Guarasci Land...

Dear WATG,

My boyfriend and I have been together for a few months and the relationship is going great, but there is one little thing that bothers me – He’s VERY quiet in the bedroom. What do you do when he doesn’t make any noise during sex? I mean how am I going to know that he’s into the action, or even more so, how will I know when he’s about to arrive, if you catch my drift?

Moaner – Dumont NJ



Dear Moaner,

Oh, I catch your drift all right Dirty Girl – gotta clean you up!

You say that your boyfriend doesn’t like to make any “Yummy Noises” (as I like to refer to them -- copyright pending) during all of the sex. This could be due to a couple of different possibilities. The first being he recently got out of the slammer. Making any kind of yummy noises during prison sex would more than likely not be conducive to leading a healthy prison life. A friend of mine was in prison one time for theft, burglaries, and jaywalking. He told me, after he got out, that he avoided having prison sex by shitting on himself whenever someone was looking at him affectionately. Sure, it’s kind of nasty but it sure beats being anally raped.

The second possibility is that your boyfriend is part mouse. This scenario makes a lot more sense to me than your boyfriend doing time in prison.

A long time ago, I had pet mice that I named Sid and Nancy.


They used to have sex all the time, but you would never know unless you were looking at them because they were quiet as, well… mice. I think they had an exhibitionist side as I know they saw me watching them. Mayhaps it was the thrill of getting caught or it's just that mice don't care who sees them. Now I'm sure you're saying, "Hey Gary, doesn't that mean you have voyeuristic tendencies?" To which I answer, "Maybe."

I came home one day to find Sid lying there in a stupor, while Nancy was in the corner dead from a fatal stab wound. I don’t know for sure if Sid did it, but all the signs point to him. The knife that was used in the murder was his, but he claims that he was passed out from chasing the dragon. We’ll never know the real story because Sid killed himself shortly thereafter.

Your concerns regarding if he’s “into the action” are valid, as is your concern for when he’s about to “arrive”. Nobody wants to take a surprise load when not expecting it.


I suggest doing the following:

When you’re in the middle of the act of fornicating, whip out your favorite love toy, turn it on (if applicable), and jam it right up his ass. Wait for a second to see if he makes a noise. If there’s no noise then he’s part mouse. If he does make a noise, we know we got a jailbird on our hands. When he asks you, ‘What the fraggle rock are you doing?’ You can just tell him that you were concerned that you were in coitus with an ex-con because of the lack of noise. Be very careful when you do this though. If he was a prisoner, he might shit himself every time he sees you.

Thanks for the question, Moaner!

Dear Gary,

My newly acquired boyfriend and i had our first argument a couple of days ago. He had been a bit too distracted with the baseball game, and claims i gave him an attitude, which i assure you , i didnt. i told him i was leaving, and he kind of ignored me, then a few minutes later i grabbed my purse and car keys and gave him a kiss good bye, he was looking at me all shocked like.... wondering why i was leaving.... when i had already told him about 3 times. So Mr. Wonderful didnt call me that nite, as usual and texted me on some really formal manner later – “Thanks for Lunch, Glad you got home safely.” I’m a bit confused as to why Mr. Wonderful is giving me attitude, i'm wondering what i did wrong ... ? can you shed some light to this dilemma for me?

Baseball Hata – Bergenfield NJ



Dear Baseball Hata,

First things first, congratulations on your acquisition? I put a question mark at the end of that sentence because I’m not really quite sure if you’re happy with the acquisition. It sounds like you’re not.

I’m also a smidge bit curious on how you acquired him. I’m kind of picturing a Supermarket type setting where you walk down the aisles to find one. One section is all girls and, the other is, all boys. You’ll have to let me know if I’m way off base on that one.

Secondly, I’m not the grammar or punctuation police but please, please, please at least use the proper capitalization. I know it’s a chore to hit the shift button and a letter at the same time but trust me, you’ll thank me later.

You say that your boyfriend was distracted during the baseball game. Who was playing? Did he bet on the game? Those are very important factors to his distraction because if he bet on the game you have to get him into Gambler’s Anonymous immediately. Getting into debt and owing the bookies monies will surely lead to broken fingers or worse. I know all about this because of my heavy gambling addiction that I kicked a few years ago. This one time, I owed a bookie a cool fin and he had one of his goons come and collect all of it. All at once. I mean really who carries around $5 like that all willy-nilly? So anyway, this goon, that kind of looked like Ron Howard - but way bigger, said that he was going to break my head off of my neck if I didn't pay right then and there. I paid him straight away after going to the ATM machine o'course. True story.



Here’s something that you can do the next time he gets distracted by the ballgame. Bring an extra set of clothes with you and go into the bathroom to change. When you come out, stand right in front of the TeeVee in your newly changed clothes of short shorts and a tank top. (Flip flops optional)



I’m pretty sure if he’s a heterosexual male, that he will TiVo© the rest of the game and give you some lovin’.


If that doesn’t help, you can always go back to that supermarket and “acquire” a new boyfriend. Maybe one that doesn’t like baseball so much.

And not a gambler.

And not gay.

Thanks for the question Baseball Hata!

Post Script: You said he texted you, “Thanks for lunch.” What did you have? Sandwiches? I fuckin’ love sandwiches

Dear Gary,

Lately, I’ve been noticing a small rash on the tip of my penis. Is this normal?

Maurice Boscarelli (but please don’t use my name, sign it with ‘Concerned’ instead) – Maywood NJ



Dear Maurice Boscarelli (but please don’t use my name, sign it with ‘Concerned’ instead),

Wow. That sure is a problem. I’ve never seen a name with so many vowels, parenthesis, and apostorphe's before. If I were you I’d change it. It probably took you forever to learn how to spell it. Am I right?

Onto your question, I’m no doctor but it sounds to me that you’re penis is starting to turn into a zombie. It all starts out small (no pun intended – well maybe it was intended) with a small rash on the tip of your penis and next thing you know, you’re a full-fledged zombie. As far as I know there is no known cure for zombies.

I just checked. There isn’t.

This will be a terrible time for you, all of your friends are going to hate you and try to kill you and use items such as these against you.





It seems to me that you are fucked. I will suggest trying a new lotion for when you masturbate. This probably won’t do anything for the rash but it will leave your penis silky smooth and act as an inhibitor for when your flesh rots off. Also, you probably won't be getting that much action once you're a zombie so you better get used to masturbating.

What? Everyone diddles.

Good luck with your zombie penis. Thanks for the question Maurice Boscarelli (but please don’t use my name, sign it with ‘Concerned’ instead)

Dear Gary,

I have a crush on one of my co-workers, but she doesn’t even know I’m alive. What should I do?

Mike – Moonachie NJ



Dear Mike,

Your situation warrants bringing the old saying to mind, “Do not fuck where you eat.” I’m a whole believer in this as I once fucked a girl on my kitchen table and it smelled like sex and cheerios for over a week.

Wait, I think I got the saying wrong. It’s not "Do not fuck where you eat" but "Do not shit where you eat". I don’t really understand why anyone would want to do this, although a co-worker of mine once brought his lunch into the bathroom with him. Creepy.

If you want this girl to notice you, go down to your local CVS and pick out the cheapest bottle of cologne you can find. Stock up on it and buy out the entire stock. Don’t worry, they’ll re-order.

Next step is to put a ton of it on. I recommend ½ - ¾ of the bottle. Next time you see her, ask to borrow a pencil. Your newly acquired aroma will surely get her attention. If someone tells you that this is bad advice, ignore them. Chicks love this shit.

The next step to take is to follow her everywhere and take pictures of her. Again, chicks love their picture taken, especially when they’re eating. Try to get some candid shots of her as well and then make a huge collage of all the pictures you’ve taken. Anywhere betwixt 300 – 1000 pix will make for a nice collage. Take your time with it and cut out all of her eyes in the pictures. Now arrange them into one big, giant heart. Put it on her desk at work, or better yet mail it to her, but without a return address. Chicks love a little mystery. The next day when she brings it up at work to all of your co-workers, you can reveal yourself to be the true artiste. Sit back and watch the love fireworks explode.

Hope this helps. Thanks for the question Mike!

- Gary

Dear WATG,

Lately, I’ve had a tough time sleeping. Any suggestions?

Lorna - Piscataway NJ




Dear Lorna,

First things first, WATG is too formal. You can call me Gary, even though I really don’t like the name Gary. I think I should have been named Nick instead. Like Johnny Cusack taught me, in The Sure Thing, “Nick’s your buddy. Nick's the kind of guy you can trust, the kind of guy you can drink a beer with, the kind of guy who doesn't mind if you puke in his car, Nick!”

Guarasci is a tough one too. I didn’t know how to properly spell it until I was in the 7th grade. And pronunciation? More people butcher my name than the friendly butcher in the Acme Markets meat room. Guh-Rash-ee. It’s really not that complicated when you think about it, but since I’m doing away with Gary, then Guarasci must go too. I need a tough sounding name to go with Nick, something edgy. What’s more edgy than the color black? Black is not enough though. Might get confused with being a relative of Jack Black. I got it! I’ll put an ‘e’ at the end of it. Nick Blacke. I could go by the nickname Blackie. Wait, that doesn’t sound racist, does it? Blackie. Yeah, it sounds a little bit racist so don't call me that.

So, in conclusion, I will answer to Nick Blacke, Gary Guarasci, or if you insist, WATG. Thanks for the question Lorna!

Post Script: I just realized that I never answered your question. Try downing a six-pack of beer before going to bed, but whatever you do, do NOT mix it with sleeping pills. That’s just a recipe for disaster.
I know because one time I accidentally did it and never woke up again. True story.

If booze isn’t your thing, then try masturbating. Even if it doesn’t work, I’m pretty sure you’ll have a good time with yourself and you’ll forget all about not sleeping. Thanks for the question Lorna!

- Gary/Nick/WATG

It's been a long time, since I rock and rolled.

So the song says.


I blame myself, really. I could go on and on about how things popped up out of the blue or my busy schedule has prevented any updates, but that clearly would be a lie. For those of you that know me, my schedule is never busy, things never pop up out of the blue. In short, I am just plain lazy. Lazy and lethargic. Also probably another word that starts with the letter L to add to the alliteration.

Things are about to change now though (I think). I don't know if it's a sudden urge of inspiration or what it is actually. I know it's definitely not me finding my muse though. A friend of mine suggested that when I find her, I punch her in the face for staying away for so long. I don't condone violence so instead I think I'm just going to fuck her. Yup yup, you heard me right.

I'm going to fuck my muse.

With that being said, stick around and let the new format of Q&A's begin.


- Gary

Disclaimer: The following is not for the faint of heart. It contains language and situations that could leave emotional scars that will never heal over time. Read at your own discretion.

 

 

 

A few years ago I went to a work function being held in Atlantic City. I rode down with a co-worker for an enjoyable 3-hour drive. We chat-chitted about current events, coworker’s grooming habits or lack thereof, and other various goings on involving the work place. We arrive at our destination early, with plenty of time before dinner. My stomach decided to announce to the world that lunchtime was a long time ago and it was now time to eat. I agreed with my stomach and decided a li’l snack would surely hit the spot. We spot a hot dog cart outside and decide to feast on a couple of dirty water dogs. Two for a dollar, you can’t pass up a deal like that. Little did I know that this would make for a BIG mistake.

 

After woofing down the two hot dogs, I feel a bit sleepy and think that this is a great opportunity to catch up on some shut-eye before the big corporate dinner.  I check into my room and lie down on the big comfortable bed for what seemed to be all of two seconds before an intense rumbling came from my stomach.

 

Quick like a bunny, I run into the bathroom and drop my pants. I think I must have lost 10 lbs sitting there. It was reminiscent of the scene from Dumb and Dumber, when Lloyd spikes Harry’s drink with a laxative, complete with legs extended and all. 

 

The words came screaming from my mouth, “Ohhhhhhhhhh!!! My stomach!!! I’m poisoned!!! Oh sweet Baby Jesus, this must be what pure evil feels like!!!”

 

Now as you read this, you’re probably:

1) Very disgusted

2) Think that this story is going to end with some amusing little tale of being fresh out of toilet paper.

I only wish a lack of toilet paper occurred. I would have used the hotel’s fluffy white towels in its stead.

 

            After what seemed like hours, I finally finished my business and was extremely exhausted. I sprawled onto the bed and turned on the TeeVee and flipped through the channels. My ADD was kicking in so I couldn’t concentrate on just one thing. I do not know how much time had passed but I realized that the toilet was still flushing.

 

            I go back into the bathroom and I stood there in utter shock. There was literally, literally piss, and shit everywhere. Frantically, I call down to the main lobby to tell them of this occurrence. A nice lady answers the phone.

           

“Front desk, how can I help you?” answered the nice lady.

“This is Gary Guarasci in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!” I said in a frantic state.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“This is Gary Guarasci in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!”

“Okay, Mr. Garsuki. [Editor’s note: I don’t know why people have trouble pronouncing my name. You say it like it’s spelled.] We’ll send someone right up.”

“Okay thanks you. Thank you nice lady at the front desk. Thank you.”

           

            It felt like an hour had gone by with no sign of maintenance so I call back down to the lobby. A nice lady answers the phone.

 

“Front desk, how can I help you?” answered the nice lady.

“This is Gary Guarasci and I just called. I’m in room 316 and there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere.” I said frantically.

“You must have spoken to someone else.”

“What?”

“I said that you must have spoken to someone else. I just got here.”

“Oh.”

“What room number are you in again?”

“This is Gary Guarasci. I’m in room 316 and you gotta send someone up here right away, because there is literally, literally piss and shit everywhere!”

“Okay, I’ll send a plumber up right away.”

“Hurry.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“What?”

“Is there anything else that I can do?”

Long pause.

“No, I think clearing out the river of piss and shit will be all.”

“Have a nice night.”

CLICK.

 

            Ten minutes later, I get a knock on the door and standing before me is a big, burly plumber.

 

“You called for a plumber?” He asks and then takes a look at the sea of excrement and a look of shock falls over his face. “Holy shit. What the fuck happened?”

“Hot dogs.”

 

            He goes to work and gets the toilet to stop running. He looks at me with much disdain and advises that he will be sending housekeeping up to clean up. Shortly thereafter comes another knock at the door. It’s a little fellow whistling happily as I answer the door. He’s got one small white hand towel draped over his shoulder. He takes a look at the crime scene of a bathroom and says, “Whoa, I’m going to have to go get something.”

“You better get a lot of something.” I said to him. I look at my watch and realize that I am late for the corporate sponsored dinner and say to him, “Do you have a key to get in here?”

“Yeah, I got a key.” He flummoxed.

“Oh great, because I got a thing I have to go to and I’m already late as it is. Do you think you could let yourself back in?”

“Yeah.” He replied while muttering something else under his breath.

 

            I hightailed it down to the dinner and ended the evening dining on steak. Now for those of you who stayed with me to the very end, I give you this sound piece of advice: Never, ever, ever trust a dirty water dog, no matter how delicious they look, or enticing the price.