It was almost time for me to go home. The end was soooooooooo close that I could almost feel the post work masturbation session.
I walked in my front door and decided to jerk. Normal wanking can become quite tiresome so I have invented some techniques that liven things up a bit.
Random Hand:
I put on a glove or sit on my hand until it falls asleep and then wank. This makes it seem like I am not performing the wanking, some unknown woman is.
Spur of the Moment Wank:
Every single time a telemarketer calls me to refinance my home loan I wank. It is like random sex. Every time the phone rings it could be the beginning to a magical sexual adventure...for one.
Inappropriate Wank:
I mix around some of my pornographic DVD’s and put them in cases that they don’t belong. For example MILF hunter may end up in the case for “Forest Gump.” The if I randomly grab the Tom Hanks classic a porno will appear and wanking will ensue. Be careful with this technique because your mother may want to spend an afternoon watching Little Miss Sunshine and instead get a peek at The Best of Kobe Tai. Not good times.
Peeping Tom Wanker:
I will turn on the porno and then wank while peering from behind my couch or from around the corner. This is the forbidden wank.
I am fully aware that I may need some sexual intervention at some point but up until now I feel pretty good about myself. Uh oh phone call……got to go it’s a telemarketer.
Live Oscar Journal
Everyone does a live journal type thing. So here is my ill-fated attempt at a live diary of the Oscars. Proceed, if you dare…I’m just kidding come in.
8:40 Ok so maybe they already started but what did I miss some funny politico jokes, nothing new Jon Stewart. I already watch The Daily Show. Oh wait here they come, yippy politico jokes.
.
8:44 Jon Stewart just announced that these Oscars were “Green,” this must mean Woody Harrelson and Owen Wilson have arrived. Ahh Haa
.
8:45 Jennifer Garner is presenting the award for costume design which means nothing to me, so I will just continue to stare at her while remaining completely oblivious to her words. She is looking spectacular by the way; and I am not that big a fan. Some Emo won for costume design, how appropriate. I think that may be my 8th grade art teacher.
.
8:48 A video of Barbara Streisand 30 years ago….yup she’s was just as ugly then as she is now.
.
8:49 I am already feenin for some coffee….I may not make it through this entire telecast. This is becoming a war of attrition.
.
8:49 Right on cue a Yukon commercial imploring me to “never say never.” Yes sir. I will make it through this telecast; I don’t want to buy a car but I am inspired.
.
8:50 George Clooney is on stage…I am jealous of his face. Oooh goody a montage of the last
80 years of Oscar. Clooney and a montage, this is an incongruous pairing. I thought the writer’s strike was over, what’s the deal with this bullshit ass montage. The montage did remind me of how funny Johnny Carson was and how handsome young thin Russell Crowe was.
.
8:54 Steve Carrell and Anne Hathaway are presenting the award for best animated movie. Ratatouille will win, why? Because it’s the only one I’ve ever heard of. The French cartoon looks cool though, I would definitely watch it if I was on acid. That would be off the chain…now my plans for Friday night are set. I am not sure if I think Anne Hathaway is hot or just cute, I am going with just cute until further notice. Ratatouille wins; I am now 1 for 1…I don’t care about this winner so I am going to get some coffee.
.
8:59 Katherine Heigl looks great. But I am annoyed with her. Two years ago she was underrated and now she is overrated. She is giving out the award for best makeup…she should get it, sexy lady.
.
9:02 Oh no a song from “Enchanted.” I have tried at all costs to avoid this movie, and I have failed. Frick
.
9:05 Michael Douglas and Zeta-Jones are on my TV. I know she gets a lot of shit for grave robbing (is that a term) but it’s not like he’s Gary Busey. She is so sexy that I would definitely lick her asshole if she asked.
.
9:10 FINALLY THE ROCK HAS COME BACK TO THE OSCARS. His chest is bigger than Jon Stewart’s body. When do they get to the good awards?
.
9:13 Kate Blanchett and more boring awards….jeesh she has gotten fat.
.
9:17 More montages, I zoned off for a moment and don’t know if this is the “deceased” montage or just a montage for the sake of montaging. Oh shit Jon Stewart used a joke I made earlier, we are on the same wavelength. Cuba Gooding Jr. was in the montage….where for art though career Cuba.
.
9:18 Jennifer Hudson, is presenting best supporting actor, this has to go to Anton Chigurh, (Javier Bardem will forever be Anton to me). I am very afraid of Anton, typing his name made me pee a little bit. Yup, I am 2 for 2
.
9:27 Keri Russell is presenting, wow; I did not know felicity was this famous. Who’s next the Gilmore Girls presenting best picture?
.
9:32 Owen Wilson….still alive….and he looks pretty healthy…good. I like him, I would hang out with him and smoke all his excess pot and fuck all his excess groupies.
.
9:34 Jerry Seinfeld is back as a bee for his B-Movie. How annoying has he become? He is presenting best animated shorts. Mystery Time: Where would one go to see one of these movies?
.
9:37 A lot of foreign winners….the Oscars have become the Indy 500. I was going to go with another joke here…..A lot of foreign winners, what is this the Scripts Spelling Bee…yeah I know they were both terrible.
.
9:39 Best Supporting Actress will be…I don’t know, but I hope its skinny Kate Blanchett because I love Bob Dylan…. Is Ruby Dee related to Billy Dee Williams? I am never going to see Atonement…not my cup of tea…get it tea, because it’s a British film and they love tea….ok I’ll stop. Whoa another foreigner wins, she looks like a female “Oscar,” and she’s wearing a garbage bag. She was decent looking in Michael Clayton, what the fuck happened?
.
9:48 Alba is fat…way fat…but way hot, even fat.
.
9:48 God I’m bored…maybe I should get a girlfriend….then I wouldn’t be watching the Oscars alone and dictating my inane thoughts….No way single life is the way to go.
.
9:50 James Mcavoy’s accent is winning me over. He could say anything in that accent and I would say yes. Josh Brolin is on the list of guys I’d like to befriend. He seems chill and he’s banging Diane Lane; that is a plus in my book. I need to write a book. I am guessing the Coen Bros. will win…and they do…I am now 3 for 4. Wow the Coen’s look nothing like I pictured them…I knew a kid named Akiva Coen and I always pictured the Coen Bros. to be cloned doppelgangers of Akiva. They look like their movies…eerie. There speech gave me the chills…not the good kind…the kind that makes you lock the doors.
.
9:53 The Oscar President is now explaining the voting process. Even his presidency makes Bush’s seem like a colossal failure. They could’ve definitely left that little informational piece out. He tries to be funny and fails….leave it to the pros.
.
9:55 Miley Cyrus is presenting…I still don’t know why she is famous. She is presenting a song. She is only 15. Her 18th birthday may rival the Olsen’s 18th birthday as most anticipated young starlet’s birthday by the older perverted crowd. Chris Hansen may need to work overtime. Since I don’t make fun of minors I am going to make a late request that would’ve livened up these Oscars. Since everyone hates the musical performances, Oscar should’ve let Brittany Spears perform each nominated tune. Spears plus bad songs feels so right, it would be like the good old Brittany days but with 20 extra pounds.
.
10:04 Wow Halle and Judy Dench look bad. I think Jonah Hill is just Seth Rogan’s clone. This is how Judd Apatow can churn out all those movies. They are pounding away at this Halle-Dench joke and it is just not working. They’re not so funny without Apatow. Hmmmm, interesting. Another foreigner wins…
.
USA 4 WORLD 10….we need to rally the fans, start the chant bitches
.
U-S-A…U-S-A…U-S-A
.
10:10 USA 5 WORLD 10 MONTAGE 21
Too bad the only loser in this game is us. By us I mean the viewers.
.
10:12 Best Leading Actress presented by Forrest Whitaker…I want him to do my eulogy. You hear that Steve (that is my agent). I hope the Juno girl wins. Ohh shit upset, the hot French girl wins. Mad props to her parents, wow. I am for sure going to watch La Vie En Rose…maybe not but I am falling in love with her. New Crush Alert!!!!! She is hot but in an attainable way…20 bucks Colin Farrel fucks her tonight.
.
10:22 Speak of the devil; Colin Farrel is presenting a song, wow how the mighty have fallen. Wait a second this song is not bad, sorry I doubted you Colin; have fun with the French girl, pimp.
.
10:25 Writer’s cramp and carpal tunnel have set in. They really haven’t, but I am using that as an excuse to pop a couple of Vicodins.
.
10:26 Jack Nicholson. He needs to be on exhibit. Before I die I need to party with him. Yes before I die, because he will never die. I’m calling it now; Colin Farrel is the new Jack Nicholson. They both have that rapist sex appeal working for them.
.
10:28 Montage of the all-time Best Picture winners, this one is not so bad.
.
10:31 Who the fuck is Renee Zellweger. She looks like a Barbie; a half melted Barbie, with shorter hair.
.
10:35 Nicole Kidman’s head is huge. I am betting Owen Wilson and Keith Urban are backstage free basing right now.
.
10:54 The Colin Farrel song won an Oscar, yaaaaayyyy.
.
11:04 The year in death montage. This always evokes 2 distinct emotions in by dark and brooding belly. Sadness-why did he/she have to die, and Surprise-when the fuck did that dude/chick die. Hmmmmm
.
11:23 Elton John talking about his Oscar….I heard a rumor that he’s gay, I wonder if it’s true.
.
11:27 Harrison Ford is presenting Best Original Screenplay…I hope former exotic dancer Diablo Cody wins. Legally she has to be referred to as “former exotic dancer,” it’s in her contract. By the way the part of Harrison Ford is being played by Steve Martin tonight. Hell yeah, the stripper won….and she’s wearing leopard print…how fitting. Oh my god, they are playing Def Leopard’s stripper anthem; “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Jack Nicholson just threw a dollar bill onstage.
.
11:35 Helen Mirren is presenting the best actor Oscar, she is attractive in a very strange way….I might fuck Helen Mirren. Daniel Day-Lewis wins, surprise surprise. Poor Depp, he’s nominated every year. Has Tommy Lee-Jones ever been young?
.
11:39 With an accent you can say anything…preach on Daniel Day-Lewis.
.
11:50 The Coens win everything.
I am going to bed.
8:40 Ok so maybe they already started but what did I miss some funny politico jokes, nothing new Jon Stewart. I already watch The Daily Show. Oh wait here they come, yippy politico jokes.
.
8:44 Jon Stewart just announced that these Oscars were “Green,” this must mean Woody Harrelson and Owen Wilson have arrived. Ahh Haa
.
8:45 Jennifer Garner is presenting the award for costume design which means nothing to me, so I will just continue to stare at her while remaining completely oblivious to her words. She is looking spectacular by the way; and I am not that big a fan. Some Emo won for costume design, how appropriate. I think that may be my 8th grade art teacher.
.
8:48 A video of Barbara Streisand 30 years ago….yup she’s was just as ugly then as she is now.
.
8:49 I am already feenin for some coffee….I may not make it through this entire telecast. This is becoming a war of attrition.
.
8:49 Right on cue a Yukon commercial imploring me to “never say never.” Yes sir. I will make it through this telecast; I don’t want to buy a car but I am inspired.
.
8:50 George Clooney is on stage…I am jealous of his face. Oooh goody a montage of the last
80 years of Oscar. Clooney and a montage, this is an incongruous pairing. I thought the writer’s strike was over, what’s the deal with this bullshit ass montage. The montage did remind me of how funny Johnny Carson was and how handsome young thin Russell Crowe was.
.
8:54 Steve Carrell and Anne Hathaway are presenting the award for best animated movie. Ratatouille will win, why? Because it’s the only one I’ve ever heard of. The French cartoon looks cool though, I would definitely watch it if I was on acid. That would be off the chain…now my plans for Friday night are set. I am not sure if I think Anne Hathaway is hot or just cute, I am going with just cute until further notice. Ratatouille wins; I am now 1 for 1…I don’t care about this winner so I am going to get some coffee.
.
8:59 Katherine Heigl looks great. But I am annoyed with her. Two years ago she was underrated and now she is overrated. She is giving out the award for best makeup…she should get it, sexy lady.
.
9:02 Oh no a song from “Enchanted.” I have tried at all costs to avoid this movie, and I have failed. Frick
.
9:05 Michael Douglas and Zeta-Jones are on my TV. I know she gets a lot of shit for grave robbing (is that a term) but it’s not like he’s Gary Busey. She is so sexy that I would definitely lick her asshole if she asked.
.
9:10 FINALLY THE ROCK HAS COME BACK TO THE OSCARS. His chest is bigger than Jon Stewart’s body. When do they get to the good awards?
.
9:13 Kate Blanchett and more boring awards….jeesh she has gotten fat.
.
9:17 More montages, I zoned off for a moment and don’t know if this is the “deceased” montage or just a montage for the sake of montaging. Oh shit Jon Stewart used a joke I made earlier, we are on the same wavelength. Cuba Gooding Jr. was in the montage….where for art though career Cuba.
.
9:18 Jennifer Hudson, is presenting best supporting actor, this has to go to Anton Chigurh, (Javier Bardem will forever be Anton to me). I am very afraid of Anton, typing his name made me pee a little bit. Yup, I am 2 for 2
.
9:27 Keri Russell is presenting, wow; I did not know felicity was this famous. Who’s next the Gilmore Girls presenting best picture?
.
9:32 Owen Wilson….still alive….and he looks pretty healthy…good. I like him, I would hang out with him and smoke all his excess pot and fuck all his excess groupies.
.
9:34 Jerry Seinfeld is back as a bee for his B-Movie. How annoying has he become? He is presenting best animated shorts. Mystery Time: Where would one go to see one of these movies?
.
9:37 A lot of foreign winners….the Oscars have become the Indy 500. I was going to go with another joke here…..A lot of foreign winners, what is this the Scripts Spelling Bee…yeah I know they were both terrible.
.
9:39 Best Supporting Actress will be…I don’t know, but I hope its skinny Kate Blanchett because I love Bob Dylan…. Is Ruby Dee related to Billy Dee Williams? I am never going to see Atonement…not my cup of tea…get it tea, because it’s a British film and they love tea….ok I’ll stop. Whoa another foreigner wins, she looks like a female “Oscar,” and she’s wearing a garbage bag. She was decent looking in Michael Clayton, what the fuck happened?
.
9:48 Alba is fat…way fat…but way hot, even fat.
.
9:48 God I’m bored…maybe I should get a girlfriend….then I wouldn’t be watching the Oscars alone and dictating my inane thoughts….No way single life is the way to go.
.
9:50 James Mcavoy’s accent is winning me over. He could say anything in that accent and I would say yes. Josh Brolin is on the list of guys I’d like to befriend. He seems chill and he’s banging Diane Lane; that is a plus in my book. I need to write a book. I am guessing the Coen Bros. will win…and they do…I am now 3 for 4. Wow the Coen’s look nothing like I pictured them…I knew a kid named Akiva Coen and I always pictured the Coen Bros. to be cloned doppelgangers of Akiva. They look like their movies…eerie. There speech gave me the chills…not the good kind…the kind that makes you lock the doors.
.
9:53 The Oscar President is now explaining the voting process. Even his presidency makes Bush’s seem like a colossal failure. They could’ve definitely left that little informational piece out. He tries to be funny and fails….leave it to the pros.
.
9:55 Miley Cyrus is presenting…I still don’t know why she is famous. She is presenting a song. She is only 15. Her 18th birthday may rival the Olsen’s 18th birthday as most anticipated young starlet’s birthday by the older perverted crowd. Chris Hansen may need to work overtime. Since I don’t make fun of minors I am going to make a late request that would’ve livened up these Oscars. Since everyone hates the musical performances, Oscar should’ve let Brittany Spears perform each nominated tune. Spears plus bad songs feels so right, it would be like the good old Brittany days but with 20 extra pounds.
.
10:04 Wow Halle and Judy Dench look bad. I think Jonah Hill is just Seth Rogan’s clone. This is how Judd Apatow can churn out all those movies. They are pounding away at this Halle-Dench joke and it is just not working. They’re not so funny without Apatow. Hmmmm, interesting. Another foreigner wins…
.
USA 4 WORLD 10….we need to rally the fans, start the chant bitches
.
U-S-A…U-S-A…U-S-A
.
10:10 USA 5 WORLD 10 MONTAGE 21
Too bad the only loser in this game is us. By us I mean the viewers.
.
10:12 Best Leading Actress presented by Forrest Whitaker…I want him to do my eulogy. You hear that Steve (that is my agent). I hope the Juno girl wins. Ohh shit upset, the hot French girl wins. Mad props to her parents, wow. I am for sure going to watch La Vie En Rose…maybe not but I am falling in love with her. New Crush Alert!!!!! She is hot but in an attainable way…20 bucks Colin Farrel fucks her tonight.
.
10:22 Speak of the devil; Colin Farrel is presenting a song, wow how the mighty have fallen. Wait a second this song is not bad, sorry I doubted you Colin; have fun with the French girl, pimp.
.
10:25 Writer’s cramp and carpal tunnel have set in. They really haven’t, but I am using that as an excuse to pop a couple of Vicodins.
.
10:26 Jack Nicholson. He needs to be on exhibit. Before I die I need to party with him. Yes before I die, because he will never die. I’m calling it now; Colin Farrel is the new Jack Nicholson. They both have that rapist sex appeal working for them.
.
10:28 Montage of the all-time Best Picture winners, this one is not so bad.
.
10:31 Who the fuck is Renee Zellweger. She looks like a Barbie; a half melted Barbie, with shorter hair.
.
10:35 Nicole Kidman’s head is huge. I am betting Owen Wilson and Keith Urban are backstage free basing right now.
.
10:54 The Colin Farrel song won an Oscar, yaaaaayyyy.
.
11:04 The year in death montage. This always evokes 2 distinct emotions in by dark and brooding belly. Sadness-why did he/she have to die, and Surprise-when the fuck did that dude/chick die. Hmmmmm
.
11:23 Elton John talking about his Oscar….I heard a rumor that he’s gay, I wonder if it’s true.
.
11:27 Harrison Ford is presenting Best Original Screenplay…I hope former exotic dancer Diablo Cody wins. Legally she has to be referred to as “former exotic dancer,” it’s in her contract. By the way the part of Harrison Ford is being played by Steve Martin tonight. Hell yeah, the stripper won….and she’s wearing leopard print…how fitting. Oh my god, they are playing Def Leopard’s stripper anthem; “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Jack Nicholson just threw a dollar bill onstage.
.
11:35 Helen Mirren is presenting the best actor Oscar, she is attractive in a very strange way….I might fuck Helen Mirren. Daniel Day-Lewis wins, surprise surprise. Poor Depp, he’s nominated every year. Has Tommy Lee-Jones ever been young?
.
11:39 With an accent you can say anything…preach on Daniel Day-Lewis.
.
11:50 The Coens win everything.
I am going to bed.
Elvira's Baby
I am a man living in fear. I am Harrison Ford circa The Fugitive. I believe the woman I am currently bedding is secretly trying to get pregnant. I on occasion fuck Elvira, a 35 year old single nurse. We are fuck buddies, nothing more and nothing less.
As of late I have noticed her complimenting my looks and how attractive my potential child would be. While that is not in question, the part that is troubling is why she would be concerned with the potential looks of my spawn. She told me she had always wanted to be a mother and after the age of 35 her chances to conceive diminish considerably.
I could hear her biological clock tick away, counting down until her baby maker went bad. The expiration date of her vag was coming fast, and I may have to pay for it.
We use condoms, on occasion. She tells me that she is on the pill and takes it very morning before work. The last couple of times she has spent the night I swear she popped in a chicklet rather than a birth control pill. She also tells me that she hates the pill and that she only takes it to regulate her blood cycle, but lately her periods have been off kilter. So I believe that this is a giant ruse aimed to get my sperm to infiltrate her egg.
Side Note: I had all my vital information tattooed onto the bottom of my foot in case I was to die because of Elvira. She is attractive but I am genuinely afraid of her. I have had nightmares of me dying at her hands.
Ohh yeah, she told me that if she ever had a baby she would want an attractive man that would want nothing to do with the child. Oh my god, that is me, to a tee.
Fast forward to Friday night; which was our most recent sexual encounter. She came over and I was pretty well inebriated by 8:30; her arrival time. I may have neglected to tell you, but when I am not at work, at a work function, or having sex; I am either hopped up on pain pills or hammered beyond recognition; or if I am lucky a little of both.
She wanted to have sex, and I tried to say no, but she can put her whole fist into her mouth. How am I expected to turn away, how could I say no?
We proceeded to get naked, watch the news, and then have sex. We both love our bodies; we are two very egotistical peas in a narcissistic pod. Did I mention that I was completely shit-faced.
Side Note: I tried to put a condom on....but she told me she liked it raw....she actually said those words...how could I not grant her wishes, god I am a weak weak man.
She was riding me and I could not ejac. Too drunk for my urethra to expel semen from my penis. A case of alcoholism that prevents ejaculation is almost as bad a being too drunk to get a hard on. No semen is bad, but not as bad as a limp bizkit.
Side Note: If Fred Durst ever had a "limp bizkit, do you think he would look at it and yell- "IT'S LIMP BIZKIT." Fred Durst with a limp bizkit would be the most literal shit ever....ok back to the story.
This was taking forever, so I began to pretend she was someone else. Oh no he didn’t…Oh yes I did.
Ohh Giovanna Civitillo.....too unknown
My baby Sophia Loren......too old....hot....but way too old
The Alba, yeah, this will work for sure......oh no isn't she pregnant, fuck, pregnancy is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. Dreaming of a pregnant hottie while avoiding impregnating a hottie is just an exercize in incompetance.
Too bad none of those lovely faces in my mind’s eye worked. I still could not cum. I tried to fake an orgasm but she called me on it.
If you quit on me I am goin to take one of your balls home with me.
Yes Ma’am.
The television was still on, thank the lord. So I situated myself into a position where I could at least watch “The Golden Girls” while I was not cumming.
Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down the road and back again
Your heart is true your a pal and a confidant.
And if you through a party
Invited everyone you ever knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say thank you for being a friend
God I love that song, but the lovely Golden Girls did not help my current conundrum.
Still no semen.
I began to hallucinate. The human spirit can overcome most obstacles but I am not sure this was one of them. I am going to die, I envisioned myself attending the morbidity and mortality conference discussing my own death, discussing how I could die of boredom while having sex.
Then she brought me back from my “trip” with a slap to the face. Yes, she hits me during sex.
Then it happened. The Phoenix had risen from the ashes of my loins only to expel a wave of semen with such brute force that Elvira was thrown off of me and onto the floor. There was semen everywhere, but the most important part is that almost none of it was inside of her. And the semen that was inside of her could not have survived the thrashing they took on there way out.
As I applied Neosporin to my now raw and morose member and tried to figure out a way to end my affiliation with Elvira.
I walked out of the bathroom and she was gone, my window was open and she was nowhere to be seen. Van Helsing’s daughter had fled the scene of her latest crime, and I was left with nothing but a sore penis and a heavy conscious. Frick.
As of late I have noticed her complimenting my looks and how attractive my potential child would be. While that is not in question, the part that is troubling is why she would be concerned with the potential looks of my spawn. She told me she had always wanted to be a mother and after the age of 35 her chances to conceive diminish considerably.
I could hear her biological clock tick away, counting down until her baby maker went bad. The expiration date of her vag was coming fast, and I may have to pay for it.
We use condoms, on occasion. She tells me that she is on the pill and takes it very morning before work. The last couple of times she has spent the night I swear she popped in a chicklet rather than a birth control pill. She also tells me that she hates the pill and that she only takes it to regulate her blood cycle, but lately her periods have been off kilter. So I believe that this is a giant ruse aimed to get my sperm to infiltrate her egg.
Side Note: I had all my vital information tattooed onto the bottom of my foot in case I was to die because of Elvira. She is attractive but I am genuinely afraid of her. I have had nightmares of me dying at her hands.
Ohh yeah, she told me that if she ever had a baby she would want an attractive man that would want nothing to do with the child. Oh my god, that is me, to a tee.
Fast forward to Friday night; which was our most recent sexual encounter. She came over and I was pretty well inebriated by 8:30; her arrival time. I may have neglected to tell you, but when I am not at work, at a work function, or having sex; I am either hopped up on pain pills or hammered beyond recognition; or if I am lucky a little of both.
She wanted to have sex, and I tried to say no, but she can put her whole fist into her mouth. How am I expected to turn away, how could I say no?
We proceeded to get naked, watch the news, and then have sex. We both love our bodies; we are two very egotistical peas in a narcissistic pod. Did I mention that I was completely shit-faced.
Side Note: I tried to put a condom on....but she told me she liked it raw....she actually said those words...how could I not grant her wishes, god I am a weak weak man.
She was riding me and I could not ejac. Too drunk for my urethra to expel semen from my penis. A case of alcoholism that prevents ejaculation is almost as bad a being too drunk to get a hard on. No semen is bad, but not as bad as a limp bizkit.
Side Note: If Fred Durst ever had a "limp bizkit, do you think he would look at it and yell- "IT'S LIMP BIZKIT." Fred Durst with a limp bizkit would be the most literal shit ever....ok back to the story.
This was taking forever, so I began to pretend she was someone else. Oh no he didn’t…Oh yes I did.
Ohh Giovanna Civitillo.....too unknown
My baby Sophia Loren......too old....hot....but way too oldThe Alba, yeah, this will work for sure......oh no isn't she pregnant, fuck, pregnancy is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. Dreaming of a pregnant hottie while avoiding impregnating a hottie is just an exercize in incompetance.
Too bad none of those lovely faces in my mind’s eye worked. I still could not cum. I tried to fake an orgasm but she called me on it.
If you quit on me I am goin to take one of your balls home with me.
Yes Ma’am.
The television was still on, thank the lord. So I situated myself into a position where I could at least watch “The Golden Girls” while I was not cumming.
Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down the road and back again
Your heart is true your a pal and a confidant.
And if you through a party
Invited everyone you ever knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say thank you for being a friend
God I love that song, but the lovely Golden Girls did not help my current conundrum.
Still no semen.
I began to hallucinate. The human spirit can overcome most obstacles but I am not sure this was one of them. I am going to die, I envisioned myself attending the morbidity and mortality conference discussing my own death, discussing how I could die of boredom while having sex.
Then she brought me back from my “trip” with a slap to the face. Yes, she hits me during sex.
Then it happened. The Phoenix had risen from the ashes of my loins only to expel a wave of semen with such brute force that Elvira was thrown off of me and onto the floor. There was semen everywhere, but the most important part is that almost none of it was inside of her. And the semen that was inside of her could not have survived the thrashing they took on there way out.
As I applied Neosporin to my now raw and morose member and tried to figure out a way to end my affiliation with Elvira.
I walked out of the bathroom and she was gone, my window was open and she was nowhere to be seen. Van Helsing’s daughter had fled the scene of her latest crime, and I was left with nothing but a sore penis and a heavy conscious. Frick.
My Disability
Sorry my posts have been inconsistent. But I am disabled. I had an unfortunate accident that has left me disfigured, eviscerated, and emotionally scarred. During a basketball game last week I jammed my right pinky, and I haven’t been the same since. I tried to tough it out and live a “normal” life, but alas that was not possible. This ordeal has doused my spirit’s flame with a gallon of water. So I had a nurse put a splint on my right pinky. Not a nurse in a hospital but a nurse in her living room while I tried to lay down the game. But even my mojo was in need of some repair after my debilitating injury. The problem with this injury, with my disability, is that it hampers so many of my daily activities. Do you feel a list coming up….I do. Ok here we go:
Negative Effects of My Disability
Negative Effects of My Disability
* I cannot type with the normal rhythm I was accustomed to prior to my injury.
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* I am right handed, therefore I am a right-handed wiper, yea I said it, wiper. I am having quite an ungovernable problem wiping with my left hand. When I tried to do it normally, well let’s just say I had to shower after the mess that was made. Left handed wiping takes so much longer, and I am forced to bend a completely new way. Shit, literally
* I am right handed, therefore I am a right-handed wiper, yea I said it, wiper. I am having quite an ungovernable problem wiping with my left hand. When I tried to do it normally, well let’s just say I had to shower after the mess that was made. Left handed wiping takes so much longer, and I am forced to bend a completely new way. Shit, literally
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* I cannot drive with my right hand on the steering wheel and my left hand on my cock like I used to. Now I need both hands on the wheel. If you question my driving method try it, a hand on your cock is like a cup of tomato soup, nothing but comfort.
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* I am forced to drive my crappy automatic car, because my stick shift maneuverability is suspended indefinitely.
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* You had to know this was coming….I am having a lot of difficulty masturbating. I masturbate right handed and use the remote or mouse with my left hand. Not only do I have to switch hands now, but I have to change my masturbation position. Bad times all around.
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* I cannot grab a women’s left boob, left ass check, or waist while in this newfound disjointed state.
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* If I were falling off of a cliff I could not rescue myself by grabbing a branch with my right hand a la Stallone in Cliffhanger.
* If I were falling off of a cliff I could not rescue myself by grabbing a branch with my right hand a la Stallone in Cliffhanger.
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* I cannot do pushups…alright this problem is actually a positive, but I can still pretend to be mad about it.
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* I cannot high five.
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* I haven’t been in a fight since college, but if something were to go down in the near future I would not be able to punch.
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* Since it is very cold in my home state I tend to wear gloves all the time, but not anymore, my gloves won’t fit over my splint. So I had to resort to wearing mittens, yes mittens.
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* I simply cannot slap a ho without pain….I have never actually slapped a ho, but I really wanted to write that sentence.
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* I always give myself a round of applause after sex, and now I can't....I can't applaud, but sex is pretty much unaffected.
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I hope you now empathize with your hero a little bit. Let’s pray that they find a cure for my malady, we really need a telethon. Jerry Lewis please look my way, what about me.
Puke List
The puke list is an ever-changing creation, like the Internet. Once on the puke list you can never be taken off, ever. So even if Paris Hilton discovers the cure for AIDS, cancer, and the burning I feel when I pee; she will still be on this list. I can add anyone or anything to the puke list at any time. Here is a small snippet of the list, I will continue to add to this list for as long as I live.
The Puke List
Paris Hilton
Cut Fingernails
Rachel Ray’s body
Rush Limbaugh
Random chin hairs….on women
Female bowel movements
George Bush’s Presidency
Hillary Clinton’s ankle fat
2 girls one cup
Ernest Hemingway’s writing
Screech from Saved by the Bell
Colin Cowherd
Roger Clemens
Barry Bond’s haters
Uneven Breasts
Crazy pornos. Pornographic movies that are set in outer space, or prehistoric settings. Just show the sex, stop trying to become the Cohen brothers of the adult industry.
Girls that are great dancers but then just lie there during sex.
Blogs
T-shirts with “funny sayings.”
People that need to hug me at the culmination of every encounter. This mostly concerns women, but if a guy needs a hug after every meeting, that is just as annoying.
Frat Boys
People that imitate Borat, Anchorman, or continue to meow like the cops in Supertroopers.
Wrestling- WWE not NCAA
Anyone over 30 that still shops at Abercombie and Fitch
The Gotti look-a-likes that wear nothing but Armani Exchange t-shirts and drink Jager bombs.
Frat Boys
People that imitate Borat, Anchorman, or continue to meow like the cops in Supertroopers.
Wrestling- WWE not NCAA
Anyone over 30 that still shops at Abercombie and Fitch
The Gotti look-a-likes that wear nothing but Armani Exchange t-shirts and drink Jager bombs.
Bars that have troughs for men to urinate into….I am very gun shy.
Bathroom stalls that have no doors
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Jared Leto
People that have the ability to distinguish M&M’s by taste alone. I cannot differentiate between M&M’s, they all taste the same.
People that slowly follow me as I leave the mall in an attempt to overtake my parking spot.
Remote controls for car radios, seriously how lazy are you
People that say “irregardless,” it is not really a word, either say regardless or irrespective, not both.
Mullets- Just kidding, I love mullets
People that have the ability to distinguish M&M’s by taste alone. I cannot differentiate between M&M’s, they all taste the same.
People that slowly follow me as I leave the mall in an attempt to overtake my parking spot.
Remote controls for car radios, seriously how lazy are you
People that say “irregardless,” it is not really a word, either say regardless or irrespective, not both.
Mullets- Just kidding, I love mullets
Nascar
In this era of stringent fiscal responsibility Nascar seems like the most wasteful activity in existence. A barrel of gas cost upwards of $99 and the strain at the pump is felt in every wallet across the country. We are trying to diminish our dependence on foreign oil all while trying to maintain our surplus. Then why is Nascar in existence, why? It is nothing but a monumental waste of gas. This has nothing to do with my disdain for the sport, this has to do with my heightened sense of responsibility, my attempt to salvage ourselves from this energy crisis. Nascar is frivolously wasting oil, the one thing we cannot afford to waste. This is like professional hunters competing for Bald Eagle kills. Oil is now endangered, and Nascar is nothing but a race, not to the finish, but a race to see who can burn the most gas.
Deep Thoughts
The best part of writing this journal is coming up the titles for the entries. It is by far the most rewarding part of this whole ordeal. That little title torments me and every time I log on they all stare at me. They mock me with their unforgiving eyes. The fact that I am happy with 80% of them enables me with luxury of peace; it helps me sleep at night.
Fingernails are not gross unless they are cut. Cut fingernails are one notch below human feces on the disgusting level. Pre-cut, fingernails and I are good friends, I have sucked on many womanly fingers, but post-cut, oh post-cut, free range, rogue, nail clipping make me cringe with nausea. Sometime during the clipping process fingernails mutate into this amorphous substance that rivals Paris Hilton on the Puke List. The Puke List is a list of items that when come into my vicinty evoke particulate matter to erupt from my stomach, out of my mouth, and onto the floor. A rampant vomiting episode.
At my place of employment there is a box marked Lost & Found. I have never lost anything in the box but I have found some things. Do not judge me, but if you do judge me, let me first point you towards exhibit A, my Rolex, yes Rolex bitches.
I have also “found” things at Lost & Found boxes across the nation. I am a new age gold miner. A 49er of the future. Jealous? I thought so.
Two weeks ago a girl friend of mine spent the night. No sex, just friends. The next morning I was getting out of the shower and I asked her to salt my porch so neither of us would slip on our way out. I was sitting in my bedroom and I noticed her venture into my kitchen and walk back towards my front door with table salt. No lie, the Dumb Skeet salted my porch with table salt. Wow, dumb, I know, but that isn’t the most bothersome part of this tale. The strange ending to this story is that I found her more attractive after her little incident. What does this say about me? Maybe I was just horny, no that can’t be the solution; I’m always horny. Hell the only reason I’m not jackin it right now is because I can’t type complete sentences while I watch porn.
No matter how cold it is outside if a great song is being played in my Bentley I am rolling the windows down. Especially if Lupe Fiasco is on, play on playa.
A telemarketer called me today; so I put the phone on speaker and walked away. I actually left the room to poop, but once I came back the “salesman” was still on the phone. This devotion and stamina impressed to such a degree that I bought the set of knives he was selling. Yes, I am that easy. I can't wait to cut through a boot, or a pop can with my new knives.
Fingernails are not gross unless they are cut. Cut fingernails are one notch below human feces on the disgusting level. Pre-cut, fingernails and I are good friends, I have sucked on many womanly fingers, but post-cut, oh post-cut, free range, rogue, nail clipping make me cringe with nausea. Sometime during the clipping process fingernails mutate into this amorphous substance that rivals Paris Hilton on the Puke List. The Puke List is a list of items that when come into my vicinty evoke particulate matter to erupt from my stomach, out of my mouth, and onto the floor. A rampant vomiting episode.
At my place of employment there is a box marked Lost & Found. I have never lost anything in the box but I have found some things. Do not judge me, but if you do judge me, let me first point you towards exhibit A, my Rolex, yes Rolex bitches.
I have also “found” things at Lost & Found boxes across the nation. I am a new age gold miner. A 49er of the future. Jealous? I thought so.
Two weeks ago a girl friend of mine spent the night. No sex, just friends. The next morning I was getting out of the shower and I asked her to salt my porch so neither of us would slip on our way out. I was sitting in my bedroom and I noticed her venture into my kitchen and walk back towards my front door with table salt. No lie, the Dumb Skeet salted my porch with table salt. Wow, dumb, I know, but that isn’t the most bothersome part of this tale. The strange ending to this story is that I found her more attractive after her little incident. What does this say about me? Maybe I was just horny, no that can’t be the solution; I’m always horny. Hell the only reason I’m not jackin it right now is because I can’t type complete sentences while I watch porn.
No matter how cold it is outside if a great song is being played in my Bentley I am rolling the windows down. Especially if Lupe Fiasco is on, play on playa.
A telemarketer called me today; so I put the phone on speaker and walked away. I actually left the room to poop, but once I came back the “salesman” was still on the phone. This devotion and stamina impressed to such a degree that I bought the set of knives he was selling. Yes, I am that easy. I can't wait to cut through a boot, or a pop can with my new knives.
Roid Rage
So Roger Clemens wife admitted to HGH use to get ready for her SI photo shoot. Below is a picture of Debbie Clemens before her HGH cycle- scary.
Now here are two pictures of Mrs. Roid Rage herself after the hormone wokred it's magic.
Wow, if HGH can make an 83 year old woman look like that, then I am slipping HGH into every drink I ever buy a future sexual partner. Goodbye roofies, hello human growth hormone. I am buying nothing but HGH for Birthdays or Valentines Days. If I ever get dumb enough to propose I will have a vial of HGH instead of the diamond…..too much? Yeah, maybe I took it too far, but it’s because I care that I go the extra mile.
Now here are two pictures of Mrs. Roid Rage herself after the hormone wokred it's magic.
Wow, if HGH can make an 83 year old woman look like that, then I am slipping HGH into every drink I ever buy a future sexual partner. Goodbye roofies, hello human growth hormone. I am buying nothing but HGH for Birthdays or Valentines Days. If I ever get dumb enough to propose I will have a vial of HGH instead of the diamond…..too much? Yeah, maybe I took it too far, but it’s because I care that I go the extra mile.
Sex Drive
Sexual desire is the primary motivational energy directing the lives of every human being in the world, every single one. Celibates avoid sex at such a high degree that it becomes there life’s calling. They are defined as individuals that avoid orgasm. Clergy members were to be celibate because the church wanted final power. If the church could control sex; then they could control money, employment, service, and benefice. I am not lamenting the Catholic Church at all, that is far from the point of this entry. I am however trying to impose the theory that sex above all else is what drives. Sex drives and everything else is in the back seat.
Sex is the key that starts our vehicles and because of that we must not seek elimination of this drive, we must seek to quench these urges. Too much pressure leads to explosion. I am harping on this subject because I have received some feedback, not negative because all feedback is positive, but misguided feedback. I write about my sexual exploits, my conquests, and even my embarrassing failures because it feels good to communicate these stories. I also write these stories because I am not the only one fucking. We all seek stimulation and an escape from our reality and sex is one of my stimulants. Whether it is through the fabrication that people tell others and themselves to make it through the day, or through athletic exertion, or escape by way of chemical- alcohol or drug- we try to jump start ourselves.
I am not a sex crazed zealot. I am however a believer in the dictum that complete honestly with oneself is the healthiest activity anyone can take part in. I am honest with myself, I love to fuck and I love women, and I love the fact that I can tell people about my sexy.
Discretion is evidentiary and I am very discrete. I will not exploit myself or my partners. I will not show pictures or give out real names (for the most part), but I will use a cleverly thought out pseudonym. I am open enough to be honest but hazy enough to be respectful.
I am an odd individual. But I am ok with that, and frankly I am ok with everyone else’s crazy. Every so called normal person, matter of fact, is only “normal” on occasion. Mr. or Mrs. Normal’s ego approximates the previously mentioned psychosis in varying degrees, high or low.
I hate virgins, not because of their virginity, but because it is praised. It is not only praised, it is praised and then in the same breath non-virgins are bemoaned. Or even worse some non-virgin in the area of the pristine one is made to feel as less than a person. My virginity or lack thereof is not worth any celebration or any insidious comments. A virgin is no more pure than a whore, truthfully, all equal.
Basically what I am saying is that when I am called a sex crazed irresponsible freak that only cares about one thing- hmmmmmmmmm- not me. I am more than that, and the fact that, that bothers some people to such a high degree then my sex life is not the problem. It is probably your sex life. Or your lies. Sex is a drive and if my drive bothers you, then maybe you should check your engine once in a while. Maybe when there is clarity of air, there will be clarity of thought.
Sex is the key that starts our vehicles and because of that we must not seek elimination of this drive, we must seek to quench these urges. Too much pressure leads to explosion. I am harping on this subject because I have received some feedback, not negative because all feedback is positive, but misguided feedback. I write about my sexual exploits, my conquests, and even my embarrassing failures because it feels good to communicate these stories. I also write these stories because I am not the only one fucking. We all seek stimulation and an escape from our reality and sex is one of my stimulants. Whether it is through the fabrication that people tell others and themselves to make it through the day, or through athletic exertion, or escape by way of chemical- alcohol or drug- we try to jump start ourselves.
I am not a sex crazed zealot. I am however a believer in the dictum that complete honestly with oneself is the healthiest activity anyone can take part in. I am honest with myself, I love to fuck and I love women, and I love the fact that I can tell people about my sexy.
Discretion is evidentiary and I am very discrete. I will not exploit myself or my partners. I will not show pictures or give out real names (for the most part), but I will use a cleverly thought out pseudonym. I am open enough to be honest but hazy enough to be respectful.
I am an odd individual. But I am ok with that, and frankly I am ok with everyone else’s crazy. Every so called normal person, matter of fact, is only “normal” on occasion. Mr. or Mrs. Normal’s ego approximates the previously mentioned psychosis in varying degrees, high or low.
I hate virgins, not because of their virginity, but because it is praised. It is not only praised, it is praised and then in the same breath non-virgins are bemoaned. Or even worse some non-virgin in the area of the pristine one is made to feel as less than a person. My virginity or lack thereof is not worth any celebration or any insidious comments. A virgin is no more pure than a whore, truthfully, all equal.
Basically what I am saying is that when I am called a sex crazed irresponsible freak that only cares about one thing- hmmmmmmmmm- not me. I am more than that, and the fact that, that bothers some people to such a high degree then my sex life is not the problem. It is probably your sex life. Or your lies. Sex is a drive and if my drive bothers you, then maybe you should check your engine once in a while. Maybe when there is clarity of air, there will be clarity of thought.
Westminster Dog Show
My neighbor has the greatest Golden Retriever ever. It is full grown but somewhat of a dwarf dog because it still maintains some of its adorable puppy qualities. If I ever choose to purchase a dog I would like a dog that never grows up. A perma-puppy. I am the Peter Pan of dog owners. Science has to have that DNA structure locked up somewhere; otherwise I will just blow cigarette smoke into the new born pup’s face and make it drink copious amounts of vodka to stunt its growth, ahhh puppy for life. Ok, ok you crazy PETA members that was just a joke, I would never harm an animal, it is just because I like puppies way more than full grown beasts, c’est la vie.
Ok now back to my neighbor’s dog-of-the-year candidate. Every now and again I have to walk the dog, because I am a nice guy. Seriously I am nice; my neighbor is a lovely older woman, a widow with no children so I help her out whenever I can. You better believe it ladies, a heart of gold and abs of steel, holla.
I was shoveling the snow in Mrs. Old Lady’s driveway when she asks me to walk her dog, uh oh. I have never said no to her, but I really can’t walk Snoopy Dogg right now. I know it is far to cold for her to leave the house and the dog must have to shit like a mofo, but my outfit is definitely not dog walking attire.
I was wearing a Mike Vick jersey. I am not here to excoriate or defend Vick. I do think he deserves to be punished, but again that is not the purpose of this forum. Some may claim that simply by wearing the jersey I am supporting the incarcerated, but I am not. The accurate assertion would be that simply by wearing the jersey I am supporting my chintzy life style. I make a good living and have money stored away, but I am a cheap fuck, not George Costanza level stingy but cheap nonetheless. I bought exhibit A, Vick Jersey, about 4 years ago; when he was cool for a whopping $175. It is not my fault he went psychotic. I need to, at the very least, get my money’s worth out of the jersey. So I wear it when working outside, cutting grass, or when I am inside fixing my toilet. I use it when doing crappy jobs, figuratively and literally. But now I had to wear the jersey and walk a dog, I was going to be sick.
I weighed the options. Walk the dog and become the most hated man in my neighborhood, even more hated than Steve. Steve was caught masturbating in the public library. My other option was to say no to Mrs. Old Lady and have her walk the dog in the cold and possibly die.
PS. I had the jersey on above a large sweatshirt so I was pretty warm. I am very angry with Vick, but his jersey is warm as shit. I am waiting for it to decompose so I can finally throw it away and be done with this whole ordeal, but it is so well made. Those little Asian fingers that sewed this jersey for Nike should be very proud of themselves.
So I walked the dog, and kept looking over my shoulder for potential assassins. If I am going to be honest the walk was very sub par, I barely let the poor dog poop in comfort due to my lack of comfort. Then it hit me, the dog is always going to be ecstatic whether I was wearing this variegated Vick jersey or if I were standing in the nude, which may be just as offensive. So if the dog could care less, then I could care less, I also hope the picketers outside my home would care less.
Ok now back to my neighbor’s dog-of-the-year candidate. Every now and again I have to walk the dog, because I am a nice guy. Seriously I am nice; my neighbor is a lovely older woman, a widow with no children so I help her out whenever I can. You better believe it ladies, a heart of gold and abs of steel, holla.
I was shoveling the snow in Mrs. Old Lady’s driveway when she asks me to walk her dog, uh oh. I have never said no to her, but I really can’t walk Snoopy Dogg right now. I know it is far to cold for her to leave the house and the dog must have to shit like a mofo, but my outfit is definitely not dog walking attire.
I was wearing a Mike Vick jersey. I am not here to excoriate or defend Vick. I do think he deserves to be punished, but again that is not the purpose of this forum. Some may claim that simply by wearing the jersey I am supporting the incarcerated, but I am not. The accurate assertion would be that simply by wearing the jersey I am supporting my chintzy life style. I make a good living and have money stored away, but I am a cheap fuck, not George Costanza level stingy but cheap nonetheless. I bought exhibit A, Vick Jersey, about 4 years ago; when he was cool for a whopping $175. It is not my fault he went psychotic. I need to, at the very least, get my money’s worth out of the jersey. So I wear it when working outside, cutting grass, or when I am inside fixing my toilet. I use it when doing crappy jobs, figuratively and literally. But now I had to wear the jersey and walk a dog, I was going to be sick.
I weighed the options. Walk the dog and become the most hated man in my neighborhood, even more hated than Steve. Steve was caught masturbating in the public library. My other option was to say no to Mrs. Old Lady and have her walk the dog in the cold and possibly die.
PS. I had the jersey on above a large sweatshirt so I was pretty warm. I am very angry with Vick, but his jersey is warm as shit. I am waiting for it to decompose so I can finally throw it away and be done with this whole ordeal, but it is so well made. Those little Asian fingers that sewed this jersey for Nike should be very proud of themselves.
So I walked the dog, and kept looking over my shoulder for potential assassins. If I am going to be honest the walk was very sub par, I barely let the poor dog poop in comfort due to my lack of comfort. Then it hit me, the dog is always going to be ecstatic whether I was wearing this variegated Vick jersey or if I were standing in the nude, which may be just as offensive. So if the dog could care less, then I could care less, I also hope the picketers outside my home would care less.
Vagina Monologues
Things that disgust me- because I am sure y’all definitely want to know.
So speaking of booty calls, oh we weren’t, well we are now, booty calls are slut-tastic. There is this girl, her real name is Melony, but my inner circle of friends call her Elvira. She has dark features- hair, eyes, heart, and hoo-ha. She comes when I call and I cum when, well you get it. We call her Elvira because she has satanic tattoos and we are under the assumption she drinks blood. She is a nurse in her “normal” job but I am pretty sure she steals souls during her night gig. I think she sleeps upside down. She is violent during sex,... she is actually violent 90% of time, aww my bruises hurt so bad. If she ever became pregnant she would birth her child standing up. I am honestly afraid of her, but the things she can do with her tongue is, well it should receive some sort of award.
Here is the disgusting part of this story. I have a decent razor, a quarto, and it leaves my face (and sometimes my chest) velvety soft. You could eat off them.
She used my razor to shave her, her…her menagerie. Her, wide open spaces. She shaved her vaginal regions with my face (and chest) razor. How am I supposed to react? I would have yelled at her but she is half banshee. When we kiss I get really cold inside my heart, but she is a great fuck, ahhhhhhhhhh what am I to do.
She is strictly a fuck and she knows this and since she is devoid of any form of a heart she has not and will never develop feelings for me. She is the quintessential booty call. This lovely situation took such an onerous turn for your hero. What else in my home has her vagina touched; I have a Sonicare pulsating toothbrush. My poor mouth. Just in case you are wondering if my mouth on its own volition ventured down under, the answer is a definitive no. Just because I shave my chest, sometime wax it, does not mean I munch box, well unless you count Amy Allen, but her vag smelled of fresh picked Lilacs, and it was soft as silk, ohhh Amy Allen, why did you become a lesbian, ummm where was I, oh yeah, Elvira.
Weak Moment Alert-
I love the fuck more than I love my razor, or my Sonicare, or any other potential vagina touched appliance. So I insinuated that I would prefer her not to touch anything in my apartment except for my cock, then she slapped me and left, ahhh fuck buddies.
I hate that bitch, I hope she doesn’t find out that I write this thing, just in case if I do not write an entry with in the next week call the authorities and inform them that Sexy Einstein has vanished because of the queen of the dammed, Melony, a hum, Elvira. By the by how weird is her spelling of Melony, freakin vampire.
So speaking of booty calls, oh we weren’t, well we are now, booty calls are slut-tastic. There is this girl, her real name is Melony, but my inner circle of friends call her Elvira. She has dark features- hair, eyes, heart, and hoo-ha. She comes when I call and I cum when, well you get it. We call her Elvira because she has satanic tattoos and we are under the assumption she drinks blood. She is a nurse in her “normal” job but I am pretty sure she steals souls during her night gig. I think she sleeps upside down. She is violent during sex,... she is actually violent 90% of time, aww my bruises hurt so bad. If she ever became pregnant she would birth her child standing up. I am honestly afraid of her, but the things she can do with her tongue is, well it should receive some sort of award.
Here is the disgusting part of this story. I have a decent razor, a quarto, and it leaves my face (and sometimes my chest) velvety soft. You could eat off them.
She used my razor to shave her, her…her menagerie. Her, wide open spaces. She shaved her vaginal regions with my face (and chest) razor. How am I supposed to react? I would have yelled at her but she is half banshee. When we kiss I get really cold inside my heart, but she is a great fuck, ahhhhhhhhhh what am I to do.
She is strictly a fuck and she knows this and since she is devoid of any form of a heart she has not and will never develop feelings for me. She is the quintessential booty call. This lovely situation took such an onerous turn for your hero. What else in my home has her vagina touched; I have a Sonicare pulsating toothbrush. My poor mouth. Just in case you are wondering if my mouth on its own volition ventured down under, the answer is a definitive no. Just because I shave my chest, sometime wax it, does not mean I munch box, well unless you count Amy Allen, but her vag smelled of fresh picked Lilacs, and it was soft as silk, ohhh Amy Allen, why did you become a lesbian, ummm where was I, oh yeah, Elvira.
Weak Moment Alert-
I love the fuck more than I love my razor, or my Sonicare, or any other potential vagina touched appliance. So I insinuated that I would prefer her not to touch anything in my apartment except for my cock, then she slapped me and left, ahhh fuck buddies.
I hate that bitch, I hope she doesn’t find out that I write this thing, just in case if I do not write an entry with in the next week call the authorities and inform them that Sexy Einstein has vanished because of the queen of the dammed, Melony, a hum, Elvira. By the by how weird is her spelling of Melony, freakin vampire.
Old Boyfriend
Three nights ago I was in bed with a woman, I know surprise, surprise. In this midst of our kissing and clothes removal she asked if I wanted to have sex in a very seductive, Demi Moore voice. Stop trying to be sexy and let's just have sex.
Dumb girl, of course I want to have sex, and asking me if I want to have sex does not increase my desire. In fact it annoys me and hinders the erection of my penis.
So we had sex. It was great and then I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning and she was in the shower, so to pass the time I snooped around her room, superficially, but snooping nonetheless. I looked at all her pictures and photo collages. I noticed that one ugly Quasimodo look alike appeared and inordinate amount of times.
As she walked out of this bathroom I had to ask who the special Olympian was.
My ex-boyfriend.
What?
Yeah, we dated for a couple of years, high school sweethearts.
Oh God, I’m going to be sick. I did not wear a condom. My penis had ventured into areas he used to occupy. I had slept with a person who slept with a man with Cro-Magnon features.
This did not sit well with me. I rushed out of her apartment and soaked my penis in a tub of peroxide. How could a woman find me attractive enough to sleep with and also find “that guy” attractive enough to sleep with. Oh no, what if I had grossly overestimated my looks, my sex appeal. What if I was in the same class as “that guy?”
Depression had definitely set in for a couple of hours. To alleviate my newfound malady I decided to take a look at some of my ex-sex buddies, some of my conquests. I was very proud of the women I had mounted so my spirits were lifted, as was my penis, but nevermind that.
I would definitely rather date or fuck a woman that sleeps with Brad Pitt look look-a-likes than with Corky look-a-likes.
Dumb girl, of course I want to have sex, and asking me if I want to have sex does not increase my desire. In fact it annoys me and hinders the erection of my penis.
So we had sex. It was great and then I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning and she was in the shower, so to pass the time I snooped around her room, superficially, but snooping nonetheless. I looked at all her pictures and photo collages. I noticed that one ugly Quasimodo look alike appeared and inordinate amount of times.
As she walked out of this bathroom I had to ask who the special Olympian was.
My ex-boyfriend.
What?
Yeah, we dated for a couple of years, high school sweethearts.
Oh God, I’m going to be sick. I did not wear a condom. My penis had ventured into areas he used to occupy. I had slept with a person who slept with a man with Cro-Magnon features.
This did not sit well with me. I rushed out of her apartment and soaked my penis in a tub of peroxide. How could a woman find me attractive enough to sleep with and also find “that guy” attractive enough to sleep with. Oh no, what if I had grossly overestimated my looks, my sex appeal. What if I was in the same class as “that guy?”
Depression had definitely set in for a couple of hours. To alleviate my newfound malady I decided to take a look at some of my ex-sex buddies, some of my conquests. I was very proud of the women I had mounted so my spirits were lifted, as was my penis, but nevermind that.
I would definitely rather date or fuck a woman that sleeps with Brad Pitt look look-a-likes than with Corky look-a-likes.
Grammy Thoughts
I caught the end of the Grammy’s last night-ughh. I saw Amy Winehouse’s performance and if that was her sober than I prefer her coked up and wasted, because she sounded like she looked, disgusting. She may be the worst dancer of all time.
Her acceptance speech was by far the funniest moment I have witnessed this year. I was half expecting Sasha Baron Cohen to pop out and reveal to us that Winehouse has been one of his characters all along.
Quick aside, I think Tony Bennett is illiterate. I am not for ageism but there are some things they should refrain from doing, and I am looking at you John Fogerty, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis. The final “classic rock” performance between the previously mentioned trio of geriatrics made me long for Amy Winehouse.
Kanye West was pretty sweet though.
Her acceptance speech was by far the funniest moment I have witnessed this year. I was half expecting Sasha Baron Cohen to pop out and reveal to us that Winehouse has been one of his characters all along.
Quick aside, I think Tony Bennett is illiterate. I am not for ageism but there are some things they should refrain from doing, and I am looking at you John Fogerty, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis. The final “classic rock” performance between the previously mentioned trio of geriatrics made me long for Amy Winehouse.
Kanye West was pretty sweet though.
Gay Magic
I understand that I am very late on this story but I just read about Magician David Copperfield’s rape case. It is sad news but it does raise a very poignant question.
Since he is accused of raping a woman, does this mean he was never gay? I thought he preferred the company of men this whole time, hmmmm. I though his marriage was marred with rumors of gay infidelity. If he is not gay maybe some other assumed homosexuals are straight as well. Yeah I’m looking at you Ryan Seacrest and Anderson Cooper.
Since he is accused of raping a woman, does this mean he was never gay? I thought he preferred the company of men this whole time, hmmmm. I though his marriage was marred with rumors of gay infidelity. If he is not gay maybe some other assumed homosexuals are straight as well. Yeah I’m looking at you Ryan Seacrest and Anderson Cooper.
Short Stories
So before I started this entry I had to take some Einstein time. Einstein time is my home made euphemism for masturbation, which helps to alleviate my chronic writers block, thank you Dr. Kinsey. It also helps my muscles to relax, it promotes all these great endorphins, that I love, to escape into my bloodstream, and most importantly it relieves menstrual cramps…..so I manstrate what of it………fuck off.
The following entry is nothing but short stories, Kafka style. These are real short stories, really short. Each story will start with a bullet, because bulleted entries are far easier to read, do you hear that Tolstoy, bullets would have made War and Peace a breeze, cocky fuck. So here we go minions. Due the faint possibility that some of my hilarity may not work I will be following up many of these entries with my non-sequitur joke of the day, which is banana hammock, are you laughing, no, ok.
• My boss is a woman, I call her Artemis because of the Greek goddess I am sure she is a descendant of. The fact that she is a woman is fine with me except that she is tougher than most men, and on top of that she is sexier than most women; divinity in motion. I need a chair and a whip to fend off her attacks when I wronged her or our company in any way. She is so powerful I think she controls her menstrual cycle, I think she may menstruate on command. This Herculean woman with Heidi Klum legs makes me quiver with fear; she also makes my penis quiver with fantasy. I accidentally mixed up legal documents and guess who paid me a visit. Loose lips sink ships she yelled to me, I thought she was talking about my ex-girlfriend but she was talking about my carelessness. She shredded me, completely excoriating me in front of everyone in my office with her grandiloquent tone, yes my office; bitch. She stared deep into my soul and found some of my biggest insecurities and shed the brightest light in the world upon them. So my day inevitably went to shit. I stayed late to check and re-check all of my daily transactions and guess who paid me a visit at about 7 pm, yes Artemis. It was just her and I in this empty office; I hope she doesn’t make me cry. Remember that whore from earlier now juxtapose that with the angel of a boss I will now present to you; crazy black magic woman. Good job today-she says- remember we have a business trip to San Diego next week, how ‘bout we leave early on Thursday to get a head start on our presentation…………….ok. How does one woman force my eyes pregnant with tears and hours later my penis pregnant with premature ejaculate…..? Banana Hammock.
• Drunk at the bar I began flirting with a cute college girl. Wooing drunken college girls is the most sinecure task known to man, well that and working at FEMA, ha, political joke. Dry spell prepare to be moistened. I called a taxi and she followed me. Back seat of the taxi we began to kiss, gross. No tongue, barley any lip action, terrible taste. It felt as though I was licking the sneeze guard at the buffet line. Sex did not follow; I jumped out of the moving cab and ran home.
• I was poor when I was younger. We were on welfare and we definitely received food from the government at our doorstep once a week. My parents kept the crates in our basement even though the inscription on the blue and orange welfare crates read “THOU SHALT NOT STEAL,” good example parental units. When I asked my folks why we received groceries at our door once a month they sibilantly informed me that like Pizza Hut our grocer delivered….liars. The point of this short story is that if you have never had a grilled government cheese sandwich than you my friend are not living. I recently came across a welfare store and bought out there cheese supply, greasy yellowy cheesy goodness, holla.
• I nicknamed my penis Big Bird, I’m hoping it sticks. Banana Hammock
• Worst feeling in the world #43 is running out of toilet paper in a public restroom post-poop. I couldn’t ask the guy in the next stall for some t-p in case it was Senator Larry Craig waiting for another foot tapper.
• Worse feeling in the world #44- having to use brown paper towel in lieu of normal toilet paper. Using cheap brown paper towel to wipe your hands or nose is abrasive enough; imagine it on your anus. I felt like Larry Craig actually got a hold of me.
• Discovery alert- Dipping and drinking a red bull at the same time is not amazing, it is the opposite of amazing. You’re up and down and but never are you in the middle. It is like riding a roller coaster underground. I was prepping myself for a night on the town by dipping and taking in an episode of sportscenter. An amigo of mine, I use amigo because he is Mexican, it is fitting, came over with a case of red bull and some vodka. I decided to partake in red bull consumption sans vodka. I had no idea what anguish I had unleashed upon my body by this newly formed axis of evil- Kodiak and Red Bull. Heed my warning, friends, and avoid this deadly combination. I feel like Dr. Wilbrand (google him) warning the world about TNT (not the television channel, even though it should also come with a warning of some sort, like Warning: Law and Order is on all the time- yikes).
• Do black people get black eyes? Seriously I do not know the answer, I tried to think of a black boxer with a post match black eye and I cannot recall……banana hammock.
• I am voting for Obama. Ok I have a confession to make; I was never, not going to vote for Obama. I know you could care less about my political views, and trust me I am not going to wax poetic about his attributes, but I would like to make a few key points about why I like him today more than I did yesterday. He is a closet smoker, like me- I imagine Obama bumming Marlboros off his politico buddies inside some D.C. bar, but only if he has had a couple of vodka tonics (I am guessing he drinks vodka tonics). Second; he loves and plays basketball, imagine Obama playing one on one with Iranian Dictator Mahmoud Ahmadinejad over a thousand or so barrels of oil, or better yet playing the Canadian PM a game of horse over he gets the rights to Norm MacDonald, or who gets control of Labatt Blue. Splendid. He won a Grammy, yeah he definitely has a Grammy, seriously I have no joke here, Barack Obama won a Grammy at the 2006 award show. Fourth, and definitely the most scintillating piece of little known Obama factoids, or as I like to call them Obamoids of all, he plays Signed, Sealed, Delivered as his campaign anthem, the Stevie Wonder song, the same Stevie Wonder song I lost my virginity to. Every time I watch an Obama rally or listen to him speak and hear that song I am reminded of one of my greatest conquests...God bless America.
• I hope elevators are sound proof. Weird hope, I know, but you must understand that when alone in an elevator I sing….and I dance. If elevators are not sound proof than a lot of people in my building are aware of my mad Justin Timberlake imitatin skills. I need to MacGyverize a sound proof elevator, or make it a point to only use elevators with other people to hinder my performances.
• I know the menstrual cycle of every woman I deal with on a regular basis and plan my life accordingly. Not a joke, I made a special and ingenious if I may say so myself, calendar that switches every 22 days to mark the blood cycle for the previously mentioned woman. If you are laughing or scoffing at my idea please, I urge you to try it for three months and see how much trouble you can avoid if you avoid the blood.
• I love scrambled eggs, but they give me diarrhea. The odd thing is that only scrambled eggs give me diarrhea not any other egg form, science I have a new task for you… Watson and Crick forget the helix and solve this conundrum.
• TRUE STORY ALERT: I was standing outside of my office at the left side of the door drinking a red bull. Random office acquaintance was on the right side of the door smoking a cigarette. The receptionist who is coming back from lunch looks at me and then at my red bull She then has the gall to tell me that energy drinks are bad for your health, that it will kill me. She doesn’t bat an eyelash at Smoker McGee, but my pretty blue can is an aluminum casket. She told me that red bulls make your brain bleed….isn’t that ecstasy, whore. I wish people would mind there own business, so I told her to do just that and she walked away. So Smoker McGee and I made fun of her soggy butt as she walked away, it looks like a bag of wet clothes, ahhh redemption. Banana Hammock.
The following entry is nothing but short stories, Kafka style. These are real short stories, really short. Each story will start with a bullet, because bulleted entries are far easier to read, do you hear that Tolstoy, bullets would have made War and Peace a breeze, cocky fuck. So here we go minions. Due the faint possibility that some of my hilarity may not work I will be following up many of these entries with my non-sequitur joke of the day, which is banana hammock, are you laughing, no, ok.
• My boss is a woman, I call her Artemis because of the Greek goddess I am sure she is a descendant of. The fact that she is a woman is fine with me except that she is tougher than most men, and on top of that she is sexier than most women; divinity in motion. I need a chair and a whip to fend off her attacks when I wronged her or our company in any way. She is so powerful I think she controls her menstrual cycle, I think she may menstruate on command. This Herculean woman with Heidi Klum legs makes me quiver with fear; she also makes my penis quiver with fantasy. I accidentally mixed up legal documents and guess who paid me a visit. Loose lips sink ships she yelled to me, I thought she was talking about my ex-girlfriend but she was talking about my carelessness. She shredded me, completely excoriating me in front of everyone in my office with her grandiloquent tone, yes my office; bitch. She stared deep into my soul and found some of my biggest insecurities and shed the brightest light in the world upon them. So my day inevitably went to shit. I stayed late to check and re-check all of my daily transactions and guess who paid me a visit at about 7 pm, yes Artemis. It was just her and I in this empty office; I hope she doesn’t make me cry. Remember that whore from earlier now juxtapose that with the angel of a boss I will now present to you; crazy black magic woman. Good job today-she says- remember we have a business trip to San Diego next week, how ‘bout we leave early on Thursday to get a head start on our presentation…………….ok. How does one woman force my eyes pregnant with tears and hours later my penis pregnant with premature ejaculate…..? Banana Hammock.
• Drunk at the bar I began flirting with a cute college girl. Wooing drunken college girls is the most sinecure task known to man, well that and working at FEMA, ha, political joke. Dry spell prepare to be moistened. I called a taxi and she followed me. Back seat of the taxi we began to kiss, gross. No tongue, barley any lip action, terrible taste. It felt as though I was licking the sneeze guard at the buffet line. Sex did not follow; I jumped out of the moving cab and ran home.
• I was poor when I was younger. We were on welfare and we definitely received food from the government at our doorstep once a week. My parents kept the crates in our basement even though the inscription on the blue and orange welfare crates read “THOU SHALT NOT STEAL,” good example parental units. When I asked my folks why we received groceries at our door once a month they sibilantly informed me that like Pizza Hut our grocer delivered….liars. The point of this short story is that if you have never had a grilled government cheese sandwich than you my friend are not living. I recently came across a welfare store and bought out there cheese supply, greasy yellowy cheesy goodness, holla.
• I nicknamed my penis Big Bird, I’m hoping it sticks. Banana Hammock
• Worst feeling in the world #43 is running out of toilet paper in a public restroom post-poop. I couldn’t ask the guy in the next stall for some t-p in case it was Senator Larry Craig waiting for another foot tapper.
• Worse feeling in the world #44- having to use brown paper towel in lieu of normal toilet paper. Using cheap brown paper towel to wipe your hands or nose is abrasive enough; imagine it on your anus. I felt like Larry Craig actually got a hold of me.
• Discovery alert- Dipping and drinking a red bull at the same time is not amazing, it is the opposite of amazing. You’re up and down and but never are you in the middle. It is like riding a roller coaster underground. I was prepping myself for a night on the town by dipping and taking in an episode of sportscenter. An amigo of mine, I use amigo because he is Mexican, it is fitting, came over with a case of red bull and some vodka. I decided to partake in red bull consumption sans vodka. I had no idea what anguish I had unleashed upon my body by this newly formed axis of evil- Kodiak and Red Bull. Heed my warning, friends, and avoid this deadly combination. I feel like Dr. Wilbrand (google him) warning the world about TNT (not the television channel, even though it should also come with a warning of some sort, like Warning: Law and Order is on all the time- yikes).
• Do black people get black eyes? Seriously I do not know the answer, I tried to think of a black boxer with a post match black eye and I cannot recall……banana hammock.
• I am voting for Obama. Ok I have a confession to make; I was never, not going to vote for Obama. I know you could care less about my political views, and trust me I am not going to wax poetic about his attributes, but I would like to make a few key points about why I like him today more than I did yesterday. He is a closet smoker, like me- I imagine Obama bumming Marlboros off his politico buddies inside some D.C. bar, but only if he has had a couple of vodka tonics (I am guessing he drinks vodka tonics). Second; he loves and plays basketball, imagine Obama playing one on one with Iranian Dictator Mahmoud Ahmadinejad over a thousand or so barrels of oil, or better yet playing the Canadian PM a game of horse over he gets the rights to Norm MacDonald, or who gets control of Labatt Blue. Splendid. He won a Grammy, yeah he definitely has a Grammy, seriously I have no joke here, Barack Obama won a Grammy at the 2006 award show. Fourth, and definitely the most scintillating piece of little known Obama factoids, or as I like to call them Obamoids of all, he plays Signed, Sealed, Delivered as his campaign anthem, the Stevie Wonder song, the same Stevie Wonder song I lost my virginity to. Every time I watch an Obama rally or listen to him speak and hear that song I am reminded of one of my greatest conquests...God bless America.
• I hope elevators are sound proof. Weird hope, I know, but you must understand that when alone in an elevator I sing….and I dance. If elevators are not sound proof than a lot of people in my building are aware of my mad Justin Timberlake imitatin skills. I need to MacGyverize a sound proof elevator, or make it a point to only use elevators with other people to hinder my performances.
• I know the menstrual cycle of every woman I deal with on a regular basis and plan my life accordingly. Not a joke, I made a special and ingenious if I may say so myself, calendar that switches every 22 days to mark the blood cycle for the previously mentioned woman. If you are laughing or scoffing at my idea please, I urge you to try it for three months and see how much trouble you can avoid if you avoid the blood.
• I love scrambled eggs, but they give me diarrhea. The odd thing is that only scrambled eggs give me diarrhea not any other egg form, science I have a new task for you… Watson and Crick forget the helix and solve this conundrum.
• TRUE STORY ALERT: I was standing outside of my office at the left side of the door drinking a red bull. Random office acquaintance was on the right side of the door smoking a cigarette. The receptionist who is coming back from lunch looks at me and then at my red bull She then has the gall to tell me that energy drinks are bad for your health, that it will kill me. She doesn’t bat an eyelash at Smoker McGee, but my pretty blue can is an aluminum casket. She told me that red bulls make your brain bleed….isn’t that ecstasy, whore. I wish people would mind there own business, so I told her to do just that and she walked away. So Smoker McGee and I made fun of her soggy butt as she walked away, it looks like a bag of wet clothes, ahhh redemption. Banana Hammock.
Effing Song
I am a huge music fan. I think it stems from my jealousy; the fact that I am completely devoid of any musical talent forces me to love those who possess the talent. I went to a show a couple of nights back, it was a punk show, rock out. The show was flab-flippin-tastic, but one song which was encored 3 times was the belle of the ball. It was a feel good song, a love song, a song of hope wrapped up and presented in the punk genre. I bought their cd just to read and relay the Tolstoy-esque lyrics to all my faithful readers, all 8 of you.
You may think that I am pulling you leg, (eww typing pulling your leg made me feel about 85 years old, sorry) but these are the actual lyrics, what do you think, nuts huh. This song is mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. I am going out on a limb here, but I truly think that Sinatra is rolling over in his grave today, because he wished he had written and recorded this song. I would actually give a testicle to hear Michael Buble or Tony Bennett sing this song....dream a little dream for me.
The song is appropriately titled "Happy Thoughts," true dat. Ok enough of my facetious comments, I present to you- Happy Thoughts, salut.
Happy Thoughts
Fuck the day that we fuckin met
Fuck your name and fuck your health
Fuck all the time with you I spent
Fuck the day that you fuckin said
You loved this boy with the fucked up head
Fuck the times we got fucked up
Fuck the beer and fuck the drugs
Fuck my brain for the thoughts it made
Fuck my heart for being played
Fuck the 4th of fucking March
Fuck the end and fuck the start
Fuck it all, every fucking part
Fuck the day you slept with me
Fuck the bed and fuck the sheets
Fuck that fact that you’re the best I’d had
Not just at night; but throughout the path
Fuck the way you loved my words
Fuck the words I wrote to you
Fuck the truths I spoke out loud
You fucked me up
You were all I had
Now fuck you
I hope you’re glad
I hope you’re happy
I hope you’re sad
I hope for everything I fuckin said
Fuckin come back and love me again
------------------------------------------------------------------------
So what did you think? I actually enjoyed the performance and the lyrics...but as you already know, I am a moron.
You may think that I am pulling you leg, (eww typing pulling your leg made me feel about 85 years old, sorry) but these are the actual lyrics, what do you think, nuts huh. This song is mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. I am going out on a limb here, but I truly think that Sinatra is rolling over in his grave today, because he wished he had written and recorded this song. I would actually give a testicle to hear Michael Buble or Tony Bennett sing this song....dream a little dream for me.
The song is appropriately titled "Happy Thoughts," true dat. Ok enough of my facetious comments, I present to you- Happy Thoughts, salut.
Happy Thoughts
Fuck the day that we fuckin met
Fuck your name and fuck your health
Fuck all the time with you I spent
Fuck the day that you fuckin said
You loved this boy with the fucked up head
Fuck the times we got fucked up
Fuck the beer and fuck the drugs
Fuck my brain for the thoughts it made
Fuck my heart for being played
Fuck the 4th of fucking March
Fuck the end and fuck the start
Fuck it all, every fucking part
Fuck the day you slept with me
Fuck the bed and fuck the sheets
Fuck that fact that you’re the best I’d had
Not just at night; but throughout the path
Fuck the way you loved my words
Fuck the words I wrote to you
Fuck the truths I spoke out loud
You fucked me up
You were all I had
Now fuck you
I hope you’re glad
I hope you’re happy
I hope you’re sad
I hope for everything I fuckin said
Fuckin come back and love me again
------------------------------------------------------------------------
So what did you think? I actually enjoyed the performance and the lyrics...but as you already know, I am a moron.
Gangsta
I had a bubble in my throat. My voice made a manly sound, a Jack Palance sound, a Clint Eastwood sound, as opposed to my Jude Law sans UK accent sound. I was not going to clear my throat; this new found virile tone was welcome, and just for the record it had been a long time coming.
The phone is ringing….shit yeah; I get to test out the new voice.
Hello I said as I answered my cell phone and my friend asked for me, he did not recognize my voice. I revealed myself and he shit a brick. Once the anal hemorrhaging finally ended, due to brick passing, he confessed that he was nervous for a moment.
I heard your voice and I thought I accidentally dialed the Mafia, I checked that I had accurately dialed your number, but for a moment I thought a Corleone was coming for me.
Hell yea, can I get a what what , holla at cha boy, Sexy Einstein was a gangsta for a few brief moments, but then I got thirsty and drank water, and flushed away my Jack Palance-Clint Eastwood voice. Fark
The phone is ringing….shit yeah; I get to test out the new voice.
Hello I said as I answered my cell phone and my friend asked for me, he did not recognize my voice. I revealed myself and he shit a brick. Once the anal hemorrhaging finally ended, due to brick passing, he confessed that he was nervous for a moment.
I heard your voice and I thought I accidentally dialed the Mafia, I checked that I had accurately dialed your number, but for a moment I thought a Corleone was coming for me.
Hell yea, can I get a what what , holla at cha boy, Sexy Einstein was a gangsta for a few brief moments, but then I got thirsty and drank water, and flushed away my Jack Palance-Clint Eastwood voice. Fark
Bowling for Concubine
The gym is where this interaction took place. My friend and I were working out, bye bye fat. We had just completed a 5 mile jog, hello soreness. We were walking into one of the rooms in the gym where people do cardio type shit. Abs were our enemies, and our plan of attack was to complete this final phase of our workout before 7 pm, due to the gym’s annoying time constraints. The time was 6:00 pm, cutting it close boys. But fear not, we were on a mission.
Derailed. Ughhhhh I had been sidetracked on the way to the big rubber ab balls by a tall leggy blonde. Leggy Blonde why are you so irresistible. I wanted to lick her legs, I do not have a foot fetish, I have a leggy blonde fetish- huge difference bitches.
Let me educate you lovely readers about Leggy Blonde. First of all she is leggy. Second of all I am under the impression that her entire wardrobe is made up of wife beaters and spandex shorts- can you say premature ejaculation. Third, and this is the kicker, she is cool as hell, nice, not an arrogant or pompous hair on her sculpted, pristine, make you say mmmm body. When she speaks, it’s hypnotic. Her words engulf you like an Anaconda and take your breathe away. She isn’t flirting with you, but she's not not flirting with you; if that makes sense. The problem, you had to know it was coming, is that she was always busy, a minute of her time was harder to get than Hannah Montana tickets…..I’ve heard. She is never still, always on the move, except for today. On my way to ab-fest 2008 she appeared, and spoke to me, and not just the innocuous, “hey pal’ or “hi,” but she was engaging in conversation with me. I really wish I hadn’t worn this headband today. I hope she didn’t hear the Hannah Montana blaring from my I-POD.
“Hey Einstein, I saw you volunteering at the Red Cross last Saturday, how sweet of you, did you like it?”
Thank you God, really thank you, I know I have forsaken you at times, and even asked you to kill a few people for me- Paris Hilton- but water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. God bless you God….is that possible…if I was God I would definitely bless myself….unless you are already inherently blessed just by being God….my ears are bleeding…ahhhhhhh back to the point tangent king…..if I had any musical talent and knew four other guys to join me in a band we would definitely be called the Tangent Kings….or Anal Leakage….we could take a vote…..sfdogklglajk;sf kl;kl;sfalk sdgfkls dlks dklsdlk dsksdklsd/………………… …………………… ……………………………… …………………………………… ………………………………………………………………………………
Sorry, too much blood to the head and I passed out onto the key board, not so bad except that I have a-s-d-f imprinted in my cheek now. Well hold on so I can re-read this post and get back on track, while you’re waiting maybe come up with words that rhyme with angel………..ok I’m back, hahahaha you actually tried to come up with angel rhyming words, just kidding, I’m proud of you, good job sport.
Well it turns out that Leggy Blonde works at the law firm next the Red Cross and as she was leaving work she saw me volunteering, and we talked about it. Seriously big-up to the God man.
She sat next to me on the bench as my buddy waited for me in the ab area. We talked and talked and talked some more. She then asked for my number and thought we should hang out sometime. I replied with this exceptional quip- “I would love to take you out to dinner, but I can’t unless you volunteer with me next Friday.” You see what I did there, I showed interest, told her I would pay, and then made it seem as though her charity and not her vagina was the penultimate prize, the piece de resistance.
She said yes.
The worst part of this whole ordeal is that 6:00 became 6:50 so quickly. Awww poor Einstein didn’t get to work out his abs, fark. My friend called me a bitch for picking a conversation with Leggy Blonde over the manly activity of working out.
I apologized to my hombre for morphing our workout time into Leggy Blonde time, but if I had to choose between abs and a hot blonde again, well let's just say that blondes will rule the day. The irony of this whole ordeal is that I workout my abs for women like Leggy Blonde, and now I chose talking to her over the abs. I was working out for women like her and yet she still ruined the workout in her hommage; weird isn’t it.
Derailed. Ughhhhh I had been sidetracked on the way to the big rubber ab balls by a tall leggy blonde. Leggy Blonde why are you so irresistible. I wanted to lick her legs, I do not have a foot fetish, I have a leggy blonde fetish- huge difference bitches.
Let me educate you lovely readers about Leggy Blonde. First of all she is leggy. Second of all I am under the impression that her entire wardrobe is made up of wife beaters and spandex shorts- can you say premature ejaculation. Third, and this is the kicker, she is cool as hell, nice, not an arrogant or pompous hair on her sculpted, pristine, make you say mmmm body. When she speaks, it’s hypnotic. Her words engulf you like an Anaconda and take your breathe away. She isn’t flirting with you, but she's not not flirting with you; if that makes sense. The problem, you had to know it was coming, is that she was always busy, a minute of her time was harder to get than Hannah Montana tickets…..I’ve heard. She is never still, always on the move, except for today. On my way to ab-fest 2008 she appeared, and spoke to me, and not just the innocuous, “hey pal’ or “hi,” but she was engaging in conversation with me. I really wish I hadn’t worn this headband today. I hope she didn’t hear the Hannah Montana blaring from my I-POD.
“Hey Einstein, I saw you volunteering at the Red Cross last Saturday, how sweet of you, did you like it?”
Thank you God, really thank you, I know I have forsaken you at times, and even asked you to kill a few people for me- Paris Hilton- but water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. God bless you God….is that possible…if I was God I would definitely bless myself….unless you are already inherently blessed just by being God….my ears are bleeding…ahhhhhhh back to the point tangent king…..if I had any musical talent and knew four other guys to join me in a band we would definitely be called the Tangent Kings….or Anal Leakage….we could take a vote…..sfdogklglajk;sf kl;kl;sfalk sdgfkls dlks dklsdlk dsksdklsd/………………… …………………… ……………………………… …………………………………… ………………………………………………………………………………
Sorry, too much blood to the head and I passed out onto the key board, not so bad except that I have a-s-d-f imprinted in my cheek now. Well hold on so I can re-read this post and get back on track, while you’re waiting maybe come up with words that rhyme with angel………..ok I’m back, hahahaha you actually tried to come up with angel rhyming words, just kidding, I’m proud of you, good job sport.
Well it turns out that Leggy Blonde works at the law firm next the Red Cross and as she was leaving work she saw me volunteering, and we talked about it. Seriously big-up to the God man.
She sat next to me on the bench as my buddy waited for me in the ab area. We talked and talked and talked some more. She then asked for my number and thought we should hang out sometime. I replied with this exceptional quip- “I would love to take you out to dinner, but I can’t unless you volunteer with me next Friday.” You see what I did there, I showed interest, told her I would pay, and then made it seem as though her charity and not her vagina was the penultimate prize, the piece de resistance.
She said yes.
The worst part of this whole ordeal is that 6:00 became 6:50 so quickly. Awww poor Einstein didn’t get to work out his abs, fark. My friend called me a bitch for picking a conversation with Leggy Blonde over the manly activity of working out.
I apologized to my hombre for morphing our workout time into Leggy Blonde time, but if I had to choose between abs and a hot blonde again, well let's just say that blondes will rule the day. The irony of this whole ordeal is that I workout my abs for women like Leggy Blonde, and now I chose talking to her over the abs. I was working out for women like her and yet she still ruined the workout in her hommage; weird isn’t it.
Bigotry
Saturday night I was in a bar. Surprise, Surprise. I was drinking an amaretto sour and staring at two lovely women trying to play billiards. Allow me to paint the scene. I looked business casual and to spice things up I had a scarf on- the neck is so sensitive. My friend and I started up a conversation with the billiards girls, score. Now to my right were two grimy looking hooligans, probably truck drivers or serial rapists, you know the type. So Dirt-Bag #1 walks up to me and tell me, quote, “I hate (here he used the other "f" word, I'd rather not type it.”
He tells me that he hates gay people so much he just can’t stand it. He tells me that you never can tell who is gay or straight these days. I am trying to walk away from this man and still remain close enough to flirt with our targets for the night.
Side Note:
We had the billiards girls within our grasp. They were flirting back with us and my friend had even joined there game, I played the too cool to play card. I love that card, I keep it next to my library and visa card. If we had walked away from the ladies the swarm of horny men that felt they could imitate our success would have moved in. The bar scene is a very delicate one. Most men are afraid of women, but if they notice that other men are having some success they would love nothing more than to take over. Most men would rather eat the meal than catch it, forgive the poor analogy but, c’est la vie.
Back to the Story:
So the dirt bag decided to ask me what my persuasion was. My persuasion. Now every one of y’all know that I am a lover of women, and only women. But I also love playing the role of contrarian, and would love to pick an argument with the Dirt Bag. If I was a tad bit tougher I would have kicked this guy’s ass, performed 20 one-handed push ups, and left the bar with the billiards girls in my H-3. Sweet dreams.
I decided to tell the guy that I liked guys, just to be that guy. At this very moment my actuarial evaluation would have dropped by approximately 10-15 years due to impending homocide. His little racist eyes began to bleed, and my feet began to slowly move away from psycho boy. My specious claim completely dumfounded the nut job. He gazed right through me, and I nodded to him, then, the kicker, I told him I was leaving to meet my boyfriend, tootles. But before I left the bigot looked like he was trying to climb out of his skin. He told me I was going to hell, he also wished he could send me there. But he moved so far away from me that I could barely hear his nearly inaudible threats. I think he was afraid that my counterfeit homosexuality would have jumped off and given him the gay, moron.
In all honesty I was legitimately scared, in fear, so I left. I left the girls and the possibility of meaningless sex. But I still left a happy and satisfied man. Take that bigotry.
He tells me that he hates gay people so much he just can’t stand it. He tells me that you never can tell who is gay or straight these days. I am trying to walk away from this man and still remain close enough to flirt with our targets for the night.
Side Note:
We had the billiards girls within our grasp. They were flirting back with us and my friend had even joined there game, I played the too cool to play card. I love that card, I keep it next to my library and visa card. If we had walked away from the ladies the swarm of horny men that felt they could imitate our success would have moved in. The bar scene is a very delicate one. Most men are afraid of women, but if they notice that other men are having some success they would love nothing more than to take over. Most men would rather eat the meal than catch it, forgive the poor analogy but, c’est la vie.
Back to the Story:
So the dirt bag decided to ask me what my persuasion was. My persuasion. Now every one of y’all know that I am a lover of women, and only women. But I also love playing the role of contrarian, and would love to pick an argument with the Dirt Bag. If I was a tad bit tougher I would have kicked this guy’s ass, performed 20 one-handed push ups, and left the bar with the billiards girls in my H-3. Sweet dreams.
I decided to tell the guy that I liked guys, just to be that guy. At this very moment my actuarial evaluation would have dropped by approximately 10-15 years due to impending homocide. His little racist eyes began to bleed, and my feet began to slowly move away from psycho boy. My specious claim completely dumfounded the nut job. He gazed right through me, and I nodded to him, then, the kicker, I told him I was leaving to meet my boyfriend, tootles. But before I left the bigot looked like he was trying to climb out of his skin. He told me I was going to hell, he also wished he could send me there. But he moved so far away from me that I could barely hear his nearly inaudible threats. I think he was afraid that my counterfeit homosexuality would have jumped off and given him the gay, moron.
In all honesty I was legitimately scared, in fear, so I left. I left the girls and the possibility of meaningless sex. But I still left a happy and satisfied man. Take that bigotry.
Sex in the Dark
Sex in the dark can be scary. Things get bumped into. The wrong areas maybe fondled, pain inducing instead of ohhh baby, ohhh ohhh yeah , pleasure inducing. Sex in the dark is safe, not just for women, but in this case, the sex was light less because of the woman.
I knew this lovely young lady, who is 5 years my junior, which makes Einstein 25 and The Slut 20. Cradle robber, I am the Jesse James of the vagina game….did you get it, it was a joke from the wild wild west, I call it a wild wild joke, hmmmmmmmm in print that doesn’t come off as humorous as it did in gray matter (my brain)- puke.
So back to The Slut, I knew The Slut from The Sushi Place I eat The Dinner twice a week. I flirted with her by of course asking dumb questions about sushi, oh and this is a good one, I flirted the shit outta her when instead of tipping her 15% or even 20% I thought I could be a balla and tip her a whopping 50%, holla. Yea I fell into the dreaded Hooter’s Trap, create rapport, smile, bend over a little, seduce horny naïve patron into tipping like the Titanic in an attempt to get Hooter’s girl to love you….never works, I know, God do I know.
So after my repeated attempts failed I decided to introduce her to my foot long penis and sex followed instantly, boo-ya. Soooooooo………that never happened, that was actually taking place in the pornographic movie my eyes were fixated upon as I tried to type. Well ok I will do it, just this time, porno paused, blogo un-paused (Still haven’t called it a “blog” yet, and blogo does not count).
In reality I introduced myself after she initiated conversation by telling me that I showed up at The Sushi Place a lot. I told her the food was ok, but I came for the service.
How smooth was that, playa playa , but I felt bad because the food was the shit, I am telling you this sushi makes B-B-B-Benny and the Jets rejoice, and harmonize in a way few women can.
So The Slut and I struck up a friendship, and by friendship I mean, she thought we were friends and I thought, how can I plow through this chick, ahhhhhhhh friendship. So I took her out to dinner a long time ago
Side Note:
I am a douche sometimes, I am very aware, and this is evidence supporting the case for my douche baggery, I took her to the very place she works………did I mention that the sushi is the su-shit. Ummmmmmm, hold on I have to plunge my penis into a bucket of ice water, due to my sushi boner. Aaaaaaaaaaaand I’m back
So after that dinner a long time ago, I kissed her and then blew her off a tad bit. If you make a woman think that your time with her was ok, not great they will like you more, but only after date 1, after that, well after that I have no effing idea.
So fast forward to a couple nights ago.
The Slut waited on me at The Sushi Place and then I asked if she would like to come over and watch a movie, I wanna Fuck. Maybe we could rent 3:10 to Yuma, not a great date movie, I want your panties on the floor. Or we could get ice cream, please let me bang you.
So we watched 3:10 to Yuma which is as datey of a movie as Passion of The Christ is. The Slut cried, damn you Russell Crowe. Need to squelch tears. So I made fun of her for crying, damn you 3rd grade Einstein, stop pushing down the girl you like.
So we spent the night together and I just- puke in my mouth- held her. Ok tough guy role over, I liked holding her, cuddling, as befuddling as it may be, is not as egregious an act as many men make it out to be. So I held her and snored into her petite little ear all night long. her whole body was petite not just her ear, otherwise she would have been a circus freak, and that ain't bringing sexy back, whatever.
Then in the morning she woke up. What woke her up you may ask……..I’ll tell you, breakfast bitches, breakfast made by yours truly, eggs, English muffins, orange juice, and a coffee from Malaysia. After we ate, we fucked. Sex is the breakfast of championship gladiators.
We kissed from the kitchen to the bedroom. Great kisser. I was naked and she was in her unmentionables, which I just mentioned, wow body of the year.
Time The Fuck Out
She is a great kisser, she didn’t mind my snores, she cuddles well, her body is the cat’s meow, and she,…..wait for it……..is bendy……Maybe I should date her. She seemed hard to get and did I mention her hair flowed like exuberant waterfalls in Babylon.
We laid together in my bed.
Do you have condoms
Yes, yes I do
Can you shut the door and the blinds completely, I am shy, I prefer the dark.
Yes, wow, lascivious and humble, jackpot, Banker I would like to take this deal.
So light was eliminated, Day of Judgement style, we began and it didn’t end for a while. We were good, our bodies like the final two pieces to a 1000 piece puzzle. A puzzle, a puzzle we completed, coincidentally the 1000 piece puzzle was of two people having sex, but go with me here.
She was breathing deep, whispering into my ear, scratching my back (not too hard because I bleed easily), and then I had a judgement to make. As she gripped the back of my head in one hand and my hip with the other, in between breathy shrieks of ecstasy, she yelled out a name. If it had been my name I would have typed- she yelled out my name, but she didn’t. She yelled out another man's name. I froze. Tag my toe, because cadaver is what I was at that exact, ughhhhhhhhh just reliving the moment through words is harrowing.
Sex in the dark can be scary, especially when it brings illumination to your flawed judgement. So this lovely, unattainable woman became The Slut, and we will never date, or have sex again………but at least the sushi still tastes the same.
I knew this lovely young lady, who is 5 years my junior, which makes Einstein 25 and The Slut 20. Cradle robber, I am the Jesse James of the vagina game….did you get it, it was a joke from the wild wild west, I call it a wild wild joke, hmmmmmmmm in print that doesn’t come off as humorous as it did in gray matter (my brain)- puke.
So back to The Slut, I knew The Slut from The Sushi Place I eat The Dinner twice a week. I flirted with her by of course asking dumb questions about sushi, oh and this is a good one, I flirted the shit outta her when instead of tipping her 15% or even 20% I thought I could be a balla and tip her a whopping 50%, holla. Yea I fell into the dreaded Hooter’s Trap, create rapport, smile, bend over a little, seduce horny naïve patron into tipping like the Titanic in an attempt to get Hooter’s girl to love you….never works, I know, God do I know.
So after my repeated attempts failed I decided to introduce her to my foot long penis and sex followed instantly, boo-ya. Soooooooo………that never happened, that was actually taking place in the pornographic movie my eyes were fixated upon as I tried to type. Well ok I will do it, just this time, porno paused, blogo un-paused (Still haven’t called it a “blog” yet, and blogo does not count).
In reality I introduced myself after she initiated conversation by telling me that I showed up at The Sushi Place a lot. I told her the food was ok, but I came for the service.
How smooth was that, playa playa , but I felt bad because the food was the shit, I am telling you this sushi makes B-B-B-Benny and the Jets rejoice, and harmonize in a way few women can.
So The Slut and I struck up a friendship, and by friendship I mean, she thought we were friends and I thought, how can I plow through this chick, ahhhhhhhh friendship. So I took her out to dinner a long time ago
Side Note:
I am a douche sometimes, I am very aware, and this is evidence supporting the case for my douche baggery, I took her to the very place she works………did I mention that the sushi is the su-shit. Ummmmmmm, hold on I have to plunge my penis into a bucket of ice water, due to my sushi boner. Aaaaaaaaaaaand I’m back
So after that dinner a long time ago, I kissed her and then blew her off a tad bit. If you make a woman think that your time with her was ok, not great they will like you more, but only after date 1, after that, well after that I have no effing idea.
So fast forward to a couple nights ago.
The Slut waited on me at The Sushi Place and then I asked if she would like to come over and watch a movie, I wanna Fuck. Maybe we could rent 3:10 to Yuma, not a great date movie, I want your panties on the floor. Or we could get ice cream, please let me bang you.
So we watched 3:10 to Yuma which is as datey of a movie as Passion of The Christ is. The Slut cried, damn you Russell Crowe. Need to squelch tears. So I made fun of her for crying, damn you 3rd grade Einstein, stop pushing down the girl you like.
So we spent the night together and I just- puke in my mouth- held her. Ok tough guy role over, I liked holding her, cuddling, as befuddling as it may be, is not as egregious an act as many men make it out to be. So I held her and snored into her petite little ear all night long. her whole body was petite not just her ear, otherwise she would have been a circus freak, and that ain't bringing sexy back, whatever.
Then in the morning she woke up. What woke her up you may ask……..I’ll tell you, breakfast bitches, breakfast made by yours truly, eggs, English muffins, orange juice, and a coffee from Malaysia. After we ate, we fucked. Sex is the breakfast of championship gladiators.
We kissed from the kitchen to the bedroom. Great kisser. I was naked and she was in her unmentionables, which I just mentioned, wow body of the year.
Time The Fuck Out
She is a great kisser, she didn’t mind my snores, she cuddles well, her body is the cat’s meow, and she,…..wait for it……..is bendy……Maybe I should date her. She seemed hard to get and did I mention her hair flowed like exuberant waterfalls in Babylon.
We laid together in my bed.
Do you have condoms
Yes, yes I do
Can you shut the door and the blinds completely, I am shy, I prefer the dark.
Yes, wow, lascivious and humble, jackpot, Banker I would like to take this deal.
So light was eliminated, Day of Judgement style, we began and it didn’t end for a while. We were good, our bodies like the final two pieces to a 1000 piece puzzle. A puzzle, a puzzle we completed, coincidentally the 1000 piece puzzle was of two people having sex, but go with me here.
She was breathing deep, whispering into my ear, scratching my back (not too hard because I bleed easily), and then I had a judgement to make. As she gripped the back of my head in one hand and my hip with the other, in between breathy shrieks of ecstasy, she yelled out a name. If it had been my name I would have typed- she yelled out my name, but she didn’t. She yelled out another man's name. I froze. Tag my toe, because cadaver is what I was at that exact, ughhhhhhhhh just reliving the moment through words is harrowing.
Sex in the dark can be scary, especially when it brings illumination to your flawed judgement. So this lovely, unattainable woman became The Slut, and we will never date, or have sex again………but at least the sushi still tastes the same.
A Hitchhiker's Guide
Driving around in my automobile, dadoom dadoom dadoom, something something shit crap poop. On a serious tip though, I was driving home from work. As I drive I look around for rogue prosititues, just in case, and I saw this sign.
This sign changed my mission. Bye bye prostos, hello convictos. This sign made me want to pick up a hitchhiker sooooooooo bad. Prison area my ass. What if this ex-con was a young banker named Andy Dufresne that was wrongly convicted of murdering his wife...hmmmmmmmmm, you think about that cunt faces. What if Andy- played by Tim Robbins- had a case of Red Bull and offered me one. Why thank you Andy, how magnanimous, of you. So, sorry you were raped and sodomized by "The Sisters"……
True Story Alert
I was picked up once by a man in a white Buick. He was cool as the other side of the pillow. My Grand Am decided to die, and I decided to walk. I was on the highway. Then this grizzled man with a face chiseled out of cheap counter top pulled over and picked your hero up.
Where you headed
To blah blah blah, about 30 miles in that direction
Hop in
Hells yeah
So I hopped in, literally I hopped, I had a blister, fuckin Doc Martins, that is what I get for trying to keep up with the Joneseseseses. I was a bright eyed 18 year old virgin, alcohol had yet to enter my blood stream, let alone any other drug, hallucinogen, downer, upper, or in betweener. Hey you want to hit this joint young man, he says. I wince, because I was a bigger bitch then than I am now, so I thought, holy shit- a jail cell will meet me tonight, “The Sisters” will get me, I am way prettier than Andy Dufresne, I would be the Angie Jolie of prison, ohhhhhh my poor poor bottom.
No thanks mister, I- I- I- just want to get home.
Well home is where he took me, but he smoked the shit out of said joint and I wet the shit out of my cargo pants (another attempt by me to be cool, ouch, just so you can complete this mental Picasso I had on Doc Martins, Cargo Pants, and an American Eagle t-shirt, how suburban, it was as if an Abecrombie employee puked, and out came my outfit, yech). Well driver man asked if I wanted to roll with to his bitch’s crib, which was a trailer, maybe I could throw it in her sister, she was promiscuous. But she was promiscuous before Nelly Furtado made it hip, oh yeah I did mention that virginity and I were bosom buddies, Cagney and Lacey- I was probably Lacey, where was I. Ahhhh yes, so driver man took me home after he saw the wet spot on my pants and I thanked him by making him drop me off half a mile from my house and sprinting, Carl Lewis-esque away from his ride, what a nice guy.
So in closing, hitchhikers maybe cool or criminal or they could be punk ass bitches like 18 year old me.
What Are You?
What are you? What the fuck kind of question is that. What are you? So my olive complexion, which is as natural as the green grass I wish would grow instead of the snow I am forced to contend with on a daily basis. Olive, not clear cut like black or white, my eyes are big and my hair is stubborn, so what am I.
I almost wanted to reply- I am your worst nightmare you shriveled up little bitch, oh yeah your boobs aren’t symmetrical, take that, cunt face.
Or I could have went with, I am a cool ass mofo, and asking a man, a grown ass, pubic hair owning man what he is, is not so cool.
Well guess what your protagonist decided to retort with. Well, I told her what I was. Race, age, food allergies, preferred sexual positions….everything.
I have a theory----wait for it-----I am trying to climb onto my soap box, which is a quite a task, since I loathe soap boxes, but alas, from time to time I take the hike.
80% of people are sheep, herded by the 10% of people that are exemplary, outstanding, intelligent, blah blah blah. I know what you are thinking, Sexy Einstein, your math sucks, that equals 90%, please say you can do simple arithmetic, please Sexy Einstein, well ok kiddies. That 10% you refer to is none other than the retarded sect of society. That section…. that section is far too ugghhh, far too trite and commonplace, too vomit inducing to be considered sheep. They yearn to be sheep, she was one of those 10%. But once again I lost my words, and my courage. Poor lady, poor me.
I almost wanted to reply- I am your worst nightmare you shriveled up little bitch, oh yeah your boobs aren’t symmetrical, take that, cunt face.
Or I could have went with, I am a cool ass mofo, and asking a man, a grown ass, pubic hair owning man what he is, is not so cool.
Well guess what your protagonist decided to retort with. Well, I told her what I was. Race, age, food allergies, preferred sexual positions….everything.
I have a theory----wait for it-----I am trying to climb onto my soap box, which is a quite a task, since I loathe soap boxes, but alas, from time to time I take the hike.
80% of people are sheep, herded by the 10% of people that are exemplary, outstanding, intelligent, blah blah blah. I know what you are thinking, Sexy Einstein, your math sucks, that equals 90%, please say you can do simple arithmetic, please Sexy Einstein, well ok kiddies. That 10% you refer to is none other than the retarded sect of society. That section…. that section is far too ugghhh, far too trite and commonplace, too vomit inducing to be considered sheep. They yearn to be sheep, she was one of those 10%. But once again I lost my words, and my courage. Poor lady, poor me.
Words into Wine
This is my winery. This is where my words will be harvested and turned into whine. Every angry, red, post will be a result of my drunken rage, and every white will be a result of a felicitous writer in the clutches of happiness. I hope you become an alcoholic addicted to my whine, I hope you have many failed attempts at rehab trying to flush my wine from your veins, or at the very least ingesting my whine becomes a ritual. I am sure this has been written innumerable amounts of time, but this is not an attempt to change anything. These are words, nothing more, sometimes less. I will write about anything ranging from the presidential qualities of a certain person to why I masturbated twice yesterday. This will be as personal as an online journal written by a nobody in anonymous-ville can be. So maybe you should shut the fuck and write an entry with some meaning to it- I hear you, and I will. Hasta.
Ps. I like the phrase Hasta la Vista, but I am too lazy too type it out or to formulate the complete phrase, so Hasta it is, no go on.
Ps. I like the phrase Hasta la Vista, but I am too lazy too type it out or to formulate the complete phrase, so Hasta it is, no go on.
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