A buddy of mine burst into my room the other night sweating bullets. Instantly I thought he was trippin' on some drugs or maybe he just murdered someone; but to my dismay it turned out much worse.
He had gotten a girl pregnant.
Sitting down and lighting a cigarette, he starts ranting about how his life is over if the kid is his, how he's just a student without a job or a means of making any sort of income and about something else... Honestly, I stopped listening because I was pretty upset he didn't knock before bursting in. It's not like I was mid-jerk or anything like that, but I was definitely at that stage where you sit around contemplating a good jerk.
From what I gathered (I'm no doctor or anything), he has ten months to sweat the fact this kid might be his. That's a wasted year in my books.
I love unprotected sex as much as the next guy, but how inconvenient can you get ladies?
Humans are the best species, we've dominated this to that and everything in between. My question is simple:
Why haven't we made the pregnancy shorter?
We've gotten to an age where our internet is so fast I can't even get my pants off before Sasha Grey loads on my screen. So why're still waiting around for children?
Learning things from other animals is quite valuable to humans... And it seems as though I'm the only one who sees this value.
I started fucking eastern barred bandicoots after I had come across an interesting tidbit of information. Their pregnancy lasts twelve days, which so happens to be the perfect amount of time for this season.
Not only is it a short pregnancy, but bandicoots are fuckin' awesome in bed. Oh, and here's another plus... If the baby has no human qualities you're not a daddy, and if it does have human qualities? Free bandicoot/human pet.
Sorry ladies, I'm not into raw-doggin' you anymore. I'm into raw-cootin' now.
I just feel that the minute-and-a-half in paradise doesn't stack up to the year of stress. I can handle twelve days just for givin' a bandicoot a creampie; that's less than two weeks.
Just want to end this post with a shoutout to Jordan K., I hope everything works out with the girl and the kid man. <3
11/18/10
9/19/10
Quickie
My friend Tina asked me, "If I could go back in time and bang anyone, who would I bang?"
I wasn't gunna lie; I told her I'd go back and bang her mother, so when she called me "daddy" in bed it'd be more believable.
I wasn't gunna lie; I told her I'd go back and bang her mother, so when she called me "daddy" in bed it'd be more believable.
8/24/10
Dreengay, get it?
Can someone tell me how Greenday got their own musical? They aren't talented and it's a bit of a bitchslap to the faces of the men and women who took time to compose music for Broadway.
At what point was a producer listening to "Dookie" and thought, "this'll make a magnificent show?"
I guess they figured they could sell out the show with horny, trend-eating high school and middle school girls.
By the way, if you write music for the same demographic as Taylor Swift, you deserve to choke on your own shit that's being shit out of the ass of your bandmate who ate your shit just a minute ago.
So Greenday is just in a perpetual shit-eating circle.
At what point was a producer listening to "Dookie" and thought, "this'll make a magnificent show?"
I guess they figured they could sell out the show with horny, trend-eating high school and middle school girls.
By the way, if you write music for the same demographic as Taylor Swift, you deserve to choke on your own shit that's being shit out of the ass of your bandmate who ate your shit just a minute ago.
So Greenday is just in a perpetual shit-eating circle.
Laid Off / Tornado
I think people are getting too riled up about things now-a-days. I mean, it's cool to be passionate about stuff, but some people just get too angry.
Abortion.
I have no opinion whatsoever. First of all, I don't have a vagina. Secondly, I've never been in the situation (refer to the first point). But, I do think the word abortion makes abortions seem much worse. So, to settle people down, I suggest we switch the word with something else. I propose we call abortions "getting laid off." So, instead of getting "laid off" from your job you get "aborted." Now you can redirect all your abortion anger at your workplace.
It works out for the better, you lose your job, you're pissed, and the fact you've been aborted doesn't help. But your daughter, she just got laid off... You can be a bit more sympathetic towards her.
See? Little switches in our vocabulary can work wonders for the nation's mood. We're still all heated over gay marriage, another thing I have no opinion for. But, I understand both sides. Personally, I don't think Christians hate gay people, I just think Christians assume gays are too new in society to be doing an old thing like marriage (someone forgot to remind Christians the homos love retro things).
So, why don't we switch the phrase "gay marriage" with the word "tornado?" First, how cool of a word is "tornado?" That's a steal for the homos. Even I wanna get tornadoed and I don't even like cock. So instead of Christians getting angry at gays getting tornadoed, they get angry at all the gay marriages in Gay Marriage Valley out in the midwest.
Tornadoes will be similar to regular marriages, just one minor difference: No rings for your fingers. Cockrings and pussyrings.
Why cockrings and pussyrings? Simply because tornadoes mix things up. The genders at the ceremony, the sex on the honeymoon, where the rings go, etc. It'll all be mixed up. That's why tornado is such a fitting name.
Not to mention... Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt would probably attend huge tornadoes for big, gay Hollywood couples.
Abortion.
I have no opinion whatsoever. First of all, I don't have a vagina. Secondly, I've never been in the situation (refer to the first point). But, I do think the word abortion makes abortions seem much worse. So, to settle people down, I suggest we switch the word with something else. I propose we call abortions "getting laid off." So, instead of getting "laid off" from your job you get "aborted." Now you can redirect all your abortion anger at your workplace.
It works out for the better, you lose your job, you're pissed, and the fact you've been aborted doesn't help. But your daughter, she just got laid off... You can be a bit more sympathetic towards her.
See? Little switches in our vocabulary can work wonders for the nation's mood. We're still all heated over gay marriage, another thing I have no opinion for. But, I understand both sides. Personally, I don't think Christians hate gay people, I just think Christians assume gays are too new in society to be doing an old thing like marriage (someone forgot to remind Christians the homos love retro things).
So, why don't we switch the phrase "gay marriage" with the word "tornado?" First, how cool of a word is "tornado?" That's a steal for the homos. Even I wanna get tornadoed and I don't even like cock. So instead of Christians getting angry at gays getting tornadoed, they get angry at all the gay marriages in Gay Marriage Valley out in the midwest.
Tornadoes will be similar to regular marriages, just one minor difference: No rings for your fingers. Cockrings and pussyrings.
Why cockrings and pussyrings? Simply because tornadoes mix things up. The genders at the ceremony, the sex on the honeymoon, where the rings go, etc. It'll all be mixed up. That's why tornado is such a fitting name.
Not to mention... Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt would probably attend huge tornadoes for big, gay Hollywood couples.
Faking It
I don't understand how a guy can be tricked by a woman when it comes to the orgasm. Faking it is very easy to catch, at least it is in my experience. But, I have a certain procedure when it comes to faking it. It's a simple method:
Identify
Call Shit
Resume
The easiest way to identify whether or not a girl is faking it is by going to the source. At the base of your cock, you should have the white ring (or Pandora's Donut as I call it). It's a white ring of female ejaculate and a pat on the back for a job well done. If it ain't there, don't panic... It doesn't mean she's faking it because this ring isn't foolproof.
So if it's not there, look for other signs. If your girl can say a full sentence in the middle of being nailed, she's faking it.
"Oooh! I wanna cum at the same time, please!"
Nah.
If there's a definite moment where she screams out in euphoric pleasure that exceeds that of anything else she's moaned all night, she's faking it.
"Yeah...
Yeah...
Yeah...
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! YEAH!"
That brings me to my next sign, overuse of the word "yes" or the phrase "right there." First of all, guys don't know where "right there" is, we can't navigate our cocks around corners or up alleys. If there was a cock joint, we'd be able to get "right there." But in reality, "right there" is just your vagina. We don't suddenly hit the right spot while we were nailing you in the same way for the last five minutes.
So if she's faking it, you gotta go to the next step. Calling her out on her shit takes some balls. If she's faking it, tell her to cut the shit out unless she wants a very real pregnancy. Threatening girls with pregnancy is pretty badass.
After the threat, she'll get real and be ready for step three. Resume sex! Drive it home in the silence you rightfully deserve. Because for some reason we hate women preserving our egos and faking it for us.
Identify
Call Shit
Resume
The easiest way to identify whether or not a girl is faking it is by going to the source. At the base of your cock, you should have the white ring (or Pandora's Donut as I call it). It's a white ring of female ejaculate and a pat on the back for a job well done. If it ain't there, don't panic... It doesn't mean she's faking it because this ring isn't foolproof.
So if it's not there, look for other signs. If your girl can say a full sentence in the middle of being nailed, she's faking it.
"Oooh! I wanna cum at the same time, please!"
Nah.
If there's a definite moment where she screams out in euphoric pleasure that exceeds that of anything else she's moaned all night, she's faking it.
"Yeah...
Yeah...
Yeah...
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! YEAH!"
That brings me to my next sign, overuse of the word "yes" or the phrase "right there." First of all, guys don't know where "right there" is, we can't navigate our cocks around corners or up alleys. If there was a cock joint, we'd be able to get "right there." But in reality, "right there" is just your vagina. We don't suddenly hit the right spot while we were nailing you in the same way for the last five minutes.
So if she's faking it, you gotta go to the next step. Calling her out on her shit takes some balls. If she's faking it, tell her to cut the shit out unless she wants a very real pregnancy. Threatening girls with pregnancy is pretty badass.
After the threat, she'll get real and be ready for step three. Resume sex! Drive it home in the silence you rightfully deserve. Because for some reason we hate women preserving our egos and faking it for us.
Children.
I've realized that at this point in my life, I can die and it wouldn't matter. For me it's scary, no doubt, but for anyone else you shouldn't give a shit if I die.
The way I see it? When kids die, the tragedy is wasted. Timmy died today, his biggest accomplishment was spelling "tortoise" right in the 6th grade because he "couldn't read good."
Kids are so shitty and when they die people get so wrapped up in the "what if."
"If he lived, he could've been a doctor."
Does it really take your kid dying to actually have faith in him? When he was alive you were yelling at him for using his father's socks as cumrags, now he's gunna be a doctor?
Put it this way, when you're alive becoming a doctor is tough. When you're dead, it gets a little easier somehow. But again, it's all because of "what if." If "what ifs" were fishes, this place would smell like Lindsay Lohan.
Kids are so shitty. I feel like I'm part of a dying breed of decent human beings, and I'm the very worst of the breed too. I have absolutely no connection with people my age, mainly because so few of them find masturbation as funny as I do (it's hilarious).
Back to my original point, it doesn't matter when kids die because we're just here doing nothing. When we die, it just means we're out of the race, we have zero effect on anything at this age.
Kids aren't the future, we're going to be the future. Right now, we're smelly, self-indulgent pricks who honestly just want to stick our dicks in something or rub our pussies against something. That's all it boils down to. We suck. Don't cry when one of you drunk adults hit a boy or a girl with your car. What you should do is wonder why that adult was drinking in the first place, it's probably more tragic than the kid dying. Shitty marriages, murder, adultery... Something you can sink your teeth into.
For the record, I'd like to state that I am actually glad when kids my age die. It means more for me. My chances at doing anything ever go up a slight percentage.
The way I see it? When kids die, the tragedy is wasted. Timmy died today, his biggest accomplishment was spelling "tortoise" right in the 6th grade because he "couldn't read good."
Kids are so shitty and when they die people get so wrapped up in the "what if."
"If he lived, he could've been a doctor."
Does it really take your kid dying to actually have faith in him? When he was alive you were yelling at him for using his father's socks as cumrags, now he's gunna be a doctor?
Put it this way, when you're alive becoming a doctor is tough. When you're dead, it gets a little easier somehow. But again, it's all because of "what if." If "what ifs" were fishes, this place would smell like Lindsay Lohan.
Kids are so shitty. I feel like I'm part of a dying breed of decent human beings, and I'm the very worst of the breed too. I have absolutely no connection with people my age, mainly because so few of them find masturbation as funny as I do (it's hilarious).
Back to my original point, it doesn't matter when kids die because we're just here doing nothing. When we die, it just means we're out of the race, we have zero effect on anything at this age.
Kids aren't the future, we're going to be the future. Right now, we're smelly, self-indulgent pricks who honestly just want to stick our dicks in something or rub our pussies against something. That's all it boils down to. We suck. Don't cry when one of you drunk adults hit a boy or a girl with your car. What you should do is wonder why that adult was drinking in the first place, it's probably more tragic than the kid dying. Shitty marriages, murder, adultery... Something you can sink your teeth into.
For the record, I'd like to state that I am actually glad when kids my age die. It means more for me. My chances at doing anything ever go up a slight percentage.
8/23/10
My ass hurts :(
Recently, my uncle got a girlfriend. She's attractive, I guess, for a 40-year-old woman. But I do have my complaints... They aren't about her exactly, but she's a definite target of blame.
You see, my uncle has the desire to call me every time he takes a sexual step forward with this woman. I'll get calls in the middle of the night, dinner, breakfast, etc.
"Bro, I tore that ass up last night, rearranged her organs."
How do I reply to that? "Yeah? Did you make her cum? Where'd you nut?" There are no books for communicating with your uncle like this, because you shouldn't.
Here's another weird thing he's done: We were in the car together on our way to the city, prime time for my uncle to boast about his sexual endeavors with this woman. In this particular moment, he's telling me about how he gave it to this gal in the ass for the first time in her life. "Bro, I was like the Greek army."
All of a sudden he gets a text and being the responsible, law-abiding driver he is in the state of New York, he hands the phone to me. I casually take the phone and read it, thinking it'll be something unimportant.
"My ass hurts :("
It seems as though his girlfriend's ass hurt.
There was not an ounce of embarrassment in my uncle, he didn't even miss a beat. Instead, he started dictating and I started recording, uncomfortably may I add.
"It's supposed to, means I did it right."
"But I can't sit now... :("
"Get used to it, your ass is in trouble."
"Every time I see you, my ass and the back of my throat hurts."
"Good, now you remember me all day. I like packing it in tight."
So, here I am talking dirty to a 40-year-old woman for my uncle while he's driving... And when it's all done?
"Man, she's a good girl, don'tcha think?"
I just confirmed her assgaping later on that night, how can I possibly think she's a good girl? As far as I'm concerned, every time I look at her I'm just gunna think her gettin' Sasha Grey'd in the pooper.
You see, my uncle has the desire to call me every time he takes a sexual step forward with this woman. I'll get calls in the middle of the night, dinner, breakfast, etc.
"Bro, I tore that ass up last night, rearranged her organs."
How do I reply to that? "Yeah? Did you make her cum? Where'd you nut?" There are no books for communicating with your uncle like this, because you shouldn't.
Here's another weird thing he's done: We were in the car together on our way to the city, prime time for my uncle to boast about his sexual endeavors with this woman. In this particular moment, he's telling me about how he gave it to this gal in the ass for the first time in her life. "Bro, I was like the Greek army."
All of a sudden he gets a text and being the responsible, law-abiding driver he is in the state of New York, he hands the phone to me. I casually take the phone and read it, thinking it'll be something unimportant.
"My ass hurts :("
It seems as though his girlfriend's ass hurt.
There was not an ounce of embarrassment in my uncle, he didn't even miss a beat. Instead, he started dictating and I started recording, uncomfortably may I add.
"It's supposed to, means I did it right."
"But I can't sit now... :("
"Get used to it, your ass is in trouble."
"Every time I see you, my ass and the back of my throat hurts."
"Good, now you remember me all day. I like packing it in tight."
So, here I am talking dirty to a 40-year-old woman for my uncle while he's driving... And when it's all done?
"Man, she's a good girl, don'tcha think?"
I just confirmed her assgaping later on that night, how can I possibly think she's a good girl? As far as I'm concerned, every time I look at her I'm just gunna think her gettin' Sasha Grey'd in the pooper.
Swoo, damn!
As a pass-time, my uncle likes to take me cruisin' to look at women. Now, typically when I go out and do this I'll give the occasional catcall or stop to talk to a woman.
Not my uncle.
He just slows down and starts mumbling to himself sexually. And 99.9% of the time it's one of these three phrases:
"I hope she has health insurance." - This implies he'll fuck a girl so hard she'll be injured.
"Swoo, damn, I'd give her the ol' vertebreaker." - This implies he'll fuck a girl so hard she'll have spinal injuries, specifically.
Or, my personal favorite, "What's up sloppy?" - Which is saved especially for a girl attractive enough for my uncle to bang, but a little loose.
Not my uncle.
He just slows down and starts mumbling to himself sexually. And 99.9% of the time it's one of these three phrases:
"I hope she has health insurance." - This implies he'll fuck a girl so hard she'll be injured.
"Swoo, damn, I'd give her the ol' vertebreaker." - This implies he'll fuck a girl so hard she'll have spinal injuries, specifically.
Or, my personal favorite, "What's up sloppy?" - Which is saved especially for a girl attractive enough for my uncle to bang, but a little loose.
8/19/10
8/17/10
Quickie
Ever fantasize about a girl you know being nailed by a black guy?
I have.
It seems even in my own imagination black people make love better.
I have.
It seems even in my own imagination black people make love better.
8/8/10
Don't knock it 'til you try it.
For me, sex has only happened conditionally. There's something in this world that works against me that causes me to rely on some sort of x-factor for sex. I call it the sex factor. Whether it be I was the new guy in town, weed, alcohol, or some sort of arrangement was in play, this was the only way I could "get my D wet." This playa plays with handicap.
Even with handicap, conditions sometimes work against me.
I was friends with a gorgeous chick, one I'd see every day. I tried so hard to have sex with her but she was one of those fuckin' girls glued to her phone and used the word "ironic" when it wasn't applicable. Fact of the matter was she didn't "get me."
LOL ur so weird.
Regardless, one day she's goin' through her phone and says, "Ugh... My sister needs to get laid."
Playfully I comment, "I'll do it."
Now realize when a guy says that, there's a big part of him that prays for some inexplicable response.
"Really?" BAM. Yes. That's the one.
So now the playfulness fades and I take on dickmode. Dickmode is when your reasoning and thoughts become taken over by your cock.
"Yeah, really! She'll take anyone? When can I do it?"
She hits me back with, "What are you doing Friday?"
It doesn't fuckin' matter what I'm doin' Friday, because I'll be somewhere if there's guaranteed tang. So it was done; I got her sister's number and that was that. However, as I was walking away and regained normal composure I realized her sister was a fat girl I met at a party once.
I think.
I couldn't pass up the opportunity if I wasn't 100% sure she was fat. I couldn't just text her "u fat?" So I decided to take the high road and give myself an ultimatum:
Regardless of her size I would do this. So, if I didn't enjoy her tubby ass, I could then say, "I don't like fat chicks," with reason.
Note: I don't know if you've ever been engaged in a verbal contract of this sort, but when sex is guaranteed there are no filters on the conversations. You can't really "fuck it up." So, the days leading up to Friday she was very enticing.
Friday comes and I'm there at the specified time. I walk right in through the front door and look around at a grotesquely kept house. Already I wasn't thrilled... Please God, make her hot.
When she came into view it was a relief... My memory doesn't get impaired when I'm drunk; she would be the fattest girl I've ever touched. I weigh in around 190lbs. She was me, plus an infant... Who weighed 50lbs.
She wasn't even one of those chubby cute girls with a nice face and a good personality. She was fat everywhere and it was terrible. But I had to man up, this was the moment of truth for me. Could I truly have sex with the first and only fat girl in my life? Could I get it out of the way nice and early? I could. So I did.
Usually when I'm about to have sex with a girl, I try to keep as many articles of clothing on as possible. I'm pretty reluctant when it comes to undressing in front of women, mainly because they're usually more attractive than I am. But the fact of the matter here? I was the attractive one and it felt awesome. This was the kind of self-confidence I wish I always had. I literally jumped out of my clothes and flexed; I felt like a Roman God.
Mousouris, the God of Fatties.
So, it was time for oral sex. I had once heard that big girls gave good head, something to do with gravity or the fat in their face giving pressure around your rod.
It's a lie.
The fat in her face, neck and forehead made it impossible for her to open her mouth enough to keep her teeth off of my carrot. I don't even have a big penis, so the teeth were unnecessary. What was even worse was the noise. She sounded like someone fat giving head... The guttural grunts and slurping noises a fat person makes when eating a bucket of KFC resounded in the bedroom.
It was at this moment that I felt my shaft loosing firmness, I had to think quick because I didn't want to insult the girl. I figured it was time to do the do. I pulled down her spandex pants that are common for girls her size and drove it home.
Now, there's a common problem for meaty girls and guys with small penises. Sometimes your dick flops out, it's an easy fix too! You just stick it back in and continue without pause.
However.
She isn't a meaty girl. She's a fat girl. There's a big difference. When my dick flopped out, it did the usual upward thrust against her coochie instead of in her coochie (an event I call the safety slide when it happens normally). The deviation here was that I didn't know I flopped out, because where my penis usually safety slides, there was a hotdogbun-esque formation of moist fat that felt just like a coochie... When she corrected this I nearly died.
There was a brief minute where I was doing okay on her, but then she asked me to choke her. I have nothing against some sensual choking, but I couldn't get a firm grip around the lifesaver of a neck she had. It was like I was choking Chris Farley.
I couldn't take it anymore; I wound up laying back in the messy bed and masturbating next to her as she made some weird noises that ranged somewhere between delight and hunger.
Needless to say, I did it and I won't ever do it again.
Even with handicap, conditions sometimes work against me.
I was friends with a gorgeous chick, one I'd see every day. I tried so hard to have sex with her but she was one of those fuckin' girls glued to her phone and used the word "ironic" when it wasn't applicable. Fact of the matter was she didn't "get me."
LOL ur so weird.
Regardless, one day she's goin' through her phone and says, "Ugh... My sister needs to get laid."
Playfully I comment, "I'll do it."
Now realize when a guy says that, there's a big part of him that prays for some inexplicable response.
"Really?" BAM. Yes. That's the one.
So now the playfulness fades and I take on dickmode. Dickmode is when your reasoning and thoughts become taken over by your cock.
"Yeah, really! She'll take anyone? When can I do it?"
She hits me back with, "What are you doing Friday?"
It doesn't fuckin' matter what I'm doin' Friday, because I'll be somewhere if there's guaranteed tang. So it was done; I got her sister's number and that was that. However, as I was walking away and regained normal composure I realized her sister was a fat girl I met at a party once.
I think.
I couldn't pass up the opportunity if I wasn't 100% sure she was fat. I couldn't just text her "u fat?" So I decided to take the high road and give myself an ultimatum:
Regardless of her size I would do this. So, if I didn't enjoy her tubby ass, I could then say, "I don't like fat chicks," with reason.
Note: I don't know if you've ever been engaged in a verbal contract of this sort, but when sex is guaranteed there are no filters on the conversations. You can't really "fuck it up." So, the days leading up to Friday she was very enticing.
Friday comes and I'm there at the specified time. I walk right in through the front door and look around at a grotesquely kept house. Already I wasn't thrilled... Please God, make her hot.
When she came into view it was a relief... My memory doesn't get impaired when I'm drunk; she would be the fattest girl I've ever touched. I weigh in around 190lbs. She was me, plus an infant... Who weighed 50lbs.
She wasn't even one of those chubby cute girls with a nice face and a good personality. She was fat everywhere and it was terrible. But I had to man up, this was the moment of truth for me. Could I truly have sex with the first and only fat girl in my life? Could I get it out of the way nice and early? I could. So I did.
Usually when I'm about to have sex with a girl, I try to keep as many articles of clothing on as possible. I'm pretty reluctant when it comes to undressing in front of women, mainly because they're usually more attractive than I am. But the fact of the matter here? I was the attractive one and it felt awesome. This was the kind of self-confidence I wish I always had. I literally jumped out of my clothes and flexed; I felt like a Roman God.
Mousouris, the God of Fatties.
So, it was time for oral sex. I had once heard that big girls gave good head, something to do with gravity or the fat in their face giving pressure around your rod.
It's a lie.
The fat in her face, neck and forehead made it impossible for her to open her mouth enough to keep her teeth off of my carrot. I don't even have a big penis, so the teeth were unnecessary. What was even worse was the noise. She sounded like someone fat giving head... The guttural grunts and slurping noises a fat person makes when eating a bucket of KFC resounded in the bedroom.
It was at this moment that I felt my shaft loosing firmness, I had to think quick because I didn't want to insult the girl. I figured it was time to do the do. I pulled down her spandex pants that are common for girls her size and drove it home.
Now, there's a common problem for meaty girls and guys with small penises. Sometimes your dick flops out, it's an easy fix too! You just stick it back in and continue without pause.
However.
She isn't a meaty girl. She's a fat girl. There's a big difference. When my dick flopped out, it did the usual upward thrust against her coochie instead of in her coochie (an event I call the safety slide when it happens normally). The deviation here was that I didn't know I flopped out, because where my penis usually safety slides, there was a hotdogbun-esque formation of moist fat that felt just like a coochie... When she corrected this I nearly died.
There was a brief minute where I was doing okay on her, but then she asked me to choke her. I have nothing against some sensual choking, but I couldn't get a firm grip around the lifesaver of a neck she had. It was like I was choking Chris Farley.
I couldn't take it anymore; I wound up laying back in the messy bed and masturbating next to her as she made some weird noises that ranged somewhere between delight and hunger.
Needless to say, I did it and I won't ever do it again.
5/8/10
1/13/10
The people we hate... Revisited.
Well, I was confronted by the original JK on Facebook and this is what happened. He attempted to rewrite my little blurb about him and turn it around on me. He did a good job and I applaud him. But he fell right into the trap I wanted him to fall into, now I have pictures to post. You are the judges, who wins this little tiff?
Note: What does "I do find that I'm less funny than I actually am" mean?
Note: What does "I do find that I'm less funny than I actually am" mean?
1/12/10
Fond memories of my grandfather...
We all miss our grandparents after they pass, I especially miss my grandfather who passed in November (which was the reason I didn't post in December). I've finished grieving and now I need to share my fondest memory with all of you people. It is a tale that many believe is blasphemy, however I will assure you this is not embellished.
One afternoon just after school had let out and I had gotten home, I made my usual mega sized bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and locked myself in my room. As I jammed out to some tunes I got lost in the endless links to useless minutiae Wikipedia had to offer, it was my usual passtime. My grandfather sat in the next room over watching Judge Joe Brown. At this point in time he was competent and able to walk about, however the sickness made him too feeble to manage any other sort of physical activity. Needless to say, I rushed to the man's aid whenever he asked because I knew he was on his last leg.
The house was empty at an unusual hour because everyone had errands to run so it was just me and the good ol' Papou (that's grandpa in Greek). I heard the underbelly of his slippers stalking towards my door until finally his shaking hand reached for my doorknob. With an extremely loud creak from my unoiled door he politely poked his head through the door and announced, "I need to make-ey showera."
"I need to make-ey showera" was his way of saying, "I'm going to take a shower," in his heavily accented English. I gave him the affirmation and looked back to my computer screen... But something was off. He just stood there staring at me with a strange look. When I finally looked at him I realized what exactly the face entailed. It was the face you make when you don't have good news and neither of you are going to enjoy what's about to happen. That was the moment I realized I had to bathe my grandfather.
I sucked it up, damn it, I was going to do what I had to do for the man. He broke his back for about fifty years in the restaurant business so my father could eventually come to raise and support my slacker ass. I undressed the man, helped him in the shower and started scrubbing.
It wasn't bad, I lathered up the washcloth and cleaned the man pretty damn well. However, it seemed I wasn't thorough enough because he kept giving me the same look he gave me earlier. There was bad news and I knew exactly what it was...
I had to wash my grandfather's dick.
As if I were staring at the Grand Canyon like Mister Kenevil before he jumped it; I had to have the confidence and the preparation. I took a deep breath, reached down, gave it a quick scrub and got the fuck out of there. But still, he gave me those eyes.
I didn't wash his dick good enough. Every man knows you need to wash your dick thoroughly, with pride... It's your dick! So I sucked it up, took another breath and started washing my grandfather's salami like a man. I thought I did an awesome job... But I didn't. Those eyes were upon me again.
At that moment Morgan Freeman could've narrated, "It was this time, this look, a profound silence fell upon the boy."
I glanced down at his sausage and discovered something I had never stopped to think about. You see, my dick is missing an accessory. One could say my cock isn't in the season for a turtleneck but my grandfather's was. I had to pull the cowl of the one-eyed beast back and wash around his rim.
You're damn right I did it, and when I did do it I had somewhat of an epiphany. I was wielding the dick that created the dick that created my dick. And as I held this brilliant artifact in my mitt I felt energized... So energized I kinda wanted to wash my father's cock'n'balls next.
One afternoon just after school had let out and I had gotten home, I made my usual mega sized bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and locked myself in my room. As I jammed out to some tunes I got lost in the endless links to useless minutiae Wikipedia had to offer, it was my usual passtime. My grandfather sat in the next room over watching Judge Joe Brown. At this point in time he was competent and able to walk about, however the sickness made him too feeble to manage any other sort of physical activity. Needless to say, I rushed to the man's aid whenever he asked because I knew he was on his last leg.
The house was empty at an unusual hour because everyone had errands to run so it was just me and the good ol' Papou (that's grandpa in Greek). I heard the underbelly of his slippers stalking towards my door until finally his shaking hand reached for my doorknob. With an extremely loud creak from my unoiled door he politely poked his head through the door and announced, "I need to make-ey showera."
"I need to make-ey showera" was his way of saying, "I'm going to take a shower," in his heavily accented English. I gave him the affirmation and looked back to my computer screen... But something was off. He just stood there staring at me with a strange look. When I finally looked at him I realized what exactly the face entailed. It was the face you make when you don't have good news and neither of you are going to enjoy what's about to happen. That was the moment I realized I had to bathe my grandfather.
I sucked it up, damn it, I was going to do what I had to do for the man. He broke his back for about fifty years in the restaurant business so my father could eventually come to raise and support my slacker ass. I undressed the man, helped him in the shower and started scrubbing.
It wasn't bad, I lathered up the washcloth and cleaned the man pretty damn well. However, it seemed I wasn't thorough enough because he kept giving me the same look he gave me earlier. There was bad news and I knew exactly what it was...
I had to wash my grandfather's dick.
As if I were staring at the Grand Canyon like Mister Kenevil before he jumped it; I had to have the confidence and the preparation. I took a deep breath, reached down, gave it a quick scrub and got the fuck out of there. But still, he gave me those eyes.
I didn't wash his dick good enough. Every man knows you need to wash your dick thoroughly, with pride... It's your dick! So I sucked it up, took another breath and started washing my grandfather's salami like a man. I thought I did an awesome job... But I didn't. Those eyes were upon me again.
At that moment Morgan Freeman could've narrated, "It was this time, this look, a profound silence fell upon the boy."
I glanced down at his sausage and discovered something I had never stopped to think about. You see, my dick is missing an accessory. One could say my cock isn't in the season for a turtleneck but my grandfather's was. I had to pull the cowl of the one-eyed beast back and wash around his rim.
You're damn right I did it, and when I did do it I had somewhat of an epiphany. I was wielding the dick that created the dick that created my dick. And as I held this brilliant artifact in my mitt I felt energized... So energized I kinda wanted to wash my father's cock'n'balls next.
1/9/10
An important thing #2
So we all know the first important thing I wrote about, sandwiches, was a short, sweet little blurb of relentless truth. Sandwiches are honestly the perfect food especially if a woman makes it for you while she's naked. However, the next important thing I've to discuss cannot be made better by a woman. In fact, the next important thing is a delicate matter a woman can easily destroy with her nagging. The next important thing is shitting.
Now I try my hardest not to fall into that subcategory of pseudo-chauvinistic pricks who love reciting things they learned from the Alphabet of Manliness (I'm an actual chauvinistic prick who has a respect for Maddox). But I can't help but agree with everything that literary masterpiece happens to share and take a special liking to a specific point. Taking a dump is probably one of the greatest things a man can accomplish.
But what the book didn't capture was the importance of taking a doodoo. Men have three basic modes: eat, sleep and shit. When dropping a turdmonkey is 1/3 of all your modes you need to realize its importance.
The way I see it is men need to accomplish at least five manly things each day or else they'll become a JK. Shitting is a manly thing you can do every day to help meet your quota.
The best part?
If you've mastered shooting the asscannon as I have, you can butterslide the toilet five times a day and be in the clear. This is only allowed because shitting is the cornerstone of mankind.
Taking a dump is the most subtle obvious thing you can do. If you walk into a bathroom and lock the door behind you chances are you're sphinter-dragon is breathing some brown fire. However, it is not so overwhelming that it'll consume your time. The toilet is called the throne for a reason because when a man sits on it, he becomes a king. He can theorize, culture himself, break up with a girlfriend via text message and also call him mother. In other words, men enjoy shitting because they are optimizing their time while they sit down; they have complete peace to organize themselves, read, et cetera.
Here are a few things you can do while on the toilet:
1. Plot murder.
2. Beat God of War on the PSP.
3. Write this blog.
4. Masturbate.
5. Nap.
6. Fart as loud as you want and not be nagged.
7. Grow facial hair.
8. Masturbate.
Those are just a few suggestions to get your imagination going. Anywho, it's time to wipe so I'm gunna end this post. There's your second important thing.
Now I try my hardest not to fall into that subcategory of pseudo-chauvinistic pricks who love reciting things they learned from the Alphabet of Manliness (I'm an actual chauvinistic prick who has a respect for Maddox). But I can't help but agree with everything that literary masterpiece happens to share and take a special liking to a specific point. Taking a dump is probably one of the greatest things a man can accomplish.
But what the book didn't capture was the importance of taking a doodoo. Men have three basic modes: eat, sleep and shit. When dropping a turdmonkey is 1/3 of all your modes you need to realize its importance.
The way I see it is men need to accomplish at least five manly things each day or else they'll become a JK. Shitting is a manly thing you can do every day to help meet your quota.
The best part?
If you've mastered shooting the asscannon as I have, you can butterslide the toilet five times a day and be in the clear. This is only allowed because shitting is the cornerstone of mankind.
Taking a dump is the most subtle obvious thing you can do. If you walk into a bathroom and lock the door behind you chances are you're sphinter-dragon is breathing some brown fire. However, it is not so overwhelming that it'll consume your time. The toilet is called the throne for a reason because when a man sits on it, he becomes a king. He can theorize, culture himself, break up with a girlfriend via text message and also call him mother. In other words, men enjoy shitting because they are optimizing their time while they sit down; they have complete peace to organize themselves, read, et cetera.
Here are a few things you can do while on the toilet:
1. Plot murder.
2. Beat God of War on the PSP.
3. Write this blog.
4. Masturbate.
5. Nap.
6. Fart as loud as you want and not be nagged.
7. Grow facial hair.
8. Masturbate.
Those are just a few suggestions to get your imagination going. Anywho, it's time to wipe so I'm gunna end this post. There's your second important thing.
1/8/10
The people we hate.
I'm a slacker. I admit it. However, naturally bestowed "smarts" have launched me through high school and allowed me to score extremely high on my tests. That being said, I want to address the hard workers who are always hating on me. And for you I have this to say:
Fuck you and lick my balls.
I could really care less if anyone has animosity towards me. The truth is... I feed on it. I'm a fucking fiend. I'm likely evil. Possessed? Probably. But I don't look too much into that religious voodoo nonsense. All I know is that I'm clearly kickass at kicking ass and my balls are huge. Give me a fuckin' break, seriously, you're going to go to college and party, get a degree and likely make way more money than I am.
See what I'm getting at? You worked hard early so you could relax and enjoy your 20's. I've basically said... "Fuck it, I'm napping now and doing shit later."
Now when I graduate high school I'm going straight into the cutthroat world of entertainment. I'm going to come across some slimy assfucks and dirty Hollywood types after my mojo; all the while my money will be extremely tight.
Now that I've justified myself to you douchefags, I suppose it's time for me to lay hard into some of the people -I- hate.
JK's. AKA Tools.
JK's are the people who aren't funny, will never be funny, but will never stop trying to be funny. Some of you readers might be wondering why I call them JK's. Well my answer is pretty fuckin' simple folks. The first JK I ever met had the initials JK. So now I officially label these unfunny turdmonkeys JK. Redundant enough?
Most importantly about JK's are their ability to spread their bullshit into things we like. Much like Dirty Kids, JK's tend to like the same things as you, hang out with the same people and even post comments you don't really want to read on your Facebook when you clearly dreaded adding them in the first place.
Anyway, here's a list of shit I hate about JK's.
1. "Dude it was so fuckin' epic!" One of the many overused quotes.
2. Pseudo-intelligence. Yeah, they get good grades, but they got nothin' to show for it.
3. How pussy they sound when they use obscenities. I sound like a man.
4. Their hopelessness with girls.
5. Their constant consumption of trendy bullshit. Right now they all dress like fake frat dudes.
6. Once Kanye started rapping they all got on board and started listening to it.
7. Hang out with the cockteasing preppy gals thinking they'll get lucky. (See #4)
8. Uselessness despite being called a tool.
9. They outgrow their cuteness.
You should be honored to be in my blog, J-daddy..
Questions Only.
People, I love talking about myself. But I hate people who constantly question how/why/where I learned to do ANYTHING.
"How do you come up with blog material?"
"How do you think of jokes?"
"Where did you learn to act?"
"How do you profile people so well?"
"Where did you learn to eat pussy?"
"Why are you stomping on my puppy?"
I get it. I'm fuckin' intriguing. You wanna know how half of the shit I do starts? By thinking. Something none of the Questions Only populace do. Stop asking so many god damn questions and start thinking for once, Christ.
But I suppose I have to thank you people for giving me something to write about.
Herpes.
The next group of people are called herpes because they don't go away. They try to relate to you because they are so damn in love with your balls. This person is insignificant, they lead a perfect life and nothing bad happens to them for them to make jokes about. So they cling to you to laugh.
Do I look like a fuckin' clown?
If I had a gun, that'd be the line I say before I murder these people. They stick around despite your ignorance to them and they even posture up beside you when more people come to speak to you. They try to act like they know you well enough to answer questions for you.
Listen. When I get married, my wife's soul purpose in life will be to speak for me because my mouth will be full. Why? Because she'll be feeding me perfectly grilled steak from her vagina. If you don't have steak in your vagina, don't speak for me.
What irks me even more about all of the people listed above is their constant need to use big words around me. I don't have a big vocabulary and even if I did, I try to communicate in a way that everyone can understand. Not because I care, but because I want everyone to be insulted the moment I open my mouth.
So do me and all the other awesome people in the world a favor:
Get off our balls.
I'd say vagina too, but there aren't any awesome women... Unless they have a steak in their vagina.
Fuck you and lick my balls.
I could really care less if anyone has animosity towards me. The truth is... I feed on it. I'm a fucking fiend. I'm likely evil. Possessed? Probably. But I don't look too much into that religious voodoo nonsense. All I know is that I'm clearly kickass at kicking ass and my balls are huge. Give me a fuckin' break, seriously, you're going to go to college and party, get a degree and likely make way more money than I am.
See what I'm getting at? You worked hard early so you could relax and enjoy your 20's. I've basically said... "Fuck it, I'm napping now and doing shit later."
Now when I graduate high school I'm going straight into the cutthroat world of entertainment. I'm going to come across some slimy assfucks and dirty Hollywood types after my mojo; all the while my money will be extremely tight.
Now that I've justified myself to you douchefags, I suppose it's time for me to lay hard into some of the people -I- hate.
JK's. AKA Tools.
JK's are the people who aren't funny, will never be funny, but will never stop trying to be funny. Some of you readers might be wondering why I call them JK's. Well my answer is pretty fuckin' simple folks. The first JK I ever met had the initials JK. So now I officially label these unfunny turdmonkeys JK. Redundant enough?
Most importantly about JK's are their ability to spread their bullshit into things we like. Much like Dirty Kids, JK's tend to like the same things as you, hang out with the same people and even post comments you don't really want to read on your Facebook when you clearly dreaded adding them in the first place.
Anyway, here's a list of shit I hate about JK's.
1. "Dude it was so fuckin' epic!" One of the many overused quotes.
2. Pseudo-intelligence. Yeah, they get good grades, but they got nothin' to show for it.
3. How pussy they sound when they use obscenities. I sound like a man.
4. Their hopelessness with girls.
5. Their constant consumption of trendy bullshit. Right now they all dress like fake frat dudes.
6. Once Kanye started rapping they all got on board and started listening to it.
7. Hang out with the cockteasing preppy gals thinking they'll get lucky. (See #4)
8. Uselessness despite being called a tool.
9. They outgrow their cuteness.
You should be honored to be in my blog, J-daddy..
Questions Only.
People, I love talking about myself. But I hate people who constantly question how/why/where I learned to do ANYTHING.
"How do you come up with blog material?"
"How do you think of jokes?"
"Where did you learn to act?"
"How do you profile people so well?"
"Where did you learn to eat pussy?"
"Why are you stomping on my puppy?"
I get it. I'm fuckin' intriguing. You wanna know how half of the shit I do starts? By thinking. Something none of the Questions Only populace do. Stop asking so many god damn questions and start thinking for once, Christ.
But I suppose I have to thank you people for giving me something to write about.
Herpes.
The next group of people are called herpes because they don't go away. They try to relate to you because they are so damn in love with your balls. This person is insignificant, they lead a perfect life and nothing bad happens to them for them to make jokes about. So they cling to you to laugh.
Do I look like a fuckin' clown?
If I had a gun, that'd be the line I say before I murder these people. They stick around despite your ignorance to them and they even posture up beside you when more people come to speak to you. They try to act like they know you well enough to answer questions for you.
Listen. When I get married, my wife's soul purpose in life will be to speak for me because my mouth will be full. Why? Because she'll be feeding me perfectly grilled steak from her vagina. If you don't have steak in your vagina, don't speak for me.
What irks me even more about all of the people listed above is their constant need to use big words around me. I don't have a big vocabulary and even if I did, I try to communicate in a way that everyone can understand. Not because I care, but because I want everyone to be insulted the moment I open my mouth.
So do me and all the other awesome people in the world a favor:
Get off our balls.
I'd say vagina too, but there aren't any awesome women... Unless they have a steak in their vagina.
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