So yeah, great night.

(During one of the gargling/spitting up intervals, a thought occurred to me: how do married people do this?  If my wife was sleeping next to me, making these godforsaken gargling noises, then waking up every 30 minutes to cough up mucus, I would flip out.  I mean, flip the fuck out.  I found myself getting angry at myself for making such disgusting bodily noises.  But hey, I guess that’s where love comes in.  Must be nice.)

(And is it gargling or gurgling?  Since we started with the former, let’s keep going with it.)

But, though sick and very tired, I am still in work.  I don’t know why really; this is a very good reason to stay at home.  But when I woke up, I felt like I had to get out.  Maybe I would feel better if I interacted with the world, get my mind off how much I feel like shit.

Big mistake.

So I’m at my desk, eyes half-closed, blowing my noise constantly, and groaning.  What’s worse is I haven’t heard from my mom, who I’ve both called and emailed.  Since I’m a pussy when I’m sick, I need her, and she’s abandoning me.  If I don’t start talking about something else immediately, I’m going to start crying.

At any rate, send me some get well vibes.  And if you are a (reasonably) attractive woman who lives in the vicinity of Chinatown/Little Italy and would like to practice her nurturing skills, please contact me asap.  Thank you.

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Many moons ago, we used to have a feature on this site where I’d list some of the search terms that people entered into Google, Yahoo, etc that brought them here.  Then it was copied by just about every blogger under the sun, so I stopped doing it.  Also, I stopped obsessing and/or masturbating over site traffic, because, after all, I’m now Larry Awesome.  Larry Awesome doesn’t have to worry about how many people view his site, because he’s Larry Awesome. 

However, inspired by an email I got asking what happened to those search word write-ups, I headed to the admin page for the site to look over some of the search terms that brought people to this here website recently.  And there were some real gems. 

Without further ado, a list of search terms in the past month that have brought people to jasonmulgrew.com:

- steps on how to squirt white stuff out your dick
- guide to awesome sex
- there’s at least 1 person on your myspace that wants to date you or sleep with you/or make out with you
- one night stand indian lady want sex women of india want sex sex by indian women
- why does my vagina tremble after sex
- my semen is yellow what is wrong

Don’t worry sister, my vagina trembles after sex, too.  As for the first one, it’s nice to know that jasonmulgrew.com is educating the youth of world on love, sex, and how to squirt the white stuff out of your dick.  I will sleep well tonight. 

- celebrity armpits
- please give me some tips for wide the penis
- herpes convention
- eating your own semen
- men peeping at women pooping
- craziest belly punching pics

I should note that jasonmulgrew.com is the net’s leading resource on eating your own semen, celebrity armpits, and belly punching.  Way too many people came to this site using either of those search terms for me to feel comfortable.  Way too many.

- if loving me is wrong than goddamn you do it right
- italian licked my moustache
- std via licking whipped cream
- how to lie about we met on the internet
- how can i make sex more exciting instead of just lying there
- i was married to the ultimate warrior

Wow – if the Ultimate Warrior’s wife is still reading this site, please contact me.  I would like to date you. 

- uncomfortable with my gay roommate always walking around naked
- should i make myself throw up? and drinking
- my aunt caught me masturbating my penis
- i desperately need a tomato sauce bottle signed by the big brother ninjas in my life
- grinding the corn sex act
- mickey mantle blowjob

I think I have a new way of talking about jerking off: "masturbating my penis," as in, "Well, I was masturbatin’ my penis and Cheryl came in and was like, ‘What you doin’?'  And I said, ‘What’s it look like I’m doin’ – I’m masturbatin’ my penis!’  Man, she’s dumb."  (It also works better if you read that in a Southern accent.)

- take me somewhere internet
- was johnny damon really apart of color me badd
- of what ethnicity is anthony keidis is he greek?
- how to recuperate after masturbating
- my bicep in her vagina
- why does doing doggy style hurt me?

Those last two are quite antithetical: one person is hurt by a normal sexual position, the other is trying to stick his upper arm into his girl’s special place.  The internet is a wonderful place, no?

- my wife wants to lick another mans ass in front of me
- on the way back to the dorm mike told me to open my shorts. i did. looking at my shaved crotch made me think of
- if a women suck my finger does that mean she want to suck my penis
- i want cheerleaders to tie me up and piss and shit on me
- kindly show me the indian sexy girl for sex
- t shirt spanish triathlon drinking eating fucking

Think of what?  Think of what???  C’mon!  You can’t just end it there!

Also, I thought we covered a number of justifiable reasons for murder recently, but we have another: you can legally kill your wife is she says, "I want to lick another man’s ass in front of you."  You wouldn’t even need to hire a lawyer for that trial, because there’s simply no way you’re going to get convicted of that crime.  Good lord.  I’ve heard some pretty damaging things from women in the bedroom, but fortunately, nothing about licking another man’s ass in front of me.  I mean, wow. 

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Today is Day 25 of the diet and so far I’ve lost 13 pounds (goal: 20 pounds in 60 days).  I’m on the lighter side of 220 for the first time since 2000.  Which is nice.

However, I still can’t really tell when I look at myself naked, gazing longingly, holding a torch, doing jumping jacks.  Sure, I’ve lost some weight, but I am still fat.  However, there are two reasons for celebration:

1) I can now remove my jeans by simply pulling them down, even when they are zipped, buttoned, and belted (I’ve already gone down one notch on the belt and am moving toward a second).  So this means that if I have to have sex in a flash, I can certainly do so.  Maybe not something that has to be in the forefront of my mind, but encouraging nonetheless.  While a month ago I was a size 38 waist pushing 40, now I’m probably about 37. 

2) I still can’t really run at the gym on the treadmill, so I do what I call ralking.  It’s walking very quickly up a steep incline.  In this way, I get the maximum benefit I can without having to actually run and embarrass myself in front of other gym goers.  That’s pretty much all I ask for at the gym: a solid workout with being pitied by the women around me (though sometimes, this is too much to ask). 

Over the weekend, I was walking around the city and got caught in the middle of the street when traffic started moving.  So I ran from the middle of the street over to the sidewalk.  And I was, dare I say, explosive (and the only time that word was used with me previously was when it was followed by "diarrhea").  It was a moment comparable to when Peter Parker first shot web out of his wrists: how did I do that?  I looked back and thought, "How did I get from there, to here, so quickly?"  I was shocked at how quickly and effortlessly I moved and I had a total boner the rest of the day.  So it looks like I may not be giving up on my dreams of playing in the NFL just yet.   

Anyway, it’s going well, I haven’t died from anorexia, and am still getting fucked up.  All good things.  I realize that this last few pounds will be the hardest, but I’m confident.  It’s about time I actually accomplished something.

(Also, I really want to start dating hot chicks.  This fat stuff isn’t helping me in this department.) 

(One question: can someone tell me where I can buy normal mesh shorts?  I’ve looked everywhere, but I don’t want shorts that the ballers wear that come down to my feet.  Nor do I want ball huggers that runners wear.  I’m just looking for a normal pair of shorts.  I mean, how fucking hard is this?  I have only two pairs that I’ve been wearing to the gym and come wash time, there is significant plant life growing in them.  So I need some more.  What the fuck.)

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Thank you to all those who sent in birthday donations. I really do appreciate it.  Like I said, it is your donations that help me lead the life I do, for better or worse, so thanks for that.  I love you guys.

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Like reading intelligent, impassioned prose about love and death?  Like characters with depth?  Like finishing a book and saying, "Wow"?  Then check out Johnny Dufresne book Johnny Too Bad, a collection of terrific short stories. 

I don’t want to give much of it anyway, because I don’t want to muck it up.  But trust me, it’s a terrific read.  I read it in about three sittings over the weekend and have started on one of his novels, Love Warps the Mind a Little, which I’m enjoying (though I’m only 60 or so pages into it). 

Secondly, recommend me some books.  I read a couple of books a month and I have a very impressive book shelf that women are floored by when they’re in my apartment, drunk, stoned, frightened, and, most importantly, fresh out of mace.  But I’m running out of things to read.  

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Six Songs

"Come Back"  Pearl Jam
The best song on Pearl Jam’s new album.  Also the slowest and the saddest.  That’s just how I roll. 

"Mama You’ve Been On My Mind"  Jeff Buckley
Speaking of slow and sad, this song was written by Bob Dylan, covered by Sir Rod Stewart, and given life by Jeff Buckley.  This is a live cover from a radio show, but you should be able to find it through LimeWire.  But, be warned: do not listen to this if you’re feeling down.  This is the flagship song on my "Sad as Fuck" playlist.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Bob’s version is ok, Sir Rod’s is almost comical (and my love of Sir Rod has been well-documented here), but Jeff Buckley’s…wow.  That whiney voice, that reverby guitar, that empty room: get ready to miss someone. 

"Cruising Together"  Smokey Robinson 
I’m convinced: this is the song played in the waiting room in heaven.  Beautiful song. 

"I Feel For You"  Chaka Khan
Do yourself a favor and learn how to lip-synch the intro to this song.  It will really come in handy at parties, weddings, and corporate events.  Trust me. 

"A Little Less Conversation"  Elvis Presley
I’ve been listening to a lot of Elvis lately, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I prefer the remix of this song to the original.  The original seems a little…punchless.  If you think about it, this is a pretty ballsy song: "Shut up and let’s get to the doing."  The remix really builds to that, which is nice.   

Man, I miss Elvis.

"1000 Seconds"  The Secret Machines
Really pretty and intense when we get to the "And did you think that I had planned it all along?" and "And did you leave because you thought that I would stay?" parts (Also, "I need love/That doesn’t mean that I need you" isn’t too shabby either).  It’s rather moving when you can basically transcribe an argument with your lover and turn it into a song, which is what I feel this song does (or at least, that particular part does).   

(God, I really hope that I get seriously famous because there is truly no better way than to get back at (or just get at) former loves than through art.  There is a girl who those lines are about, who so affected her lover that he was moved to create for her, about her, because of her.  This is why women are the most wonderful things in the world.  Men are clowns, extant for utility; women are gods, here for beauty, life, art, love – all the good stuff.)

(No, not goddesses – gods.  I know what the fuck I’m doing.)

(I shouldn’t even say this, but the idea for my sixth book is a chapter by chapter discussion of every woman I’ve slept with.  And yes, books with only two chapters do qualify for the Pulitzer.  However, we might have to open it up to include any woman I’ve loved, because though I know a good bit about my first girlfriend, I don’t know much about that girl from the parking lot of the Pink Floyd concert in 1999.  I remember she had only one ear, but that’s about all I got.  I think her name was Laurie, but that could be very wrong.  So the book would be pretty lopsided with the current "every woman I’ve slept with" idea.  But hey, it’s my sixth, so we have some time to work it out.)