No, that title isn’t going to make more sense at the bottom of this post, at least not to either of my regular readers. But it will make sense to someone, and that is enough.

The point what I am making is that this is a story, a story which eventually attacked a dear and precious soul innocently attempting to eat oatmeal, but which began life very differently, as a comment on a mommy blog/ recipe site known to all (factcheck: some) as Wonkette.com. On that blog, an author named Evan wrote about Tucker Carlson’s ridiculous conspiracy theory that the loss of some documents (which Carlson purports to be evidence of wrongdoing by Hunter Biden) during shipment by UPS was obviously a work of sabotage by some nefarious Biden supporter/ UPS worker with x-ray vision who randomly reads documents shipped overnight express in case they might reflect poorly upon that worker’s political hero. How he concludes his story, however, made an old story come to mind, a story which must now begin by quoting the conclusion of Evan’s piece reporting on Tucker Carlson’s paranoia.

WARNING: BEFORE THE STORY BEGINS, IF YOU ARE A TRUMP SUPPORTER AND HAVE NOT YET VOTED, IMMEDIATELY BEGIN CHUGGING HOT BEVERAGES AND/ OR EATING OATMEAL, THEN CONTINUE TO DO SO THROUGHOUT YOUR READING, FOR THE GOOD OF THE COUNTRY.

That’s right, Tucker. Got yer Hunter Biden documents right here. ON OUR DICK.

Okay, I have a confession to make. It involves a story of which this conclusion (from earlier today, by Evan) reminded me. This will shock you, possibly even awe you, but I … have almost no experience with illegal drugs.

NO REALLY REALLY FOR REALZ.

I smoked pot twice, on successive weekends, near about my 21st birthday (yes, I am old enough that pot was illegal in Oregon on my 21st birthday, thank you for asking). Why smoke pot for the first 2 times then & not before or since? Basically my non-druggie-ness was making my housemates feel judged, even though I never criticized them for their own pot use. They told me that they would stop badgering me to smoke pot if I just tried it. So I tried it. It did virtually nothing. They told me that it often does nothing the first time & I had to try it twice. So the next weekend I tried it again. It did virtually nothing. I never did it again, was never tempted to do it again, and my housemates stopped badgering me.

That is the end of that story, but it is only the lead up, see? It is to show you how little experience I have with drugs so that you understand this next story. A couple years after that pot smoking bender, I met the person who was to become my girlfriend, then my partner, then my platonic best friend for the rest of my life. Yes, she has become pretty important to me, but that’s not to say we had everything in common.

It turns out that she had done mushrooms & pot & even cocaine a couple times in college. I am not currently remembering whether she also dropped acid, but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had (pharmaceutic) ecstasy. When I began to hear about all this, I was forshooken in the worst of worst ways. How did this mild-mannered, lesbian, social-service type person get such experiences in the dark and forbidden world of taking cocaine twice in college, like no one ever does?

Believe it or not, dear Wonketteers, she laughed in my face at that question. NO, IT’S TRUE! LAUGHED, I SAY. She went on to tell me forshockening stories until the wee hours of the year, whatever year this was, until we hit that story. The story I mean to tell you now.

In this story (which was told to me to illustrate that my BFF’s experiences were not even all that forshockness-inducing in comparison to those of other real life persons she could name) my BFF was sitting in the back of high school english class talking to someone whose name shall remain nameless, but which rhymes with NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, THIS WAS A TEENAGER, OKAY? My as-yet-inexperienced-in-the-ways-of-cocaine BFF was, to this conversation partner, as amusingly innocent as I was to my BFF five or ten (do not make us say “or twelve”, we do not want to be too accurate here) years later. She explained how she ended up in BFF’s school (burned down a building at her previous high school, “accidentally”, she claims), how she was knowledgeable in the ways of masturbation, and even how she had smoked actual cigarettes.

Your friendly, neighborhood Crip Dyke, of course, would have fainted to hear such things in her own sophomore year of high school, much less to have heard it contemporaneously since given my BFF’s advanced age, your Crip Dyke was a tender 7th grader at the time when these 10th grade Blakean tigers were having scandalously forshakening conversations somewhere hundreds of miles away. (I am sure no teenage cigarette smoking or masturbation ever happened outside of New England, and certainly not on the green and pleasant lands of old England Oregon.)

Nonetheless, despite reeling in disbelief at the idea that someone could be involved somehow in the accidental burning of an actual building, this is not the part of the story of which I was reminded by the Tucker Carlson documents ON OUR DICK quote reproduced above.

No, that part of the story was when our unnamed anti-heroine regaled my young BFF-to-be with the story of how not only had she had actual sex with an actual boy-identified, bepenised person, but that in experimenting with drugs, she had put cocaine on her boyfriend’s penis.

One or two of you readers may understand the implications of this, of course. This means that at least two teenagers have, at some point in recent history, had actual sex before marriage. The cocaine powder would have, during sex, contacted the mucous membranes on the inside of the storyteller’s vagina, which membranes would then facilitate the absorption of the cocaine into the storyteller’s bloodstream while also producing a feeling of hot irritation, like menthol on skin, which some people might experience as pleasurable in its own right.

However, for the VAST MAJORITY of you, who do not have the advantage of knowing persons who have taken actual drugs in the way that I have, you might not think that snorting cocaine is being done to bring that cocaine into contact with the mucous membranes of the nose (and lungs, if it gets that far). You might think, as I in my innocence once thought, precisely nothing about cocaine snorting, merely accepting that snorting cocaine is what you do.

So for the vast majority of you, I am 100% certain that you have pictured, like I once pictured, a young woman snorting a line of cocaine directly off an erect penis carefully held horizontal for her convenience.

BUT WAIT! Before you all cringe at the thought that immediately follows, that that poor high school boy’s penis was put at horrible risk of injury by the use of a razor blade on his dick skin to cut that line of cocaine, I wish to reassure you that no dicks were harmed in the making of this story. You, like me, have fallen prey to that common but fallacious assumption that snorting cocaine is done for the snorting’s sake and missed the possibility that this was a girl who did not so much hold her boyfriend’s rigidly erect penis carefully horizontal while snorting a line of cocaine off of it, but actually did that other thing, where she dusted the boyfriend’s penis with cocaine so as to bring it into contact with her nether-membranes, the way that a knowledgeable medical expert professional might do in a medical experiment undertaken only in the pursuit of important data because knowledgeable medical expert professionals are, of course, the only people who know anything about cocaine being absorbed through mucous membranes.

But despite having fallen prey to the same mistaken assumption that over 328 million Americans would naturally make about penis-cocaine being snorted off of rigidly erect dicks, you can avoid having your BFF laugh in your entire face about how sweetly pig-ignorant innocent you are by learning from my mistake and never voicing aloud any description of women on their knees snorting cocaine off the rigid, quite-parallel-to-the-floor dicks of their very-still standing boyfriends who are probably getting something out of this interaction, but we are not sure what.

But even if you do, someday, decide to confide to a trusted person how you were taken in by this imagery, do not ever ever ever describe the follow up, whereupon reading

That’s right, Tucker. Got yer Hunter Biden documents right here. ON OUR DICK.

you were forced to try very hard, and ultimately fail, to not picture a Wonkette author balancing one-and-a-half reams of paper on their very rigidly erect penis with accidental-arsonist and probable cigarette smoker Tucker Carlson sheepishly trying to collect those pages without giving the poor penis any paper cuts.

DO NOT tell that story. NEVER. NO. BAD STORY!

Also, very likely, people would laugh at you. Learn from your friendly, neighborhood Crip Dyke and spare yourselves that embarrassment.

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FYI: I am aware there are probably typos above, but I am not editing this story, as it was harder than a boyfriend’s cocaine-penis to write, and I am not going to put myself through the ordeal of rereading it. You will just have to deal with those typos being as seared into your brain as the image of a razor blade oh-so-carefully cutting lines of cocaine on a boyfriend’s rigidly erect penis is seared into mine.