Sex with a Cave Girl: A Cost-Benefit Analysis

occasionally consciously, but more often unconsciously, we compare the estimated value of certain actions in deciding whether to keep with the status quo, or risk one of an array of other actions. it's a technique known as a cost-benefit analysis -- the scale used we use to weight out all rational decisions.

for example, if i asked why you were reading this sentence, you'd probably say that you thought this might be the sentence in which i detail my sexual exploits with a slutty primitive hominid. or perhaps you'd say you're desperately bored. but i'd say you're reading this simply because you believe the benefit of its knowledge exceeds the negligible cost of time and energy you just spent reading it. but what if you were wrong? in fact, you've been duped again and i never actually had sex with a cave girl. would you continue to read, or would your reevaluation deem this blog unworthy of your time? before reading the next sentence, maybe you should navigate to your favorite porn site and invest a bit more time and energy for guaranteed (and potentially copious) returns. surely that would be a better use of the next couple of minutes than to risk reading another dull, pointless blog entry.

yet you continue reading this. oh my rational reader, i'm certain you have way too much free time on your hands. you need a hobby. have you ever tried pool? ok, but have you ever tried playing it all the time? well maybe you should. instead of watching that simpsons rerun for the gazillionth time, reciting each line word for word and laughing not for humor's sake, but only out of habit, you can try pocketing 7 like-patterned balls and the 8-ball while your opponent does the same... all the time. [be forewarned: it really can be time-consuming, as once you've started a game, it's impossible to stop in the middle of it, and once the game has finished, "yes" is the only proper response to "another?" so pretty much the only way to end a session is if the ever-worsening carpel tunnel in your cue guiding hand disables you or your partner's girlfriend says he can't play anymore.]

i used to play at a few different places until rationality kicked in and i realized that one was far better than the others. despite the ever-present clientele, there's usually a table available, and there are even different kinds such as snooker, billiards, and both american and english-style pool tables which are all in excellent condition. the cues match the quality of the tables and are rarely misaligned, let alone broken. both drinks and food are available and, along with the use of the table, are quite reasonably priced. though, as a self-confessed pool junkie, it would be absolutely worth frequenting based on these criteria alone, i'd be remiss if i failed to mention that there are no less than a dozen scantily clad female employees who stand around waiting for that glorious moment when you shout their call to duty: "rack'em ladies!" or just begin throwing the balls very loudly on the table (they don't like that). and hey, don't have a partner? point to one, point to a stick, done. but don't be surprised when she 7-balls you cause these girls play like it's their job... and it is.

so naturally, if i'm not working, sleeping, or eating there's a good chance you can find me at 'the cave,' an apt name if ever there was one since, according to my imagination, daylight has never penetrated into the vortex within. people have been known to lose afternoons, evenings, even entire days holed up in there, mesmerized not just by the allure of sending each ball to its mesh coffin, but by the bevy of sexy spectators all eager to be impressed by an authoritative break, a well-calculated bank shot, or a clever quip delivered eloquently in their mother tongue -- none of which i am capable of doing consistently, if at all.

yet i continue playing here. it offers something of a time-killing trifecta: competition with a minimal amount of physical exertion; girls whose job it is to make sure you don't do anything except play pool and ogle them; and beer whose sole job is for you to drink it. hell, what more could i possibly want? well sir or madam, if you said 'absolutely nothing' you'd be absolutely wrong. the economists and consciously rational minded alike would all choral in unison that a better question to ask is how can i improve the cost-benefit margins of my leisure?

after much consideration, my evaluation is that fucking would be the most cost effective way to spend my free time. unfortunately i spend so much of it at the cave that i don't have any time left to go out in search of that ever-elusive -- uhh how to put this... squish-hole-with-titties monster. so, being the anointed 'laziest person in need of sex ever,' i've tossed around the idea of courting a cave girl. the obvious route was immediately proposed, which is offering my english teaching services in exchange for a chance at getting in one of the girls' pants. seems reasonable until that total buzzkill the cost-benefit analysis offers its irresistibly logical advice. observe:

on the one hand there's getting it on with a sweet looking asian honey who probably hasn't been with too many guys before, if any. that's a pretty awesome plus-side. since there's no need whatsoever to explain this any further, let's just value the absolute benefit completely arbitrarily at about 482,913.0004.

now let's consider the costs. first, i already teach english about 30 hours a week. i know you 9to5ers are thinking that's not so bad, but believe me, i'm not sitting in front of a computer during any of those 30 hours (administering 'sit-and-reads' yes, but even then i have to be marking or otherwise appear teacher-like). being both educator and entertainer (yes), as well as disciplinarian (ok not so much disciplinarian) takes its toll. on top of that is prep time, which if i'm serious about teaching this girl english (i'm not) then i'll have to have some kind of lesson plan (or not). and honestly, who wants to do their job when they're not getting paid for it. of course you'd say, "but she's paying you with the most widely accepted currency in the world: hot fresh pussy, the gold standard of vaginas." and i'd reply, "good point" and concede that this is probably my weakest argument so we'll value this cost at a mere 0.0003.

ok so let's assume i agree to sit down with her and educate her as best i can. cave girls don't speak english. any. perfect, right? 1-on-1 with a beautiful girl and i don't even have to engage in meaningful conversation! shouldn't this be on the benefit side? well not if i realize that i'm the only one thinking of it as a date. she just wants to learn english which, without any previous knowledge, will undoubtedly be a nightmare. not only is teaching elementary grammar mind-numbingly boring, but you can't even imagine how ridiculous, and often a bit demeaning, it is when you have to listen to and correct shit like "i eat hamburger. what you like eat?" for an hour or two. especially if all i'm thinking about the whole time is how much i wanna do her. "oh really? i like to eat fur burger. shall we take a break and have a quickie?" so it'll suck cause she won't really understand me, but at least... she won't understand me. estimated cost: 913.

which brings me to my third point: if the only way i can bust a nut around here is by offering to help some poor girl learn english, then i should really just give up in life cause that's really pathetic. why don't i save myself all the time and effort, and straight up give the girl money so i can borrow her hole for a few minutes, which would still be sleazy, but at least i could console myself in that i didn't just coerce sex out of a student. so yes, i draw the line at 'total scumbag.' that being said, i still wouldn't rule out anything on principle alone, so i'll approximate the value of this cost at a relatively hefty 482,000.

if you've been keeping score you know that so far the benefits outweigh the costs by a mere 0.0001. but there's still one more cost to factor into the analysis: the risk of rejection which, unlike the others, is extremely variable. some days i'm zen and don't give a fuck, or rather, i'm completely aware of and accept a not necessarily imminent, but nevertheless inevitable, death, and thus act to maximize my happiness by ignoring oppressive and essentially negative thought processes such as concern for how others perceive me and unrealistic expectations of others. on these days i'd value the risk of rejection at no more than 0.000099999, totally leaving me in the black and thus ready to get it on with a cave girl. but then there are the other 364 days of the year when i'd value it at 482,913.0004 which, when added to the other costs, is precisely double the estimated benefit, placing my default options strictly within the red realm of complacent inaction. and thus secures me the title of absolute pussy.