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Archive name: choc.txt (MF, homur)
Authors name: Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
Story title : Chocolate and Hockey
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Chocolate and Hockey (MF, homur)
by Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
***
Why chocolate and hockey are better than sex.
***
AUTHOR'S NOTES: "Why Chocolate is Better than Sex." You
must have been e-mailed the list. Myself, I'm not sure
that it is, but then some say I'm cautious about both
deserts and guys. My friend Cindi, on the other hand,
has opinions about everything, "opinions" pluralized
because she'll disagree with herself half the time. And
science teachers accuse us language teachers of being
subjective! I will not even go into the bases for her
pronouncements, "They said it won a Nobel Prize," for
example, about vitamin B-12 making chocolate milkshakes
less fattening.
So for what they are worth, here are Cindi's thoughts
on chocolate and sex and hockey. She got most of the
one-liners from spams, of course, so don't give her
more credit than for her having Microsoft Outlook. (Who
but Cindi would send her bank account number to the
widow of a deposed Nigerian functionary ready to pay
her 15 percent of the $20 million? It's essential for
her survival that she's my friend.)
Don't blame me for that which follows. If Cindi's
computer weren't humbled with "Critical Microsoft
Update" worms, I wouldn't have agreed to be her scribe.
WHY CHOCOLATE IS BETTER THAN SEX
1) We don't have to beg for chocolate.
This proves nothing. We can get sex without begging
too. They call it things like manipulation and
deviousness, but it's allowed if we're Catholic. Eve
invented it.
Let's just not get like Mrs. Marabel Morgan who wrote
"Total Woman". Wear Saran Wrap to greet your hubby
after his hard day at the office. Imagine how sticky
you'd feel plastered in plastic!
It's an art helping our partner realize his needs. Sex
is a need, right? Most of us start learning long before
we know what we're perfecting. We climbed on daddy's
lap, whispered secrets and gave him one bite of our Kit
Kat. He was in a better mood about our getting another
Barbie. Not erotically, he told himself, but he knew
where our little butt was. Without pursuing details,
when we as pubescents told him secrets, we were a
little more knowledgeable about his lap and he was
probably good for a two-piece swimsuit. We learned
something about engaging a male.
So let's move ahead to high school and our brother who
maybe wasn't romantic because we mentioned his faults.
"Gross, Tim, don't take off your shoes in here."
But we didn't have to beg to get what we wanted.
"Timmy, I wrecked my shoulder in volleyball practice."
"Sorry."
"Maybe you can rub it?"
"I suppose."
"We can still watch 'Basic Instinct' before the folks
get home. I'll sit in front. Want a creamy or chewy
Brach's?"
"Chewy."
He rubbed through our blouse. When we shed that, he
massaged with some baby powder. Then we slipped the
strap down to use baby oil. When the movie's police
interrogation had Sharon Stone uncross her legs to
reveal her ultimate weapon, we moved Timmy's hand
forward and fed him another chocolate.
Timmy never rubbed through Saran Wrap is my point. We
never begged.
2) We can have chocolate in front of our mothers.
Same for sex. My guess is that 90 percent of our
mothers knew when we started having sex. If they didn't
raise hell, it was because they also knew we were being
safe, somewhat anyway. We thought we'd hidden our pills
so cleverly in our jewelry box. Mom would have guessed
where to look with the same mental process it took us
to hide them. It would have been exactly like at age
ten when we hid the Cadbury chocolates behind our Pippi
Longstockings socks.
We'll interpret the "in front of" a bit loosely. Unless
we're into major kinkdom, we never hauled our date up
onto the kitchen table while Mom was peeling carrots.
The delicate part was traipsing him through the kitchen
on our way to bed. That's pretty close to 'in front
of".
Stan: "Uhh, Hi, Mrs. Barton."
Mom: "Hello, Stanley."
You: "The frosting looks good, Mom. Come on Stan.
Stan: "Umm."
Mom: "Got any homework?"
You: "Just chemistry. Greenhouse gasses and
globalization. Bye."
Stan: "Maybe..."
Mom: "You want to stay for dinner, Stan?"
Stan: "Thanks, but I guess my mom's probably already
fixed something."
Mom: "I need to ask Sarah about the potluck anyway, so
I'll call and tell her the two of you are together. We
talked at coffee club."
You: "About me and Stan having intercourse and
everything?"
Stan: "Wait..."
Mom: "I told her that you saw the school nurse, dear.
Just go on. Dad's not home till 5:30."
You: "Just a little of that chocolate cake for a
starter?"
Mom: "It's for desert, not now. You two head on up now.
You're staying for dinner, right, Stan, after?"
3) We can have chocolate while driving.
Is "Don't drive and fuck" supposed to be clever? This
stupid-ass guy with a shit-eating grin picks us up for
a date with two seatbelts on the driver's side? The
back seat at least has some room. If we're parked, the
front seat will do, though there are a million stories
about honking the horn.
The sex-while-driving inanity ties into America's car
culture, the automobile as our extension. OK, Corvettes
are more-or-less big red penises, probably driven by
guys with little pale ones. I'm sure that the designers
(used to be in Detroit, now in Yokohama) have me
figured out as well, though I'm not sure how my Camry
projects a vagina. Maybe the cup holder.
Remember all the ways we made out before we ever
scored? A few Teachers' Lounge reminisces:
"Jennie and this guy were in the front seat and Elliot
and myself were in the back and Elliot didn't even know
that she was watching when I shot him off! The next day
he was talking to her in World History and here she was
remembering his cock!" [Music Dept.]
"So I opened his glove compartment to stash my bra and
there was this C one! Asshole!" [Counseling Dept.]
"We did this thing called 'Chinese Fire Drill'. All us
kids at a stoplight and everybody piles out, runs
around, and piles back. We'd be laughing so much and
feel up whoever we were jammed against. One time,
honest to God, I had a guy going for each boob and I
had a cock in each hand. Honest!" [A known exaggerator
from the Phys Ed. Dept.]
Cars!
4) We can have chocolate on our desks during working
hours.
Substitute "examination table" for "desk" and sex and
chocolate are equally possible in the medical field
during working hours. A doc will forget to have us
redress if our nipples enjoyed the checkup. He'll put
our legs in the stirrups and watch our hips while he
touches things with his rubber-glove. Our body is
designed to facilitate his access, so maybe his hips
react too. I shouldn't be so sexist, though. Ten
percent of women want a female MD for this very reason.
It would be a sadistic nurse who'd enjoy applying a
male catheter, but every nurse has her tale about a
male patient's involuntary arousal when he's wearing
that little hospital gown that shows his butt. But
sometimes he's immobilized flat on his back. The sweet
stories (to me anyway) are where the nurse shows she
cares. The "touch therapy" taught in nursing school is
something else, I believe. Jane Fonda's Oscar-winning
fuck of Jon Voight in the anti-Vietnam War "Coming
Home" takes it all the way, but Jane's not an RN.
Medical professionals can thus have sex during working
hours. Someone else has to research them eating
chocolate, but I imagine they do that too.
Any job needing a neat desktop should be done without
chocolates and sex. You file the legal brief and there
on page 231 is a smeared Goo Goo Cluster! You file the
negotiated settlement and there on page 143 is the
opposing attorney's semen. Chocolate and sex are for
after work.
As teachers, we should have neither candy nor sex on
our desks. We want kids looking at either their books
or the board.
5) We can have chocolate when it's gone soft.
This is a sexist put down on males when nature abandons
them. "Well shit, Ralph, you've lost it so I'm going
home." We don't dump on our guys. What if they started
complaining about our unreadiness? We can still fake it
is the main difference.
Maybe Dream Whip (or whatever) still doesn't get the
result. (Some guys have standards.) It's hardly the end
of the world. Teach him a little something about how
girls share chocolate. (Not the dildo dykes, the ones
who like being feminine.) If you actually don't know,
teach him a little something about how you sweeten
yourself.
Let him feed us the chocolate. We feel great and he
feels virtuous. The ones who'll fuck us best are the
ones who learn to masturbate us first.
6) With chocolate, we can bite the nuts.
Hershey's with almonds is better than plain Hershey's
milk chocolate. And who'd want an Almond Joy without
the nuts? But we should be fervently committed to never
damaging a guy's balls. As we girls are designed more
practically, we're less vulnerable on the receiving
end. Sixty-nining is so overrated, but now legal in
every state.
As is becoming apparent, sex and chocolate are in close
alliance. We are what we eat, they say. So check out
one of those confectionaries that market erotic sweets.
(Outfits with names like "Russell Stover" don't, of
course. The formality of the corporate name tells.) "In
your Dreams" is a chocolate item anybody could roll out
on a marble slab. And how original, the chocolate oval
with turned-up sides and a Maraschino cherry in the
middle! Niche candy inventers, seemingly a dim lot,
perhaps smirk about biting his nuts. Not me.
7) Chocolate lasts as long as we want.
While sex just up and finishes on us, is the joke?
Wrong on both counts, buster (assuming that this
witticism came from a male). Males, we know, sexually
engage for the span of a football commercial, a
correlation seen by Budweiser, anyway. We, on the other
hand, are a more resilient race. Our clock starts
earlier, clicks off later and we can run the hand
around a few times in the middle sometimes.
Before he gets experienced, though, we can tease our
date for a whole movie feature. Hear the one about this
boyfriend who punched a hole in the bottom of the
popcorn box, set it on his lap, and every time she went
for a handful, got a handful? She should have eaten the
popcorn and when he shut his eyes for the buttery
finale, given him a good dose of salt. Just an idea,
anyway. Sex can be feature length plus previews and
subliminals showing happy popcorn tubs.
Chocolate consumption, on the other hand, is time-
constrained endeavor. Ever held a Milk Dud for the
duration of a movie? Stickier than if we'd done the
popcorn box trick the way he wanted. OK, maybe Milk
Duds are just chocolate colored. We'll get to chemicals
later.
Consider those chocolate orange stick candies! Pretend
there's a whole box and ten minutes to kill. Gone! Good
chocolate does not last as long as good sex.
8) There are more varieties of chocolate.
Why open a Whitman's Sampler if we don't want to
sample? And what did M&M's figure out? That we love
variety, blue even. It would be so easy to go a whole
year, eating a different chocolate daily. (Don't,
though.) So we'll be conservative and eliminate two-
thirds of the 365 as just petrochemicals and 42 liquor
flavors because we don't do alcohol. We're down to a
1/3*365-42 = 79.67 item desert menu.
Kama Sutra has 27 positions for intercourse, but one of
my students has book that illustrates 100, including,
"She is Almost Standing on her Head, He is Kneeling".
Now assume we could find a limber guy. Half the
positions appear to be exceedingly uncomfortable, or
worse yet, positively injurious. That leaves 50 ways to
pleasantly impregnate a nongymnast, one of which
involves her standing on her head.
So chocolate wins, 79.67 to 50.
9) Having chocolate with children is legal.
True, but this one isn't funny to those of us in
secondary education. Of course there'd be no chemistry
between us and a "child". But we're bumped in the
stairwells by boys bigger than we are. "Oh, Hi, Ms.
Barton." We have girl students who have sex three times
per week. The school provides them free birth control
and we get docked the health insurance. Not fair!
Any boy whose desk I bend over can see down my
neckline. Any male teacher who bends over a girl's desk
sees down hers. But as we eliminated having chocolate
on the teacher's desk in an earlier item, what's the
tie between subsequently mentoring a younger friend and
chocolate?
The answer to our question is "chocolate coated mints".
What do we see at the checkout? Junior Mints. How do we
support the Girl Scouts? Thin Mints keep us thin. A
chocolate mint reminds us of a nubile body.
"Mr. Gibson, I know I didn't do that well on the
Algebra test, but wanna buy some Girl Scout Cookies?"
"Sure, Kristin. Got those Thin Mints again this year?"
"There's 32 in a box, so it's a good deal."
"I'm sure it is. Run and close the door so your troop
doesn't come in and steal your sale."
"OK."
"So why don't you sit on my knee so I can see this
pretty badge here on your vest?"
"Sure, Mr. Gibson. It's my Cookie Sale Activity Pin.
That's the pin part on the inside there."
"Kristin, you're getting to be quite something behind
this badge."
"Our Girl Scout Law tells us to respect authority. So
first, how many boxes of Thin Mints do you want?
They're not that expensive."
I wish Boy Scouts didn't just sell Christmas trees. I'd
buy some chocolate Easter bunnies and ask about his
lifesaving merit badge. How does that CPR work?
10) The word "commitment" doesn't scare off chocolate.
What I've noticed is that it doesn't scare off sex
either. It's after sex that he flakes out.
SO LET'S ASK THE EXPERTS
1) Ask the chemist.
That's me, sort of. Here's the urban legend: Brain
fluctuations accompanying sexual thoughts could involve
some amphetamine-like chemical whose level in our brain
goes up when we meet the right person. Phenylethylamine
(PEA) might be involved. As PEA is chemically similar
to norepinephrine and dopamine, post-romance
depressions might involve PEA deficits.
Chocolate is loaded with PEA and we do seem to eat
chocolate when depressed. Attempted self-medication? Or
perhaps we eat chocolate to enhance our romantic
feelings, the focus of a New York Times article.
But here's the science. Dr. Richard Wyatt and his
associates ate pounds of chocolate. It didn't raise
their urine levels of PEA and gave them headaches. The
conclusion is that a Rocky Road won't do what Viagra
can.
2) Ask the shrink.
Extra! Extra! Read the advertisement! "An alternative
to 12-step! You can reduce almost any type of addictive
behavior -- from drinking to sex, eating, and the
Internet -- with this practical and effective
workbook... Supported by scientific research, Dr.
Horvath approaches addiction as a bad habit, not a
disease... Horvath teaches the consequences (and even
possible benefits) of addictive behavior, alternative
coping methods, choice, understanding and dealing with
urges, building a new lifestyle, preventing relapse.
Includes dozens of exercises, self-study questions,
guidelines for individual change plans." (Horvath, A.
Thomas, 2003, Sex, Drugs, Gambling & Chocolate, A
Workbook for Overcoming Addictions, 2nd Ed, Impact, 240
p.)
Let's give Dr. H himself some self-study questions.
"Dr. Horvath, I drink lite beer, I eat chocolate, I
have sex and I e-mail. Am I addicted?"
"No, Dr. Horvath, I mean all at the same time."
"Dr. Horvath, so like they're just tradeoffs?"
"Dr. Horvath, if a Snickers has 280 calories and
having sex uses 60 to 120 (60 for foreplay, double that
for bed-shaking fucking) how many can I do per candy
bar?"
"Dr. Horvath, is your degree from a university with a
P.O. box address? Put another way, does your alma mater
advertise in airline magazines?"
3) Ask the writer
Holly says that sex and chocolate are literarily
interchangeable, to wit, "Mr. Goodbar Snickers as he
Kisses her Mounds. His Tootsie Roll in her Milky Way
makes a Baby Ruth." Jeeze! And Holly just used names of
chocolate candy bars. No Starburst, thus.
So how about real literature? Take, for example, this
excerpt from "Torch Song in Chocolate" by Birthday
Nymph. Holly wants to use it in her English class, but
it's not in the District-approved list. "Together, they
draw the chocolate over the curve of her breasts,
replacing silk with sweetness. The creamy skin
disappears under the chocolate, blending into the
sinking line of black silk until the dress rests in a
swirl of softness around her hips. She rests back on
her elbows as together they pour the still-warm sauce
over the muscles of her belly. From bowl to skin it
cascades over her body to the worn wooden stage,
leaving our nymph as a chocolate covered birthday
treat."
No question that it's quite literary. But think they
can lick that goo out of each other's hair, even if it
is fat free? Syrup for promiscuous gay guys would
explain why they like their sex in bathhouses.
Writing about sex can be pretty bad, but not nearly as
messy as chocolate.
4) Ask the educator.
"With chocolate, size doesn't matter." The point thus
to which this alludes, we must suppose, is that we
honor the big male organ.
As a College of Education might deem it, "Size is an
attribute reflecting nutritional preference. Small-
dimensioned people are fully people. Deprecation can
harm a developing male's self esteem. While it is
desirable to set goals benchmarked by measurable
performance, metrics must be gender blind except when
recognized players tilt the playing field to rectify
historic injustice."
Come again? This is why sometimes we don't teach much.
Shoot, as it takes one wiggly finger to personally
satisfy a female, why hold a male up to a baseball-bat
standard? Ghirardelli doesn't sell big pieces of
choclolate and it's good stuff.
A school may have three black Chicana cross-gendered
girls who could be actuaries if the exam were de-
emphasized. But we probably have 200 small-penised boys
who could be great lovers if appropriately encouraged.
In the case of a younger lad who's still growing, I'll
even take small for the pleasure of his pleasure, so to
speak.
If we want a big slab of chocolate, we can buy it, but
big chocolate items usually taste like wax. Chocolate
Easter eggs come to mind. And even if we buy a 10-pound
block for a confectionary project, we're not going to
serve it that size. When the cocoa bean product hits
the pallet, small is better.
Size does matter, but inversely. Small is just a
different kind of enablement.
5) Ask the rock stars.
Rock historian: "So, Mick Jagger, what about when the
bobbies raided Keith Richards' estate in 1967 and found
you eating a Mars bar out of Marianne Faithfull's
vagina?"
Jagger: "Just publicity to enhance the image of my
mouth."
Faithfull: "No, No, I needed more fame to support my
drug wastage."
Mr. Mars" "Heh, heh. I'm the one who doubled my sales
overnight."
SO LET'S GO TO THE MOVIES!
Sometimes we need intellectual input. That's why we
love movies, so we'll forget about it.
1) We are never too young or too old for chocolate.
Which title speaks of greater adventure: "Charlie and
the Chocolate Factory" or "Charlie and the Sex
Factory"? You're right; it's hard to decide. Well my
point was that the first one is fun to read, even when
we're big, and the second one sounds more of interest
to middle-age men. So let's agree that chocolate spans
the generations. Sex spans our industrial years.
"Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" is the movie
version. Eccentric chocolate maker Mr. Wonka will give
a factory tour to the five kids who find a golden
ticket in their Wonka bars. When young Charlie Bucket
finds a dollar bill on the street, our consumer lad
buys two Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delights,
unwraps the second and sees the glimmer of gold! The
other winners prove themselves to be irresponsible
brats and Charlie impresses Wonka and wins a reward
beyond his wildest dreams.
But look! The capitalist's last name is "Wonka". Drop
the "a" and you get what boys Charlie's age call
masturbation. Ahah! The chocolate to sex link! Look
what happens to the other four youngsters.
Agustus Gloop falls into the chocolate river and gets
stuck in the pipe. He swims in such sweetness and finds
the orifice. Get it?
Mike Teavee gets shrunk by a TV camera. This accustoms
boys to be filmed. "Hey, Mike, why don't we shoot you
playing with this nice chocolate covered donut before
you get dressed?"
Veruca Salt falls down a chute while trying to get a
golden goose. "A goose," I said, being hardly subtle.
We wonder if she was captured behind the fudge extruder
by the candy bar Three Musketeers, Agustus holding her
arms, Mike spreading her knees and Charlie goosing her
exquisitely. "Oh, do let me go if you want to capture
me again, you naughty three."
Violet Beauregard turns into a blueberry while chewing
a special gum. We note that dear Violet was not a
cherry. Her name is code for "Violation Boyfriend
Regard" which speaks of her abuse by a French dandy.
So after being symbolically seduced at the Saturday
matinee, get in my car, little girl. I have a nice Mars
Bar down here.
2) We can ask strangers for chocolate.
The movie's name is "Chocolat". No, I didn't forget the
"e"; the title did. I'm going to make a garden movie
and call it "Tomat" and you'll think it's French as
well, if you don't speak French, that is.
Idealist and romantic heroine Vianne moves into town
and doesn't wear black, doesn't go to church and is an
unwed mother. She starts a chocolate store that
threatens the conservative mayor and most of the
citizens. But to have drama, she arouses people's
suspicions and inhibitions with her creations. The
townsfolk one-by-one have their life's problems cured
by Vivian's magic chocolate. They are loosened in
attitude, made courageous and renewed sexually. This
chocolate is an aphrodisiac, we discover!
No one had any fun until Vianne showed up. Catholics
like me are evil or innocently mislead because we're
stupid. The liberated chocolatiere vs. the stuffed
shirt mayor who considers it blasphemous to eat
chocolate during Lent. Worldly cosmopolitanism vs.
small-town provincialism. Oh, the transforming power of
the feminine in the face of patriarchal oppression!
Vianne's the stranger to whom people come for
chocolate, but it's as clear that this candy's a
surrogate for sex in a repressed society. Heavy duty!
3) A Hershey's Kiss never frustrates.
"Like Water for Chocolate" is cine mexicana that evaded
the Border Patrol. "Como Agua para Chocolate" is an
idiom for sexual frustration. Tita is the youngest
daughter of an abusive mother who wants what she wants;
what the daughter wants be damned. It's pretty much a
chick flick because Tita's experiences, from nursing a
baby to falling in love to cooking, are ours as well.
Sometimes in that order.
"Like Water" takes place in the kitchen, the center of
life. The film's passion, eros, sensuality, jealousy
and sex with evil undertones are made for our
weaknesses. Tita's elder sister, butt naked, is carried
off on a swashbuckling rebel's horse. Our feminine
hearts are twanged when she returns years later as a
revolutionary general in tweed jacket and bandoliers of
bullets, still beloved by her abductor. They call it
"Magical Realism". Not real, I say.
Food and sex get all mixed up in sumptuous feasts that
include baked quail with rose petal sauce, chilies with
walnuts, and corn fritters with syrup. Think symbolism,
girls! What's mole (not the rodent, but "mo-ley") but
chicken, chili and chocolate sauce?
4) We can have chocolate together without being
designated as members of a special group.
Consider that lez favorite, "Better than Chocolate".
College dropout Maggie is a clerk at the Ten Percent
Bookstore. (It's not a discount store. Get it?) She
meets nomadic butch Kim and after Kim's van gets towed
away, they shack up. The movie has lots of allusions to
sex, but most encounters are interrupted. The van gets
towed just as homosexuality gets interesting, for
example. Interrupting their erotic bliss in the next
scene, Maggie's mother and teenage brother show up.
Maggie's clueless mom: "Kim, do you have a boyfriend?"
Kim: "No. Funny that."
Maggie and Kim have their hotsies later, but the camera
is on the peeking brother. The pair finds excitement in
a bathroom stall, but the camera is on the listeners
outside. So maybe this is about voyeurism. Mom, of
course, finds the vibrator and just has to see. The
camera bounces back and forth from her face to her son
having sex in the park. Double titillation. The body-
painting scene raises concern about rashes, as latex
doesn't just wash away and probably contains evil dyes
and emulsifiers. Maggie makes an anti-censorship
statement by posing nude in the bookstore and there's a
happy ending.
What does any of this have to do with chocolate? Beats
me. She just co-opted the name, the clever director.
So there we have it: four movies named chocolate, but
about sex. Go to Blockbuster and see for yourself.
WHY HOCKEY IS BETTER THAN SEX
We're talking ice hockey, fans. Ice hockey's not better
than sex because it's so nasty. Ice hockey spectators
feel cheated without a brawl. Compare hockey to rape,
if you're a criminal, not to sex. There might be some
truth if we overlook the violence, I suppose.
So I'll let these comparisons speak more for
themselves, something I rarely concede.
1) Professional hockey's legal.
And professional sex is legal in Hollywood. Brittany
Spears, she breathlessly reveals at a press
opportunity, as a pubescent used to walk around her
home naked! "So my dad says, err, Brittany, I think
that maybe you should be wearing clothes now that
you're getting bigger." Imagine that! Young Brittany
naked! Oh! Oh!
And prostitution is legal in Nevada -- $10 million to
county coffers annually. Sure, gals can form a pro
hockey league and guys can hawk their bods, but both
professions tend to be gender defined. Big business
equal opportunity in areas of comparative advantage, I
say.
And, whoa, get this:
Hookers do hot tricks.
Hockeyers do hat tricks.
This correspondence was totally unrecognized until I
thought about it! Please recall that Holly said that I
get all my stuff from the Internet. This proves that
she underestimates me.
2) The puck's always hard.
And very cold. But let's not think that we have a
gender-specific allusion. A puck is also called a
"biscuit", the African American slang for, well, the
other side of the goal.
And how about the fact that if you insert an "h" in
"puck" and remember that "phone" is pronounced "fone",
you say a naughty word! It's a great icebreaker if
you're at a party and want to get a conversation going.
Hockey groupies, thus, are called "puck bunnies"
3) The protective equipment's reusable.
If you remembered to wash it after the last event.
Macho guys didn't used to wear helmets. When they made
them mandatory, they whined that they couldn't tell as
much about what was happening.
If you're worried about protection, "hand-manning" is
illegal in hockey, another difference.
4) Periods last 20 minutes.
Players rest between hockey periods is the difference.
Watching that Zamboni drive around can't be that
interesting for spectators, though. We have such inane
feminine innuendos about hockey periods
Q: What do tampons and the Chicago Blackhawks have in
common?
A: They're only good for one period and they don't
have a second string.
Q: What do a Polish woman and a hockey player have in
common?
A: They both shower after the third period. (Sorry
about that, those of you from Warsaw.)
A Minnesotan gets a job at K-Mart. At the end of his
first day, his manager asks how many sales he made.
Minnesotan: Only one.
Mgr: Only one?
Minnesotan: But it was for $300,000.
Mgr: That's fantastic! How'd you do it?
Minnesotan: Well, this guy came in looking for a blade
sharpener and I talked him into better skates. And if
he was going to get serious, he better get a new stick.
He said he'd like to, but the pond was too rough, so I
sold him a Zamboni! All in all, $300,000.
Mgr: All because he wanted a blade sharpener?
Minnesotan: Well, no. Actually he'd come in to buy his
wife a box of tampons. I told him, "Well, your weekend
is shot, you might as well play hockey."
5) We can count on 60 minutes of hockey at least twice
a week.
But that's just when it's in season. If we're lucky, we
get an overtime. In hockey, the faceoff is so exciting!
In sex, the faceon can be pretty swell.
The reality is that on the ice or in the bed, the
actual scoring is usually measured in seconds. The rest
of the time is just scooting around.
6) Our parents cheer when we score.
Dad: "Into the crease, Timmy! Hold back, Timmy. Now
shoot!" (On the rink, the "crease" is a semicircle in
front of the goal. Players not in possession of the
puck may not enter.)
Mom (after the victory): "Timmy, these ouchies must be
so tender. You just keep soaking while I get out of
these sleeves. Better yet, I'll get in the tub with
you... Why, you're just like Wayne Gretzky when I used
to be a puck bunny. It was like a special cheerleader,
but we won't tell Dad, will we."
7) A two-on-one or three-on-one isn't uncommon.
I understand how a two-on-one or three-on-one might
work, but let's get honest. In sex and hockey, the
one's going to get pounded. Like a tie-breaking shoot-
out, a one-on-one's the game's greatest moment. It's
all about reading what's in the other's mind. Just you
and him.
8) We know we're finished when the buzzer sounds.
Shoot, there's a story in each one of these, just like
the chocolate, so let's just wrap them into a hockey
player's erotic diary: "Friday. Lost 5-3. Getting my
nose broken gave me a boner like a hockey stick so I
hired a hooker for an hour. After I attacked and
scored, she washed out her rubber and Dad fucked her
for second period. Changing on the fly, Mom the
enforcer got her third. Buzz."
9) We gained so much insight about sex and chocolate
from the movies. Think of our expectation for a French
film. Ooo la laa! Then think of our expectation for a
French Canadian -- a hockey melee. There must be more
tie than the performers' refusal to speak English. In
neither case does that make any difference.
There was that Disney movie about the ragtag multi-
cultural low-income pewee hockey "Mighty Ducks". There
were sequels, a la "Rocky" and "Terminator", which
tells us something. In Mighty Ducks II geta goalie
Julie who can save virtually every slapshot made at
her. You won't believe this, but these unruly flag-
waving kids beat the cheaters from Iceland in the
Junior Goodwill Games! Such drama! Actually, the drama
must have been left on the cutting room floor -- Julie
plus all those hormonal boys. The "five-hole", being
the position between the goalie's legs, should be good
for a sorry joke.
The hockey video cassette worth watching is Disney's
"Miracle", the true one about the American college kids
beating the USSR in the 1980 Olympics. The sex videos
not worth watching start with "Aaanis Anguish" and end
with "Zulus and Zebras".
Wasn't there a porn flick about a gorgeous chick
shipwrecked with a hockey team? (No, you're confusing
it with "Alive", the true one about the plane crash in
Chile where 16 rugby players survived by consuming
chocolate bars and 29 dead teammates) If there's not
the one about the shipwreck yet, I think she should
make herself queen and they'd wave palm branches and
stuff.
Q: So what do the movies tell us about sex and hockey?
A: That the writers, producers, directors, actors,
light guys, best boys (what do you suppose they do?),
etc., don't have much interest in hockey.
10) Field hockey is a different sport. Girls used to
wear pleated skirts, white blouses and colored sashes.
Now they wear colorful shorts and colorful shirts.
Propriety and civility, however, do not keep the
players from shedding their smart attire when
opportunity presents.
Miss Simpson: "Rebecca, you scored quite nicely this
afternoon. Did that little sweeper from St. Angeline
even see you coming?"
Rebecca: "Thanks, Coach Simpson. Actually, we had our
eyes wide open the whole time after we let the shower
rinse out the shampoo."
Miss Simpson: "I do hope you girls are enjoying our new
leotard uniforms as much as I am. Shorts and shirts are
so constraining."
Rebecca: "Oh, yes, Coach Simpson. Especially how every
game you take the time to personally put them on us."
Miss Simpson: "It's so important to untense the lower
abdominal muscles after a match. We'll just remove
these panties."
Rebecca: "Right, Coach Simpson. You stood for the whole
game. Want me to go lower like usual?"
THEREFORE
Combining our expertise with that of the movies and the
experts, we've broadly dispelled the hypotheses that
chocolate is better than sex. We acknowledge, however,
that the comparison is one of multiple objectives. If,
for example, variety were the only criteria, chocolate
would win.
We summarily reject the thesis that ice hockey is
better than sex.
We lack sufficient comparative data relating field
hockey to sex. We suspect, however, that a correlation
exists.
THE END
****
Holly on the Web
Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way
to update the various servers. As literary errors (or
just poor word usages) are made know to me, I'll repair
that which is salvageable on
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.
You can contact me via the site's message form, that
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.
I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more
cleanly.
Holly
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 26