Talk about perfect product placement!
I’m just saying………
Talk about perfect product placement!
I’m just saying………
More often than not we hear or read about me discussing taking personal responsibility and being personally held accountable for our words and actions. This post won’t be any different. I found it humorous that I was sent the link to the below information and shortly after reading it I heard a damn commercial for the same thing. Odd what we hear on the radio @ 02:30 am while driving my happy ass to work. Anyone, I would assume, who watches television or listens to the radio has seen or heard at least one Ambilify commercial. True or not? Having a son who suffers from mild bipolar disorder we have been bombarded with samples and prescription answers which will somehow magically transform behavior. I tell you from my personal experience, we don’t use my son for a testing ground so big pharmaceuticals can make their billions at the cost of my son’s mental well-being. So, when I saw this bullshit about the lawsuit towards the makers of Ambilify I merely smiled to myself because we all know there is not one single perfect medication with no side effects. While my son has never taken Ambilify, we did research it extensively, just as we have done with many others.
But why are we here right now? But why did I choose to write about it right now? It’s simple, this is another example of people who cannot be responsible for their own actions. It’s about people who blame someone else for their own behavior because they acted without self control. It’s because people want the quick fix. It’s about people who choose to not read the small print or they choose to ignore the small print. Yes, I find this lawsuit as being fucking stupid because people made bad choices but don’t want to take responsibility for their own decisions. But then we know in our society nobody is forced to be held accountable, it’s always somebody else at fault. Bullshit! If we fuck up we just sue someone because we can profit from our lack of responsibility. Or have we forgot that coffee from a fast food joint is extremely hot and will burn the fuck out out your crotch if you spill it? People are dumbasses. Let this be yet just one more example.
The following information was originally found here and provided by a leading contributor to The Scorpion Army. I don’t have any express or otherwise permissions to copy this story from the above linked website or to use it on my blog as part of a post which includes my personal opinion. Hopefully they understand I do not support the lawsuit efforts but do not hold the above website responsible for posting this story. In the end, if they wish that I remove it in part or completely it will happen swiftly and immediately. The two pictures were borrowed from the internet using Google. Remember, I neither gain or loose anything by sharing the following information, it’s just being shared because I found it truly interesting.
Abilify has been linked to compulsive behavior side effects, such as pathological gambling, binge eating and hypersexuality. These behaviors are thought to be triggered by the neurotransmitters dopamine and serotonin.
One of the most popular treatments for a variety of mental disorders like depression, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, makes billions for Bristol-Myers Squibb and the Otsuka Pharmaceutical Company. It was the top-selling drug in the U.S. in 2013 with sales of over $6.4 billion. The drug works by either increasing or decreasing dopamine or serotonin in the brain when there is an imbalance, and this makes it useful for a variety of approved and unapproved uses.
However, the drug is also linked to disturbing compulsive behavior side effects that can wreak havoc on the lives of patients and their families.
Among these side effects, compulsive or pathological gambling can be financially crippling, and it can destroy lives. People in the grip of compulsive behaviors will do anything they can to continue the chosen activity, even if it means ignoring the rest of their lives and withdrawing from friends and family.
This side effect in particular may lead to lawsuits against Bristol-Myers and Otsuka America, claiming the companies did not properly warn patients and doctors of this serious side effect.
In addition, reports of other side effects include compulsive eating, shopping and even sex addiction.
How Abilify Causes Compulsive Behavior
While doctors aren’t exactly sure how Abilify (aripiprazole) works, they believe it acts on receptors in the brain for chemicals that regulate mood and behavior. These chemicals are neurotransmitters called dopamine and serotonin.
When the dopamine system is stimulated in response to a particular activity, people will feel a high from it or a feeling of pleasure. This reward system normally ensures that we continue to eat and do other things we need to do to survive. In people with mental disorders, these systems are stimulated excessively, or not enough.
Researchers think Abilify may over-stimulate dopamine reward receptors in the brain – called dopamine 3 (D3) receptors – and trigger compulsive behavior.
Several case studies focused on a connection between aripiprazole and compulsive behavior, also called pathological behavior, especially in the case of gambling. One French study published in 2013 by Gaboriau, et al., examined several people who checked into a clinic because of their compulsive gambling behaviors. Study authors looked at eight individuals who took Abilify as part of ongoing medical treatment. Researchers found the drug caused seven of the eight patients to lose control of their gambling habits.
After discontinuing the drug or greatly reducing the dose, patients regained control of their compulsive behaviors, researchers wrote.
Another 2011 case study by Cohen, et al. found similar results in patients treated for schizophrenia. No patients in this study had a history of pathological gambling. Soon after taking the drug, they began gambling uncontrollably.
Similarly, a 2011 British study conducted by the National Problem Gambling Clinic found a relationship between Abilify and the drive to gamble in some patients. Doctors described one case in which a patient took the antipsychotic and “was preoccupied with thoughts of gambling and his gambling activity became both impulsive and involved extensive planning in obtaining funds to gamble, including the use of crime.”
Another patient said gambling became “a reason to live” after he took the drug.
In all cases, gambling problems resolved after discontinuing Abilify and switching to another drug.
In pursuit of wanting to have her story looked over and possibly shared here on The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, a long time silent follower decided her experience this past weekend just might spark the interests of me but also all of the regular readers. I will give you a background on Eve and then let her story begin. Eve is a very shy young lady, at the age of 22 she is an off and on college student, as the funds permit, and once she left being an unhappy employee at a well known and popular coffee shop she found herself working the overnight shift at an adult clothing boutique. She was in charge of placing new displays and keeping the window as appealing as possible to the passing public. After five months of working there she was feeling as if she had found a home. She was having fun, the work wasn’t bad, and she always got to meet some truly interesting people nightly. Which is where her story begins and I shut up.
I check out your blog a couple times a week, reading when I have the time, and realized I just had what might qualify in your terms as a Magic Weekend. I guess we’ll see how much you like it if I see it posted or not. Either way, here goes.
I had just finished up the new displays in the front window when things got kinda strange for me. This older gentleman came into the store after thoroughly checking out my new displays, he wandered around a bit, not really looking at anything, but I noticed he kept looking in my direction. Soon enough he slowly approached the check out counter where I asked him if I could help him decide on anything special. His face lit up, he took a deep breath, and then he asked if employees modeled the outfits for their customers. I played off the question but in my head I’m wondering if this fucking man has lost his mind or something. If I can, let take a break from the story and myself to you because I really consider myself to be highly average in my body type and looks. I’m 5’7″, around 130 pounds, toned but not muscular, and living in the midwest I have a moderate fake and bake tan, natural dark dirty blonde hair, and measure up at 34C-25-33 body. I wear jeans and t-shirts to work, don’t wear makeup, and 99% of the time my hair is pulled back in a tight pony tail. As I said, I find myself looking average. He went ahead and asked me again if I could model an outfit for him since I have basically the same body as his girlfriend and about the same age of her as well. He looks to be in his late forties, pushing fifty if I had to guess. Now I’m a bit embarrassed because he is being so polite about it and I feel bad saying no.
Playing his game a bit, I asked him what he had in mind and after a few moments of thought he points to the outfit in the window. He wants to see what the barista uniform looks like on a living breathing female. Seeing in my face I wasn’t going to do it he offers me $500 for a quick show. I’m trying to figure this out, he will pay me $500 to try on a $69 outfit. I tell him I’m not for sale. He shot straight back with a $1000 offer. Being a smart ass I ask, “cash up front and before”? He laid ten $100 bills on the counter. I asked what he wants in return and he says he wants to watch me change, he wants a ten minute parade which needs to include bending over, stretching up high, walking around, and squatting down. He only asks for one picture that I can choose for him and he will take pictures only using my personal cell phone. Seems like an interesting proposal with minimal effort on my part. Plus, I have a really old phone so they will be crappy pictures anyhow. I tell him if he is truly serious about all this to come back in 30 minutes and I will have an answer for him. He complied, leaving the money in my care. The money would come in very handy is all I can think about. So, before he returned I got the outfit out in my size.
In precisely 30 minutes he returned and asked what I decided. Decided? Well, in reality I haven’t fully decided yet. This is all still kind of fucked up if you ask me. Screw it, if he is willing to drop a grand for ten minutes of costume modeling then I’m game. I dug my phone out of my back pocket, switched on the camera, and handed it to him. I decided to just do this entire thing at the register counter. With one final deep breath I began kicking off my shoes, peeling my socks off, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down while I faced away from him. It was at this point I here the camera making it’s fake clicking noise so I slowly lift my shirt over my head and then remove my bra as well. There I stood naked for this guy to fucking see. I don’t know what he expected now but I started putting on the costume. When I squatted down to get the costume I could see through the glass counter that his rock hard dick was poking through his dress slacks. I won’t lie, it was impressive, and it made me blush a bit because it was all because of me, except I wasn’t really doing anything except flirting around a bit. I got dressed slowly, it was a bit challenging because I didn’t have a mirror to look into, closest thing I had was a reflection in the glass. Fortunately for me I keep an eye on his huge erection. The costume didn’t cover very well at all anywhere, which I guess is the point, and I started getting into this performance much more. I walked around slowly in the store, bending and squatting often, and he just followed me, watching me, and taking pictures.
He kept track of time as well, he told me my ten minutes were up, it could have been 30 minutes for all I knew. But I wasn’t done playing yet, I walked over, turned my back to him, and began rubbing my as on this man’s erection, it feels good sliding between my cheeks, I pressed hard against it, at this point I wanted that big dick right now. But wait, snap the fuck out of it right now, you are not fucking this guy, not now, not never. But I need to see it so I unzip his pants and hold it firmly in my hand, it was hot and throbbing, looking like it could just explode at any moment. I needed to be done tho, so I politely kiss the tip of this throbbing meat and walked away slowly. Behind the counter again I went ahead and changed back into my clothes. When I bent down to gather the costume I noticed that the panties were all but soaked, I was a little horny I think. Asking him what he thinks he tells me it was perfectly executed, very nicely done, and he will buy the one I was wearing as a souvenir of his visit. When he pays he leaves his business card, telling me if I ever wanted to model for him again he would be right over, just give him a call. I hated seeing him go, I wasn’t actually done with him yet, but he walked out as quietly as he walked in.
The rest of my night was quiet, not another customer came in. The shit part is that when I went in to work the next night I was terminated for “gross inappropriate behavior with a customer”. Seems the hidden cameras in the store caught it all on tape. The owner wasn’t real happy with me, but he is a fucking sleaze anyway, he never tried anything, but he just creeped me out in general. On the plus side, I got my final paycheck which includes my commission in that last sale. I’m thinking about calling Robert tonight, see if he wants to help me celebrate my recent unemployment.
Interesting story, it fits right in to the parameters of The Magic Weekend because it was sexual without the sex and money because of it. I don’t know, I’ll just let y’all, the readers, be the judge. So, what about the rest of y’all? What did your Magic Weekend involve? Don’t be shy, send your story in today!
But wait! What’s the hurry? What’s the big deal? Sit back a moment and I will explain to y’all why the weekend being here is such a big deal. Don’t freak out if y’all have submitted before and it was published, I really love you repeat offenders and I will post for you again. As y’all can see, here at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, I’m pretty open minded as to what I post myself. Anyway, your information can be as private or as public as you want it to be. Upon request I also add your blog so others may find you as they grope around the internet in the dark. I also provide the donating party of the story and pictures a link to place on their blog to use as they see desirable. Want more information or want to just see what has been posted before? Just search The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog for “Magic Weekend” and enjoy.
So, that’s why I’m here today. It’s time for y’all to tell your fantastic stories about your weekend for the “world” to see. So what did your Magic Weekend involve? Sex, Jail, Blood, Money, or Fame? Got questions? Just ask me. Fair enough? Great, lets GO! Be sure to include your pictures with your story!
Submit your stories & pictures to:
As we know, I do my best to share the stories of my readers. This one really has no direct category to be placed in, but I will add it to the collection of great stripper and strip bar stories. The reader who submitted this story asked to remain unidentified for professional reasons. No, I don’t know what is meant by that, but I always abide by requests and people see it when they read stuff here. I have seen this happen in real life more than once, like every day. One would be amazed what people leave at a strip bar. One would be surprised the efforts people go through to get their stuff back. And, yes, unfortunately it is kinda like talking with a giggly five year old when you call a strip bar, its always been that way because she is never hired for her people skills on the phone, she is hired to be the first thing you see when you walk thru the doors so you go DAMN! let me in. When one enters a strip bar it is like walking through the portal to an alternate universe, often one needs to pinch themselves because the world is cruel outside the doors. So, allot of weird shit happens in a strip bar, but then again a strippers job is to separate a visitor from as much of his/her money in the shortest amount of time, every time. With that being said, read the email.
I went to the strip club the other night…allegedly. I’m not sure it counts though because I don’t remember being there, much less remember driving home. “Oh the humanity Grayson, the humanity,” I hear the voices saying. “How dare you drive home black-out drunk; you could have killed someone!” Shut thefuck up right now and let me finish you interrupting ass-hag! I didn’t quite drive home drunk and I do specifically remember one incident from the night…being woken at 3:30am by a security guard(?) while passed out in my truck in some establishment’s parking lot. Whose parking lot it was…I was totally and completely unsure of. After that, I am wholly unaware of the events except for the fact that I slept for the next 26 hours straight, missing work and occasionally waking up from some pretty twisted dreams of disembodied heads, parallel universes and ex-girlfriends wanting to “give it another shot”…again; then dumping me and shitting – both figuratively and literally – on me and my life. I mean, this heartless cheating cunt had the audacity to…wait, what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah, right…blacking out at a strip club and not remembering; I’m the good guy. Anyway, it was like the movie The Hangover, minus the ‘wolf-pack’ and a whole lot more depressing. Like our lovable characters from the film, I was (possibly) drugged with GHB and had to follow vague clues I’d unknowingly left myself in order to find, not a lost friend and groom for an imminent wedding the following morning, but my debit card and driver’s license. So yeah, a completely sad version of the now classic comedy.
The entire night started with an innocent trip to a bar, not to drink, but to sit way back in a corner booth with my notebook (actual paper-type book you write in with pens; not a computer…I ain’t fuckin’ rich folks). Yes, I said that shit with my nose in the air like some pretentious hipster at Star Bucks; feel free to punch me if you ever see me. Anyway, how I got from said bar to, what I later found out to be Cabaret East, I have no fucking idea; but I figured my notebook might have a clue, since I’m always leaving myself notes. I had 20 pages of some seriously fucked up and twisted shit written in there that I am proud to say I loved, and don’t actually know when I wrote it that night. When I got done high-fiving myself and making mental notes to write shit-faced drunk (or drugged) more often, I noticed 2 phone numbers on the last page of writing. One had the name of a tattoo parlor and the other was for a person named Corrin. Intrigued, I picked up my cell phone ready to dial her(?) number until I came to the sudden realization that I had to have used my GPS since I surely had no idea how to get where I went or how to get home. Sure enough, my GPS was the last app I used that night. I searched the ‘recent addresses’, plugged that shit into Google Search and voila, Cabaret East. I got the phone number, called that bitch up and what follows is the conversation, verbatim, I had with the receptionist…as much as I can recall days later anyway:
Girl – Cabaret East
Me – Yeah, hi. I believe I visited your fine establishment Sunday night, and whether I left by my own accord or was forcibly removed, I’m not sure, but I believe ya’ll might be in possession of my ID and debit card.
Girl – Um…what?
Me – I think I walked my tab. Do you have my debit card?
Girl – Uh…I dunno.
(Silence for ten seconds)
Me – (irritated at this point) Can you…I dunno…look?!
Girl – Oh yeah (giggles), sure, one sec.
Me – Wait wait wait!
Girl – What?
Me – Don’t you need my name?!
Girl – (giggles again) Oh yeah…of course!
After talking to this brick wall of human intelligence for what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to extract from her that, yes, they did indeed have possession of my shit. I hung up the phone, triumphant that I CSI’d the shit out of my situation, while also ashamed-beyond-words at the same time because I still don’t know how my shit got there in the first place. I will be fucked until my literal day of recollection.
Later Tuesday evening, I went up to the titty club to retrieve my shit and was met by a big, burly, black mother fucker who looked like he’d choke me with my own intestines; who also happened to remember both, helping me to my truck as I vomited along the way AND waking me up at 3:30 in the AM to send my hobo-ass packing. I thanked him for telling me about such obviously proud moments in my life, then I swore to him that I’d been drugged; in return he handed me a bill with a smile…for just under $350. I fought back maniacal fits of laughter, tears and the intense urge to vomit.
I wasn’t sure if I was playing out my fantasy of a poor man’s Hank Moody from Californication or if I was literally just fucked up enough to get myself into such shenanigans; because I don’t generally share much about my actual personal life other than the intense anger that I feel in general towards society, but I’m pretty sure some people at this point would consider a negative bank account due to a – for all intents-and-purposes – fake night of debauchery, as rock bottom; for me…it’s just another Sunday night.
As for Corrin…she is a stripper, who had as much recollection of me as I had for her; we will not be in touch.
I like this man’s references to movies and life in general. I have the answer he seeks. It wasn’t drugs, it’s deeper than that, its more mental than that, it was out his normal element if you ask me. Plus, writers are fucking out there in their own world anyway, no offense to y’all writers, but it’s true. People often overthink shit too, which is death to our brains, then add in strippers, titties, alcohol, a strip bar, blacking out, and one can see where the imagination just goes ape shit. Not to mention the movie reference, because those were some pretty fucked up movies. Neither here nor there, he solved his dilemma. Too bad he doesn’t remember what went down. Or does he? Maybe its his mind blocking shit that isn’t in his norm or his mind knows that if he recalls anything that he will be in mental disarray. Who knows.
Anyway, I decided to pass this story on to y’all while I have had time hanging out at three different doctors offices today. I think y’all will enjoy it, especially the fishermen who knows the perils of early morning fishing in a tiny boat. Enjoy.
I never know how to title posts that are sent to me with no title. This is especially hard when entries come in for The Magic Weekend. But, I figured most of us have heard of the tale about the man from Nantucket, so I figured it just might catch someone’s attention. Did it work? Neither here nor there, he sends me a story that covers two of the categories for The Magic Weekend. If you need a moment to get up to speed to see what those are, we’ll wait. Got everyone back? So, Ron is of course from Nantucket Massachusetts where he has lived most of his adult life. Ron states he is in his mid-40s, single, dating, and spends most weekends fishing and drinking. Sounds like I’m writing his single’s ad instead of his story introduction. But, I guess if someone is interested in Ron they can get ahold of me and I will pass your information on to him. Hey, wait just a fucking minute, I’m not pimping for nobody, especially a damned ‘ol yankee. Anyways, this story wasn’t sent in by Ron, it was sent in by one of his lady friends. Hey, I don’t judge. Elizabeth, the lady friend in question, sent this particular story in this past weekend to share her version of their Magic Weekend. She made sure to send me in three decent pictures, two of Ron and one of herself. So, we shall begin with her e-mail now.
Hi! My name is Elizabeth, 23, from the great state of Massachusetts. I’m sorry your not a big fan of us yanks but we’re just people too. I hope this email finds you well and that you will be able to see that even us yankees know how to have a Magic Weekend. I have been a long time stalker of your blog, I can relate to a couple of the stories you posted, but hell, that’s just part of dating I think, shit happens, we laugh, we learn, and we become better people down the road hopefully. Anyhow, I met Ron through a friend of a friend of a friend who thought we needed to hook up. The first time we met was a shock to both of us, the short version was we did allot of shots of tequila, allot, and I ended up bent over the couch with my bikini bottom pulled to one side as he drilled me so hard I though he would surely pound my tonsils out. It was great, I was hooked, and I wanted more, and more, and then more to cap it off. Does this make me greedy? I cant help it he knows how to screw one way, and one way only, to just drill and pound until everything is just a sloppy mess. Ah, memories. I have good pictures of some of these occasions as well, let me know if I should send them to you later. Just kidding, I know you can’t post those on your “Rated G” blog.
So, Ron called me to see if I had any plans a few weeks ago because he wanted me to go fishing with him on some pond called Hummock or something like that. I’m not much into fishing but what the hell, I like to eat fish, drink, and party so I was game. I showed up at his house about 4:30 in the morning dressed for the nice day ahead. He met me on the porch, gave me the once over head to toe, got a dirty grin on his face, and then handed me cooler to carry to his truck. After we got all loaded up we headed out, it was a rather short trip, 15 minutes or so. The area we pulled up to was very pretty, looks like a post card you could find at the drug store or somewhere. I helped put his little boat in the water, we loaded everything into it, and we pushed off. It appears that we truly are in the middle of absolutely nowhere so I spent quite a bit of time fucking with Ron, trying to throw off his fishing game, but, for some reason fishing is what he actually had on his mind. I didn’t want to fish, I wanted to fuck, and I was going to get my way one way or another. As I laid back against the front of the boat, my fingers dangling in the calm water, I watched to sun begin to come up, I could feel its warmth as it moved up my legs, onto my stomach, across my breasts and face, and now I catch Ron checking me out from the corner of his eye. Game on now Ron, game on. Before I knew it I was sliding down my shorts to get comfortable, now I am laid out in nothing but my bikini. The warmth across my body, a perfect time to start lapping on the suntan lotion. Ah, I wanted to be so naughty, I wanted Ron to be done fishing, and I was going to have my way, you just keep on playing with your minnows Ron, I’ll see if I can’t change your mind.
My bikini top and bottoms just slid right off and it took Ron all of about 33 seconds to realize he was done fishing this morning. And then he turned to me, trying to get out of his shorts, the all I see is Ron with his giant boner coming right at me, now all fuck breaks loose. Ron had slipped, then tripped, and was going down like a falling mighty oak, it seemed as if it were all going in slow motion, then I hear the crash, Ron had landed onto the corner of his open tackle box which shattered into oblivion, slicing his hand open. In all the commotion we ended up flipping the boat over in about 18 feet of water. Everything on the little boat was gone, everything. We ended swimming to the open area by his truck, where I finally was able to take his shirt off of him and bind it around his hand. As luck would have it, and we needed luck, I found the keys to his truck deep in his pocket, finding out that Ron was still peacocking his mighty wood. We headed to his house for clothes for me and a quick change for him. Luckily he wasn’t much of a bleeder or we would have been in grave shit. There was a small clinic not far from his house which is where we ended up. They sewed Ron up real clean as we laughed and joked that we could tell our grand children of this event one day. Afterwards I took Ron home, made him a hot tea and called it a day. Don’t worry, Ron healed up just fine, and a few weeks later we had a couple more dates, we had much unfinished business to attend to. He still calls from time to time, seems this is what our relationship has turned into, just two people too busy to have a dating life. Maybe one day that can change, we’ll see.
Yours truly, your the best, Elizabeth