Tom Oatmeal

A Blog About Intercourse from a guy who doesn't get nervous about intercourse like his friend Ricky does.

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The airport seems big, but when you get there four hours early and start drinking and wandering around, it gets small pretty fast.  
What I’d like is to trail behind someone with one of those rolling suitcases and when they look back to see about the heavy footsteps behind them, Bam!  I’m dressed in the contents of their suitcase!  
As I fold up the clothes to return them, I explain that I am a magician and I’d like to give them a couple of free passes to my next big magic show.
Several days later at home, my mom screams down the stairs that there is a family on the phone about a magic show, but the feel good buzz from the airport booze is long gone and my head is buried under a pillow.
"There is no magic show, mom!"
"But they’re saying that you told them they had free tickets to a magic show!"
"Who told them what?" says my stepdad Glenn, who just came in from raking leaves.  "What did he tell them?"
"He told them there was a magic show," says my mom.  Then to me: "Why do they think there is a magic show?"
"Because they’re lying!" I scream.  
"God damn it!" says Glenn.  "God damn it!  You don’t bullshit people about magic shows!"
Then my stepbrother comes in with news that he’s been invited to compete in some really important competition of young entrepreneurs.  
"Is now a good time?" he asks.

The airport seems big, but when you get there four hours early and start drinking and wandering around, it gets small pretty fast.  

What I’d like is to trail behind someone with one of those rolling suitcases and when they look back to see about the heavy footsteps behind them, Bam!  I’m dressed in the contents of their suitcase!  

As I fold up the clothes to return them, I explain that I am a magician and I’d like to give them a couple of free passes to my next big magic show.

Several days later at home, my mom screams down the stairs that there is a family on the phone about a magic show, but the feel good buzz from the airport booze is long gone and my head is buried under a pillow.

"There is no magic show, mom!"

"But they’re saying that you told them they had free tickets to a magic show!"

"Who told them what?" says my stepdad Glenn, who just came in from raking leaves.  "What did he tell them?"

"He told them there was a magic show," says my mom.  Then to me: "Why do they think there is a magic show?"

"Because they’re lying!" I scream.  

"God damn it!" says Glenn.  "God damn it!  You don’t bullshit people about magic shows!"

Then my stepbrother comes in with news that he’s been invited to compete in some really important competition of young entrepreneurs.  

"Is now a good time?" he asks.

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