How I Spent My Summer Vacation
After a day and a night and half of another day of arduous climbing, we reached the peak of pike. My guide, whose task of assisting my ascent had proven even more difficult given my poor level of fitness and ceaseless torrent of complaints about how difficult it was to smoke cigarettes in the thin mountain air, seemed relieved that we had completed our journey after all.
"There," he said, gesturing to a small cave at the foot of the summit. "In there you will find the answers that you seek."
I had come halfway around the world in search of clarity and purpose; in search, finally, of meaning. After hours and days and weeks and years where the burdens of experience had accumulated so heavily on my heart that I felt weighed down by my very being I had decided that it was enough. I needed to know why: Why all this endless suffering, this seeming futility of existence? I read the great texts of the major religions, but they provided little relief. The annals of scientific reasoning likewise brought me no closer to comprehension. And then I heard tell of a great sage who, many years earlier, had renounced all worldly pleasures and confined himself to a barren hold on the top of an ancient dome where he could contemplate the very question that had been troubling his slumbers. Those who were able to make the trek to his retreat returned with a sense of spiritual satisfaction and a new understanding of why we are put upon this earth. With considerably more resolve than I had managed to muster in months, I booked passage upon a freighter and made my way to the mountain. And now, here I stood, ready for revelation.
I moved slowly toward the entrance to the cave. A small, calm voice emerged from within its bowels.
"You have come a very long way," said the sage.
"I have."
"Well, then, perhaps it is best that we resolve your question as quickly as possible. What is it that you wish to know?"
The moment of truth having arrived at last, I found myself at a loss for words. I stammered something about the meaning of life and than stood very still, staring at my feet.
The master chuckled.
"You wish to know why we are here," he laughed.
By now my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the cave and I could see the man in his fullness. Wizened with age and entirely without hair, he sat cross-legged on a craggy stone with only a thin shawl to protect him from the mountain's elements. The cave was indeed dark, and yet it seemed as if an otherworldy light shone all around him.
"Yes, master," I finally responded.
He put a finger to his lips and beckoned me forward. In his hand he held what on closer reflection turned out to be a small, cracked mirror.
"Look within," he said. "What do you see?"
"I see myself," I said.
"And what are you?" he asked.
"A man?"
"What sort of man? Think carefully before you answer."
I did not speak for several minutes. The question seemed impossible.
"Hold up your hands," said the sage patiently.
I did so.
"Cup your fingers in your palms and point your hands toward your body," he continued.
I did so.
"I will ask you a question. Your response will tell you all you need to know about everything."
I nodded, continuing to hold my clenched fists aloft with the two digits at their ends pointing at me as if they were accusatory hooks. I could practically hear the silence.
"What," said the master, holding the mirror up so that I could see myself, "has two thumbs and likes blowjobs?"
"This guy," I responded, now lighter than air and gifted with the knowledge of what really matters. Blowjobs. Life is all about blowjobs.
Anyway, I'm back! Did ya miss me? Not as much as I missed you! Love you guys.
[Pic via]







I knew Nick Denton drank Coors Light.
After so many years of the opaque and enigmatic Alex Balk refusing to share more than an inchoate anger and sadness laced with whiskey and nicotine, I thought I was finally going to get a peek inside the man's soul. Turns out he's just like me, a 13-year old juvenile smartass who refuses to grow up.
Really? It took you until 2010 to figure this out?
asl;djkfl;asdjkfal;sd
This wisdom just might change my life.
I could have told you that.
I was unconvinced from the get-go. Also, you're back, yay!
Me too. No father-related angst re: writing as career path. (Best post ever. Too tired to find/link).
OH MY GOD YOU'RE BACK!!! Whatdya bring us???? Candy? I hope it's candy! I'm sick to death of the banana chips and fruit leather Choire gives us.
Also, please let Choire know that "carob" is not really candy.
yeah and I need a fucking steak.
Well, there was that packet of Maltesers and the can of custard…
Eerily reminiscent of the Dalai Lama story in Caddyshack, but without the pitchfork.
Blowjobs=total consciousness
@boyof: A little something for the effort= blowjobs
Balk has TWO thumbs?
Some days you're the penis, and some days you're the throat.
Some days you're the involuntary gag reflex.
gag reflex?
Emphasis on *involuntary*.
Yay, it's Thursday and Balk's Cock is the Center of the Universe. Everything is as it should be! Now the spiritual healing and reconstruction can start… it was brutal, for awhile, during the TDS/Jezebel Wars of 2010.
I think for starters we need to repaint.
That special kind that prevents mold.
Choire is indeed a Master of the "Wild English Garden" look, which I certainly have appreciation for. The lavender and foxgloves really are beautiful when you let them do their thing!
…but one of these days, we should really show him how to use a lawnmower!
Oh. Thank. God. I was having all of these dreams about grizzlies, which I think was a displacement of my pining for your return.
I was barely at the part where you find the guru and I thought, "I bet they talk about blowjobs before this post is over."
Predictable? Yes. Did I miss you anyhow? Of course…
Balk, some of the girls decided to craft a doll likeness of you during your sojourn. You may or may not want to "sleep" with one eye open. (The upside of this is that it's easier to drink whiskey while awake.)
-Just thought you should know!
SHHH!!! We all agreed we weren't going to tell him about the Balk dollie.
It's really more of a 'Wicker Man' style effigy.
-cough- oh HAHA uh DID I SAY SOMETHING? Silly Me!…
@HG: Don't you talk about my Balk dollie like that! He can hear you! It's okay, Balk dollie, don't listen to the scary man. No no, don't cry! Here, let me brush your back hair and straighten your "MY EYES ARE UP HERE" tee. There. All better now.
AY, the best way to have the girls make a AY dollie is not to act out and tell on them, but to make yourself an indispensable part of their lives and then go on vacation. PRO TIP!!
Bride of Balky… and I ain't referring to Bartokomous
It was Barry Diller in the cave, wasn't it.
Had he described the sage as clad in a DVF wrap dress, then yes.
We all know you spent Monday watching the Intervention marathon and sobbing like a fucking pussy.
alsfkhalskhflskhflskhlksh
"That's a Tuesday."
And masturbating.
Mind goes blank (didn't have far to go).
A sherpa's work is never done.
Welcome back, Brother.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnBwT83xWco
Now you've done it. You've killed me with cute.
"The peak of pike"? "On closer reflection"? These are just more embedded Zen puzzles, aren't they? In fact, this post isn't about blowjobs at all! It's about involuntary bond vigilantes and the wisdom of a second fiscal stimulus! Now I see clearly!
Er, "invisible" bond vigilantes. Sometimes the sage has a tendency to mumble.
You were ruminating on your gag reflex, weren't you?
"foot of the summit" has me reeling.
..said the Captain archly.
Look, Scrolly, if you're going to go all Milton Friedman on me, I'll just have to tell Krugman what you've been doing with your own "stimulus package." Then we'll see what's what, that's for sure.
Balk:
Choire took my sling shot. Can I have it back now?
Whatever we're calling this version of the Summer of Death may now resume.
###TRIPLE HASHTAG ALERT### -PAGING THE JOKER-
Balk, I know you've been away for a bit, but apparently handjobs are the new blowjob.
Dad is home…clean up your mess, stop fighting and let mommy put on some pearls and greet daddy at the door with a cocktail.
The master did not specify giving or getting…
Frankenstein Thinks; or, The More Modern Prometheus, is a novel written by … Balk
As the great Amanda Fucking Palmer once sang:
when i was 17 i was a blowjob queen
picking up tips from the masters
i was so busy perfecting my art i was clueless to what they were after
now i'm still a blowjob queen (far more selectively)
i don't make love now to make people love me
but i don't mind sharing my gift with the planet
we're all gonna die and a blowjob's fantastic
This. Esp. The last line.
apparently you visited the same guru as sissy hankshaw.
On the fourth day of my summer vacation, woke up, went downtown to look for a job. Got a job keeping people from hanging out in front of the drugstore.
Did the cave have a gift shop?
I guess that Newsletter sign off about "Choire and the entirely sober awl staff" is now history.
It should also put to rest the Balk is Dead rumor – although I keep finding clues in the hashtags.
NAC read them backwards, it's all there.
*Hugz*
Now go make me a sammich!
CAN WE FINALLY TALK ABOUT THE AWL'S BLOWJOB PROBLEM?
your comment strikes me as handjobbist.
Teeth?