“Triple Nipple”

In the summer after fifth grade, I went to an ice hockey camp hosted at West Point, where cadets were too busy sweating their balls/vaginas off in the sweltering heat of July to even so much as look at our young, stick-wielding crew of about thirty.

One fellow camper stands out in my mind more than any other camper from any camp that I have ever been to, and for good reason. I don’t even remember his real name, but I do remember (and will forever) what everyone at camp called him after the first hour of camp:

“Triple Nipple”

While I’m quite sure his mother and father were not so cruel as to label their son with this nickname themselves, I can’t help but wonder whether his dad silently referred to him as Triple Nipple at home.

As you can imagine, my fellow camper’s torso did not have the “normal” number of nipples. To all those who are now butthurt at the injustice of me dedicating an entire blog post to the weirdness of a child’s third nipple, I beg you to think of a situation that presents the incredibly rare (and awesome) opportunity of rhyming “triple” with “nipple” and using the combination to refer to a human being for an entire week.

I’m sure you’re wondering the location of this mysterious additional nipple. Unfortunately, this mutation was not so OCD as to place itself square in the middle of the usual two nipples, in a sort of nipple tribute to the infamous Cyclops. Instead, Triple Nipple’s third nipple was located right where the uppermost left ab is prominent on those who actually value their health enough to do a few dozen crunches a day.

This third nipple was so out-of-the-blue I couldn’t focus on the drills our counselors had us doing on the ice that entire week. I would also like to be able to attribute my failure of the swimming test requisite for swimming in the lake during the week to the nipple that consumed my every waking thought, but in reality, it was due to the fact that I was just not a very good swimmer. Perhaps a third nipple would have increased my buoyancy

This camp was also the first time I learned about how to deliver pink eye to someone by rubbing one’s bare butthole across the target’s pillow, so it’s safe to say my parents got their moneys’ worth out of sending me to hockey camp.



I just spent about twelve precious minutes of my life trying to rip a scab off of my hand. I hope you cringed when you read that. Provoking reactions out of people is one of my favorite hobbies. But back to the important stuff: my scab.

This scab has been on my hand for a few days now, and I have gotten tired of looking at it. Every now and then I look down at my hand and for a split second, my heart stops because the scab looks like a bug. No one wants bugs on their hands. Except for that weird kid in elementary school that used to coat his hands in glue, lure in bugs, and then eat them on the playground. Does this sort of person actually exist? Why, yes, of course they do. They’re probably just chained in their parents’ basement so as not to disturb their social events. Tea time is a time for tea; not watching some imbecile munch on some beetles.

Pretty gross image, isn’t it? It’s satisfying to me, though. That’s what made me start thinking about what sorts of things make me feel “satisfied” in the general sense of the word. What do I do, eat, don’t do, or imagine that makes me satisfied?

Well, lucky for you, I have compiled a list. A list of activities and things that satisfy me, in numerical order. Perhaps some of your favorite things will be on this list. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you leave satisfied. Ha.

1. Skating on a fresh sheet of ice. My hockey friends will agree with me. There’s nothing like hearing your skates make some seriously deep cuts in a fresh sheet of ice while warming up for a game.

2. Driving fast (sorry, Dad!). I have had a need for speed since I can remember, and my parents/family members/friends have been trying to get me to take it easy my entire life. There’s no feeling in the world like that gut-tightening, time-slowing sequence of events like passing someone on a go-kart track or whipping around a sweeping turn in the middle of the woods.

3. Getting something done without procrastinating. Don’t get me wrong, I procrastinate all the time- but handing something in that I finished two days ago rather than two hours ago is always a great feeling.

4. That first bite of pizza crust. Notice I didn’t say, “That first bite of pizza.” That’s because I love the crust more than any other part of a pizza. If there was a pizza made entirely of crust, I would buy four. Even though it would just be a loaf of bread. Whatever, I’d still buy a disgusting amount of crust pizzas. “Crustizzas,” if you will.

5. That first sip of beer. While numbers four and five usually go hand in hand, this one is on the list for a reason. The first sip of beer, whether it be Budweiser, Blue Moon, or even the fraternity-approved Natty Light, is always the best sip. It marks being done with classes, homework, or a game; and always tastes better when drunk out of a giant Oktoberfest mug or funnel.

6. Waking up earlier than my alarm. I’ve been doing this quite frequently, as of late. It’s always satisfying to wake up, realize you have another twenty minutes or more to sleep, and pass out again. It’s that second wake-up that sucks. 

7. Turning my computer on and realizing it closed all the tabs I had open for the last three months. Oh tabs, how I have been saving you for some sort of purpose that I never would have capitalized on. I will miss you dearly. Naht.

8. “That’s what she said.” What’s that? You think I’m immature for deeply appreciating “That’s what she said” jokes? Well, listen up.

Hear that? That’s the sound of all those dozens of f**ks I don’t give.

9. Folding an entire load of laundry. Sure, this may sound like I have no life and get off on very weak activities, but finishing a load of laundry is, quite literally, a “load” off my chest. Pun fully intended. If I go a whole week without doing much of anything at all to make my life better, I am fairly sad. But throw in a load of laundry Sunday night? Hot damn, what a week it has been!

10. Seeing a bunch of notifications on Facebook. Unfortunately, this has made the list. I despise it, but I am an addict and have to admit to it. Logging on and noticing I have four new notifications is quite a surprise for me, and gets my blood pumping. Double digit notifications? I am fully torqued. No doubt about it.

So there’s a list of ten things that satisfy me. Is it an odd list? Of course, but odd is my middle name. Not really. I would tell you my real middle name, but I don’t want the NSA figuring out what it is.

Until next time, sugar.