I originally posted this in the "for sale" section of this website, but it was flagged and removed within 25 minutes. If you know anyone that can help me, please read on:
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Years ago, just before i transferred from Chemeketa to the U of O, i was in a pretty sad state--sexwise, that is. My problem was that i wasn't pulling enough trim to keep my sexual desires satiated. I was basically a walking boner machine, cranking out a product that nobody wanted. Getting laid in high school was no problem: Back in the 90s girls would lift skirt as naturally as they would sneeze or yawn. But when college and hence my 20s came around, something happened. I can't put my finger in it, but i think it had something to do with the fact that women over 20 aren't impressed with things like how quickly you can shotgun a can of Milwaukee's Best Ice.
So my first term at U of O was pretty much vadgeless, no matter what i tried. Dyed my hair blonde, bought a new Merkur with the two spoilers, threw away all of my old Hypercolor T-shirts, even started ordering Cointreau Sidecars at the bar just to seem impressively pedantic. Nothing worked, and I was just about ready to resign myself to life without poon.
But then one day a miracle happened. I was walking back to my quad on 18th and Kincaid when i found something in the holly bushes out in front of the Lorax. It was easily recognizable by the shape of the hardcase poking out from the foliage. I opened up the case and saw that it was an accoustic guitar. A beautiful guitar that said "Regent by Kramer" on the little stem thingie. I placed the guitar back into the soft fluffy red fur that lined the hardcase and lugged it home. I placed a lost and found ad in the Emerald and called it a night. I didn't think it at the time, but that was pretty much the last night i would sleep without two soft milky-white breasts to bury my chin between.
The following day I decided to take the guitar with me to my CompLit 318 class because it was one of those once-a-week 6-hour classes that was more like an independent study type of thing. Just before reaching the corner of 17th and University, a girl named Alayne Mundtz walked up to me. Her first words were, "Are you in a band?" I was so surprised that such a beautiful although shortish Jewish girl would walk up to a stranger on the street that i lied, "Yes. Yes i am." By 9:30 that night, I was nose deep in Alayne. She broke up with me about three weeks later (when she finally realized that i didn't actually know how to play guiter), but that was okay because i was getting pretty sick of her anyway. Two nights later, i brought the guitar to Max's on 13th. That's where Jennifer D'Amico bought me four pints of Jubelale before taking me home. She thought she was an "artist" and had all of these paintings of butterflies all over her bedroom. I didn't care, though, because she was a box-shaver and that was the first time I'd ever gone down on a hoo-ha sans hair. She kicked me out of her apartment about a month later when she found out i wasn't in a band, but--again--i was fine with that because i think i was allergic to her fabric softener.
That was pretty much how the rest of my college career went. I got a BA in English Lit because i was happy to coast by on a 2.49 GPA, and about 30 notches on my headboard because of the guitar.
I moved to Portland after graduation, and the guitar-luck, of course, came with me. I've sprayed in all sorts of Portland girls thanks to this guitar: Indies, goths, trustafarians, hipsters, even a lesbian once from that time i lugged it up to the Egyptian Club on Division. This instrument has been vital in both my sexual development and approximately seven abortions. I won't even tell you about the time when i brought the guitar to the Planned Parenthood up in Northeast by the Wild Oats. All I can say is that Planned Parenthoods are a ripe garden of fertile baby caves. Best. Blowjob. Ever.
You may be wondering why i'm willing to part with this guitar, this chick magnet, this slit supplier. Fair question. I present my answer to you in two parts: Firstly, i think it's morally apprehensible to walk around town with a guitar case if the only reason you're doing it is to moisten panties, especially if you've never even bothered to learn how to play. Secondly, and more importantly, I've finally met a girl without the help of the guitar. On one of the rare occassions that i forgot to bring out the chick magnet, i met a saucy little redhead at Paradox, and the carpets match the drapes if you know what i mean. We're engaged to be married.
I can pretty much guarantee that you'll be swimming in muffpuddles by the end of the week if you buy this guitar, but i really don't want to tell the fiancee about this so please don't hesitate to take it off my hands.
The price is firm.