And it's gonna get weird.
Locals beware, we will be in Bend, Oregon this Monday, March 11th through the 14th. We're bringing a pocket pull of Dick Picks and an appetite to get weird. If you want to show us your creepy basement or possibly meet us for tacos call our hotline (208) 720-8747.
I think we can all agree that 2019 is a weird time. The company that makes your razor thinks you're a POS, Seinfeld is considered offensive to the younger, softer generations, and the Chiefs are a relevant football team again. On top of that, it's now considered normal to send people pictures of the ole' twig and berries. How is George Costanza offensive, but a strangers lap rocket randomly sent to your phone considered a normal thing? Call me old fashioned, but I prefer to introduce myself like a gentleman. Make small talk, have a drink, then let her see it in the backseat of my Plymouth in the bowling alley parking lot. But since this is 2019 that doesn't work anymore, I've had to learn the art of the showing girls my dick picks.
I'd like to think I'm a decent looking guy, but I'm not getting invited to any supermodel bubble bath pillow fight parties by any means. That's why I have to rely more heavily on my humor to seal any deals. For that reason, I open up with the best wingman of all the "Violent Little Dick Picks".
It turns out women (and men) actually love getting our dick picks. I'm not talking about the poorly lit, side shot of some dudes clam hammer either. Owning these dick picks is like stumbling into a personality. When you've got a pocket full of dick picks everyone is your friend. Well, except that one girl at the bar who was "above" that kind of humor. Jokes on you, Becky, you aren't even that attractive!
Here are a few tips for showing people your dick picks:
If you're still on the fence about buying a set of "Violent Little Dick Picks", let me leave you with this totally real, not made up testimony from an actual girl I met last weekend at a bar (a straight bar).
"Once Nate showed me his dick pick I knew instantly I wanted to take him back to my mansion and make love to him on a pile of money. Without that dick pick, I probably wouldn't have even acknowledged him"
Did I mention she was a Swiss model too...yeah...and like super hot. I'd give you her name but you wouldn't know her, she goes to a different school.
When I joined the military after my senior year of high school, it was primarily for one reason, to pay for college. I had always wanted to be a mechanical engineer and dreamt of building cool shit for a living. The military seemed like the perfect way to fund that ambition. As most people know, however, the military has a way of changing your outlook on life. Instead of going to school to be an engineer, I decided to get a degree in Fire and Explosion Investigation. My father is an investigator, so naturally, it seemed like a good fit. Plus, I'd get to blow shit up in class. Add in a minor in Homeland Security and I was sure to land some badass agency job doing Jack Bauer type shit. Or so I thought...
I didn't get out of the military entirely once I went to college. The National Guard allowed me to make some extra money and keep health benefits while in school, plus keeping a security clearance seemed like a good idea at the time. I drilled once a month and deployed a handful more times, which resulted in my 4-year degree taking seven years (insert Tommy Boy reference here). I didn't mind though, life was good as a veteran using the GI Bill, and the classes were actually fun.
At some point in the program, you start to realize that life as an explosives investigator is a lot more like doing a 15,000 piece puzzle and writing a report about it, and a lot less like CSI. Although fun in its own right, spending the next 20+ years sifting through debris and the occasional pile of human remains no longer seemed like the right path for me. My role was always the person responsible for reconstructing the bomb from all the fragments collected, finding the exact pieces used and tracing them back to their point of origin (were they where purchased). In all that time I was never once wrong. That was one of my two areas of expertise. The other was, and still is, interrogations. I probably don't need to explain why that one is fun.
Come graduation time, I was faced with a dilemma: I had the opportunity to interview in D.C. to be a low-level employee at some of the agencies. I already had a few solved cases under my belt and was one of the top explosives investigators in my class. For me, the idea of sifting through evidence and going to court for the rest of my adult life just didn't seem like a good option. Instead, I packed everything I owned and moved to the mountains of Idaho with no job, a few dollars and no place to live. It seems to have worked out.
I miss the satisfaction of solving cases from time to time. To fill that void I work as the Fire Investigator for a local department. I'll never question if I made the right choice though. If you've read any of the issues of the "Violent Little Bathroom Magazine" you know we have fun here. Call me crazy, but designing products like the "Mutt Cutts Van" Morale Patch and "The Hub" Morale Patch is more fun than writing reports.
-Nate