Could I fucking suck more than I do already? I think I know the answer.

In the past few weeks, my work email inbox has risen slightly higher, inching ever closer to the 5000th email. That's right. 5 Mother Fucking Thousand. As I hit 4800, I began to pre-jaculate. When I hit 4900, I felt happier than Lance Bass walking barefoot through a field of boners. The number continually grew on a daily basis, filled with work emails, personal emails, spam emails...any kind of electronic transmission you could imagine, and when I say electronic transmission I'm not talkign about robot cum. Dear God.

Each day, my dull vapid feeble little mind would sail away like Styx, constantly wondering who, or what this amazing milestone of an email would tell me. Perhaps a message from the future. Maybe a hot gentleman coworker would finally admit his lust for me and invite me for an afternoon truckstop tryst. Maybe it would even come from Mr Jay Goodtimes himself.

All I wanted was some kind of email that could carry the heavy burden of being awesome enough to be known as my 5000th email. (Wait a minute, can you capitalize numbers? If you can that should be a capital 5.) I mean shit, when my car crossed 90,000 miles in high school, I threw a fucking party. When I first crossed the Mississipi River in that car, I honked the horn constantly till the fuse blew. I am a man of milestones.

As it turns out, my 5000th email was a slightly racist tinged email from the Dogger (another Goodtimes guest blogger...Dogger the blogger, yeeeeeeeecccchhh) about stupid Carlos Mencia. Now I've never seen his show, and I dont want to, but the point is, my 5000th email was totally fucked up by the stupid Dogger. I felt like that housewife who is sitting alone at a magnificent table set for two with a terrific surf n' turf dinner getting colder by the second, while I wait for my son of a bitch husband to get home for our anniversary dinner that we planned like 3 weeks ago. Seriously, i felt like I was having a taint-ectomy sans anesthesia. I felt like I had stared down the barrell of a penis. I was shaking hands with the devil himself.

Now, you'll never believe this, nor should you, but this is the truth. I turned whitish green from the pain of a less than satisfying 5000th email and begna to feel queasy. AS the sensation grew, I threw up my gordita crunch wrap onto the tits of the girl in the nearest cubicle. Corn tortillas, flour tortillas, a felchy splash of factory made refried beans, a lil' bit of some tomatoes that looked like pimentos, and a whole lot of beef.

Of course this was awful, disgusting, embarassing...(the three words used most to describe yours truly.) But as we both realized what had just happened, the girl with chunky puke falling down her fat bosom looked over and made eye contact with me, and hers was not a look of disgust, pain or embarassment. It was a smirk. A smirk that had an inexplicable quality to it...sort of like the look you probably made when you saw your first pube. Then she stopped smirking and started smiling.

And that girl looked me in the eye and she said to me, "Mustachio, do you realize what just happened?"

Puzzled, I didn't reply. I did realize but I wanted to hear a second opionion.

"You are the 5000th man to puke on my tits. Do you realize what kind of milestone this is? "

So, I dont want to get up on a pedestal or get too preachy, but I want everyone to learn from me and my rollercoaster of emotions. Just remember that every anus has a pink lining.