VICTORIOUS VOYEUR

I have this female neighbor whose bedroom is easily within view from my upstairs bedroom.  At night, around 6pm she goes up to her bedroom and proceeds to undress, in full view of everyone from her window.  She gets butt naked.  I watch her most nights in the cover of darkness.  So, last night I was peeping, as I usually do.  She was doing her usual thing; halter top off; shorts slid down; steps out of them; bra unclipped and removed; panties drop and then she heads out of view for a couple minutes to grab her iPod and comb for her hair.  So she went out of view and I had a few minutes to sit there, like always.  Out of anticipating boredom I start scanning the other houses in the immediate vicinity thinking I might get lucky and notice another backup nude chick.  I’m looking and looking and looking and….hey….what the?….  I winced my eyes to focus my night vision a little better and notice that just across the way there is another window with some jackass doing the same thing that I am!  Motherfucker!  I curse at him from my darkened bedroom perch, “Get your own god damn voyeur chick, this one is mine!” For the next 20 minutes the girl is combing her hair and rubbing lotion on herself, as usual, but I can’t fucking enjoy MYSELF because dickhead pervert across the way is obviously enjoying HIMSELF by how his window is steaming up.  What a PERVERT!  I was so distraught from the experience that I decided if he insists on looking as well, then I’ll have the better view, at least, and went out and bought a small pair of hunting binoculars the next day.  That night was pretty nice; the binos worked great.  I could see the color of her eyes now and that the tattoo on her inner hip was a pair of cherries, obviously indicating that she must like eating that particular fruit.  I looked over at that fucking douche bag with a smug smile and he knew there was no way he could see even close to the detail that I was.  The next night I was excited to use my binos again until I was shocked to see that Fuckstick now had a larger and obviously more expensive pair of binoculars of his own!  Asshole!  I wonder what the fuck he’s seeing with those things?!  Shit!  I hope he can’t see that ornament attached to her belly button ring with those!  The next night I came with guns-a-blazon.  I stole my nephew’s Junior Astronomer Telescope from his bedroom and it opened up a whole new world.  I could see individual strands of hair being combed, goose bumps on her breasts from the chill of her air conditioner, and finally the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ornament on her belly button ring!  Fantastic! …….wait a minute…..is that?  No! That motherfucker!  How did he know that….?  Look at the size of that telescope he’s got!!  It’s gotta be 5 feet long and a diameter of 2 feet!  You could see an alien’s dick on Neptune with that fucking thing.  What the hell is he looking at? Her DNA!?  I was sick and tired of this faggul’s antics!  So, I decided to just eliminate the competition rather than try and outsmart him.  You can’t get soft when it comes to these perverts.  He was looking at me with his fucking smug and cocky little face, thinking he’d won.  That is until the lights suddenly kicked on in his bedroom and two police officers, who got an anonymous tip about a peeping tom at that address, came and took him away.  Surprise shithead!  That dipshit should have known that when you throw one steak in front of two dogs that only one is gonna walk away full.  Fuck him! Now back to the show.

THE BELL CURVE OF BOSOMS

Every one, by now at least, has seen a T-shirt that says something like “These aren’t my eyes” or “My face is up here” (with an arrow pointing, at breast level, up towards the face).  The implication of the shirt being that women are annoyed at the fact that men stare at their breasts when they should be respecting them as an equal, rather than some sex object.  I can imagine, if I put myself in their shoes, that someone staring at my breasts all day would get rather irritating.  I was about to say “If someone was staring at my crotch all day” as a way to try and relate but that’s apples and oranges, cause I wouldn’t give a fuck, and, in fact, might appreciate someone staring at my junk on a regular basis.  Anyway, so everyone understands that staring at a woman’s breasts is considered rude and men try their best to fight that genetic urge. The thing is, is that, during their lifetime, women aren’t always so opposed to men staring at their bosom.  The BELL CURVE OF BOSOMS, as I like to call it, is what I use to try and understand this curious phenomenon.  

 The bell curve starts at the bottom when they are just going through puberty.  They don’t give a shit at this point; in fact, they probably wouldn’t even realize it if someone WAS looking at them.  They are just happy that they’ve moved out of the mosquito bite realm.  They then head into early womanhood and now are getting progressively more and more attention from the opposite sex.  This attention leads to self confidence and a raised self esteem and they may begin to even flaunt what God gave them.  They wear tighter and tighter clothing, lower v-necks exposing more cleavage, will spontaneously do jumping jacks, etc.  After that its college and we now have an explosion of hormones, sexual drive, freedom from parents, and youthful exuberance, all at once.  Titties start flying everywhere!  Wet T-shirt contests, booze cruises, frat parties, lesbian experimentation, Mardi gras, Girls gone Wild, etc.  Then they graduate college and need to get into the workforce.  So the titties, for the most part, get tucked away into business suits and more conservative clothing, still revealing some feminine traits, but considerably more subdued.  Now these guys that grew up with them didn’t forget the Mardi gras, Girls gone Wild, and those drunken frat party lesbian make-out sessions.  In addition, like I said, we have a genetic predisposition to stare anyways.  The business woman, mother, school teacher, etc., is now getting tired of the men now staring at her and becomes annoyed.  This annoyance turns into a full out opposition to the stare.  This then perpetuates itself for years.  The men around her begin to finally respect her for who she is and are pretty much well behaved and not constantly staring or are at least doing it discretely.  This is the peak of the curve.  As the woman gets older, however, she begins to lose her looks somewhat.  She may lose self confidence and self esteem because she feels she has lost that youthful femininity.  The bell curve begins, at this point, to drop back down.  She tries to rekindle that young girl that she has lost over the years.  Titties, that haven’t seen the sun’s rays in years, starting coming out again.  She starts hunting after the men who once stared at her breasts, but whom no longer will.  The cougar is born.  She wants to be stared at again like she used to be before she started scolding those gawkers of her middle aged years.  The bell curve has come back down to the bottom.  So you see, that is how I understand this phenomenon of the rise, fall, and the rise again of the titties.    

THE UN-GAY BOYS 2 (MAD MONEY)

So Rawbee and I decided we needed some extra cash so that we could buy some fly clothes and a new car to take bitches out to the clubs.  We were thinking about that shit for awhile an then suddenly an idea hit me!  I would go be a bartender at this gay club downtown called the CHOKING CHICKEN.  Since I know I’m totally not gay it’d be a piece of cake.  All I’d have to do is pour drinks for those flamers and pretend like I was gay, you know, flirting and shakin’ my butt and shit, what ever those gay boys do, and I’d be makin’ so many fucking tips it’d be crazy!  Then Rawbee came up with an idea too.  He’d go be a stripper at a gay strip club.  I was like “Hell, yeah brotha’, those queers will finally see how a REAL man dances, instead of that limp wristed sissy dancing they do!”  Rawbee figured he’d just do the helicopter with his dick a couple times and pick up a champagne glass with his butt cheeks, or whatever they’re into, and he’d make MAD money!  So, by the end of the week we were rolling in dough just like we had predicted!

[ME]  “Yo!  This shit was the perfect plan!  I made so much damn money at that bar. I made it rain dolla’ bills on them fools.”

[RAWBEE]  “Bro, I’ll bet that I’ve got you beat.  Just my tips on Thursday alone at the BLACK STALLION STRIP CLUB probably topped your WHOLE week’s worth.

[ME]  “ I dunno bout that, I was doing this shit called THE DRINKING FOUNTAIN, and those fags loved it!  I’d sit on the bar, you know, with just my thong on as usual, then I’d lean back and pour champagne onto my neck and it’d run down my chest and stomach, hit my belly button, and shoot out into some gay motherfucker’s mouth who was there waiting.”

[RAWBEE]  “Dumb queers probably got turned on by the shit, I’ll bet.”

[ME]  “Damn right they did!  This one dude, after drinking some of the champagne fountain, starting running his tongue from my belly button all the way to my neck where I was pouring it at.”

[RAWBEE]  “AH MAN!  That’s SO GAY!”

[ME]  “I know right?!  But check this out.  When the fruit finally licked his way all the way up to my neck, he looked into my eyes as I was still pouring and I said to him, I’LL BET YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE LICKIN’ UP ON ANOTHER FAG DIDN’T YOU?  WELL GUESS AGAIN!  CAUSE THIS..GUY…AIN’T…QUEER! HA!

[RAWBEE]  “Hahaa!  Oh shit son!  I bet he wasn’t expecting that shit was he!?”

[ME]  “Ha ha, hell no he wasn’t.  He gave me this look like I was just playin’ or somethin’ but he knew he fucked up!”

[RAWBEE]  “Ah man, that shit’s funny as fuck, but I gotchu beat!”

[ME]  “For real?  Cause that shit was pretty fuckin’ gay.”

[RAWBEE]  “It was, but check this out.  So I was doin this trick that these homos love called the LEMON DROP BEE BOP, where I Velcro a wine glass filled with a Lemon Drop Mojito onto the dance floor, I slide down the stripper pole with my legs spread wide onto the glass, I keep sliding down until the wine glass is up my ass to the stem, then I twirl on the pole until I’m upside down, the mojito pours into my ass, I twirl around again, placing the glass back on the dance floor with the drink still inside my ass and then stand up.  I then do a little dance to tease those fags some more, after that I squat back over the wine glass and pee the mojito back out of my ass into it, then drink it.  Those sick fucks go totally gay boy over that shit!  That’s how I make the mad money!

[ME]  “Damn bro, that shit is nuts!  To think you’ve got all those flaming cocksuckers thinking, that WHOLE TIME, that you are some butt pirate JUST LIKE THEM.  I’m actually impressed.

[RAWBEE]  “It’s crazy how dumb they are.  I’ve got them all fooled.  I even had this one queer come up to get my autograph.”

[ME]  “What an idiot!  Please tell me you signed some crazy shit to make him feel stupid.”

[RAWBEE]  “Shit, you know me.  I signed:  YOU JUST GOT PUNKED BY A STRAIGHT DUDE! HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES!  WITH LOVE, THE UNGAY BOYS!”

INADEQUATE ADAM

Adam gets picked on at work cause he’s a loser

Harry, a coworker, doesn’t have that problem because he’s not a loser

Adam messes up his paperwork sometimes and says the wrong things trying to be funny and fit in but it back fires and he gets scolded.

Harry is always on top of his paperwork and says the right things at the right time and is the life of the party

Adam stays late trying to catch up on work that he just can’t seem to get right

Harry takes off half day almost every day cause he likes to surf and wants to catch the tide

Adam goes home to a nagging wife that hates him cause he is so-so in bed and is generally a miserable human being

Harry is an awesome human being who goes home to a smokin’ hot wife who likes threesomes and used to be a porn star

Adam, at least, had his dog that loved him, until it got swooped up by a falcon then dropped from ten stories high down onto another dog, killing them both, and he’s now being sued over that.

Harry owns three prize winning show dogs and, unbeknownst to him, his lawyer is the one who is suing Adam over the falcon dog drop incident.

Adam just got demoted in his job due to corporate cutbacks designed to save the company money

Harry, on the other hand, just got promoted because his porn star wife got her stripper friends to give the boss and his buddies free lap dances.

Adam bought a filet knife and a sewing kit

Harry bought a Porsche and a new set of double EE breast implants for his wife

Adam killed Harry in the parking lot and took his body home

Harry got his skinned peeled off him like a fish and sewn into a full body suit

Adam is no longer Inadequate Adam; He’s Harry.

URINAL ETIQUETTE

Alright, I'll make this quick.  I've been noticing some serious slacking in urinal etiquette lately.  I'm not going to go over all the examples and rules of urinal etiquette as that would take quite awhile.  I'm just gonna touch on the basics and some errors I have noticed recently.  Starting with the first picture below:1ST PISSER: Always proceeds immediately to the end stall farthest from the door to avoid incoming traffic.

2ND PISSER:  It is preferred that they locate to the most distant stall from the other urinal pisser even if it's closest to the door.  It is not improper to be where this man is as he is correctly spaced, but it is not preferred.

3RD PISSER: As long as there is equal distant and a stall in between each pisser you are golden (no pun intended).

NO TALKING:  Talking is strictly forbidden, in general, but if a moderate light conversation is ABSOLUTELY necessary exceptions can be made for those that are AT LEAST two urinals distance away as to avoid accidental junk viewing.  In addition, it interrupts the sanctity of the piss.  The bathroom is a fortress of solitude for a man and his concentration should not be broken, especially by a fellow man.  His only time at peace is in the bathroom, don't rob him of his peace!

JUNK VIEWING: Obviously this is strictly forbidden.  Even in jest this is forbidden as a "pretend-to-view" can quickly and accidentally turn into a "oh shit-my-bad-didn't mean to-is that a wort or a zit?-never mind-view".  No one wants that, gay or straight, no one wants that.

ENCOURAGING MOCKING OF OTHERS JUNK:
Not cool!  If you are gonna bust on some dudes junk at least do it after you leave the bathroom.  Karma is a bitch.  Just cause his dick's smaller than a new born chicken's dick, doesn't mean that some mandingo motherfucker won't put YOU to shame next week.  Just not good etiquette.

CRUSADER OF THE T.P.

As Lord of the T.P.(post 06SEP2011) my goal was to establish my Kingdom, claim the Toilet paper from the available stalls, thereby creating a single source for shit paper, and then forming a peasant class which had no choice but to beg for my T.P, and could then be more easily converted to the faith.  Since then God has blessed me with much favor in that I now control, not only my own stall, but three of the five other stalls within the public bathroom.  My Kingdom has grown as has my dominance in the area.  I usurped two of the three stalls, which I now control, by locking the stall doors from the inside by reaching over from the other stall.  To outsiders, even though no feet were visible beneath the stalls the fact that the doors were obviously locked completely deterred even the most determined of them, thus forcing them to use the last two stalls.  On the third of three stalls I had conquered, I went so far as to put a pair of spare gym shoes at the base of the toilet itself.  As would-be Lords of the T.P. attempted to get into the stall they noticed the tips of shoes from beneath and were immediately ran off.  I was to be the ONLY Lord of the T.P. in this bathroom!  I was on a mission from God himself to vanquish the vile scum which attempted to inhabit the glorious stalls of Publicus Bathroomus, the land which I now claimed for my own and for the Almighty.  As I had previously stated; three out of five stalls had been conquered; leaving a stubborn two left.  The crowds were already surging around the row of stalls as only those last two were left to facilitate all needs of the scourge outside.  I was determined to take those last two from the demon spawn wishing to pray to their false porcelain gods.  Those hell beasts, who offered chocolate eggs to their evil spirits, within their swirling pools of despair and hate.  I SHALL CAST THE DEMONS FROM THE LAND OF GOD AND ALL SHALL KNOW THAT I AM HE WHO DOTH BROUGHT THE WRATH OF THE HEAVENS TO LIGHT THE PATH TO GLORY!!  I already had six converts to the faith who were ready to serve me as I saw fit.  I dictated my wishes to them that upon my exorcising the demons from the last two stalls they were to occupy the land and stand their ground.  I gathered frigid purified sink water in a bucket and with all the power I could muster, dumped it over the doors of both stalls.  The demons came bursting out in all their half naked filth, writhing, hissing, and screaming.  My apprentices quickly leapt into the open chasms of the stalls and slammed the doors shut barring the spawns of Satan from ever returning.  Despite brief yet passionate protests and howling by the demons, they eventually left, and thus all five stalls had been claimed for the Lord of the T.P., my followers, and for the glory of the Almighty!

PNEUMATIC EROTICA pt. 2

I’ve got something I gotta get off my chest.  I pussed out.  I did.  I had this grand plan of getting surgery to remove my genitals and install a motor controller box for a pneumatic penis assembly, but I chickened out. My whole plan, as I had outlined in (Pneumatic Erotica pt.1 28JUL2011), was to cryogenically preserve my genitalia in a jar for future use.  I didn’t want my penis and balls to lose their virility due to old age.  So, I figured that around the age of 102 years old I’d have them thawed out and reattached so that I could continue impregnating 20 year old college students for years to come.  The pneumatic assembly that would be installed into my groin, in the meantime, would suffice until that time came and still allow me to be fully functional and possibly even ENHANCED in the bedroom.  As the assembly had a quick-disconnect fitting, which was the only thing protruding out of the skin, I could attach any number of devices to it.  Attachments that act like a jack hammer where I wouldn’t even have to move and neither would she; another that satisfies every possible orifice of her body all at once; and yet another that would comb her hair and braid it while violating her anus; and yet another still that would give me a massage, and her a massage, and the other girl who joined in a massage, while punching a dude in his mouth, while jacking off a parrot.  Hell, if I wanted to I could hook up a pneumatic hose from my nub to my nail gun for roofing or my impact wrench for taking my car tires off.  Those are the kinds of bad ass attachments that the pneumatic assembly would have been capable of accommodating.  Like I said, though, I pussed out.  I couldn’t go through with it.  

 The funny thing is my brother Dusty, as you all read a little bit about in (HOT ROMANIAN TWINS 16AUG2011) kind of got the short end of the stick in life, if you know what I mean.  He’s somewhat inadequate.  My brother, however, unlike me, apparently isn’t a pussy.  This last weekend, I found out, he actually went and got the surgery.  He’s recovering right now in the hospital and in good health.  They are currently running diagnostics on his equipment such as speed checks, voltage tolerances, pneumatic line pressure checks, etc.  Now… he DID get the surgery, but I ALSO found out that it wasn’t exactly voluntary.  You see, my brother Dusty is, and always has been, an apotemnophiliac (someone who gets pleasure from self amputation or fulfillment from having limbs or body parts amputated).  He was just a toes guy at first, but having gotten down to only his big toe on his left foot in less than a week, I told him he might want to keep that one for balance at least, if anything, and slow down a little.  He would use a hammer and chisel to take his toes down digit by digit, and got off on it, but it never seemed to be enough for him.  Now, from what I’ve gathered, he got impatient just amputating his toes and decided to just go straight for the brass ring.  He took a hack saw to his dick and a sledge hammer to his balls.  Next thing he remembers is waking up in the hospital with nothing but a metal nub sticking out where his dick was and the Platinum Pussy Puncturer model of Pneumatic assemblies, the best on the market, installed.  He can thank his wife for that; she found him on the bed all fucked up and unconscious and called the ambulance.  They replaced what was beef jerky instead of gonads and now he’s a new man.  He couldn’t be happier.  He is also cured, apparently, of his amputation fetish.  I guess smashing your balls to paste and cutting your dick off will do that to a man.  Fuck Zoloft right?

THE UN-GAY BOYS

So my buddy, from work, and I were talking about how utterly and completely heterosexual we are.  How we epitomize manliness at every level all the way to our core.  We set the standard for straight-as-an-arrow masculinity.  In fact, we are so purely hetero male and completely comfortable in our own sexuality that we do things just to PROVE that we are über straight.  I, myself, at least once a week, go to the Rainbow Cactus Club and pick up the first guy I see, get him to buy me a drink, and then take him home and either bang him in the ass or let him bang me, you know, whatever!  I do this because I am SO absolutely sure of my heterosexuality that I test my metal with a gay man every week just so I can say, after getting that nut busted in my face by Hansel, the Norwegian exchange student, “Yep, I totally knew it, definitely still Hetero, just like I thought.”  The next day I come to work and bullshit with my buddy about it.  We’ll say shit like:

[ME]  “Bro, I was jackin’ this dude off last night, at my place, and he busted such a huge nut in my mouth that I could barely say the words: GET OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU FAG, CAUSE I AIN’T GAY LIKE YOU!” 

[RAWBEE] “No shit?  Aw man, yeah I got fucked in the ass last night by this gay ass Brazilian dancer, I was like, YOU HOMOS CAN’T FUCK AT ALL CAN YOU?  YOU GONNA BUST A NUT OR WHAT?”

[ME]  “Oh shit, that’s hilarious!”

[RAWBEE] “I know right.  So this dude FINALLY shoots his wad in my ass and I was like, ABOUT TIME GAY BOY! NOW GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE, CAUSE GUESS WHAT, I AIN’T GAY! SURPRISE!!”

[ME]  “Ha Ha, you told that motherfucker!” 

[RAWBEE] “Shit, I wish you were with me on Saturday night.  I had this one dude’s dick down my throat all the way to my tonsils.  I mean, I was starting to lose consciousness due to lack of oxygen.  Then I gagged, pulled his cock out, and threw up all over his sneakers.  Right after that I looked up at him, laughed, and said, I BET YOU THINK I’M LOOKING UP AT YOU CAUSE I’M GONNA SAY SOMETHING SEXY RIGHT? WELL, GUESS AGAIN! CAUSE THIS GUY AIN’T QUEER!”

[ME]  “Oh Shit bro, you actually said that shit?! That’s awesome! Ha Ha! You’re SO not gay and that dumbass probably didn’t even realize it!”

[RAWBEE] “I know right?  What a dumbass! Dude, it’s ridiculous how UN-GAY we are.”

[ME]  “You’re right about that brotha, let’s go to the REAL club tonight and bang some hot chicks!”

[RAWBEE] “Hell yeah bro!” 

CAT SUIT COMMANDER

I noticed something while my skull was getting molested by Suki, at the barber shop, yesterday (post "Suki's S&M Special" from 8SEP2011).  With all those guys she was “servicing” there were mounds and mounds of hair on the floor.  I asked Suki what she did with all that hair, if anything.  She said she takes it home and makes luxurious garment bags, hats, etc., out of it all.  She takes the hair, puts it on a spinning wheel and weaves it into thread like you would sheep’s wool or cotton.  With that hair thread she then crochets it into those items and sells them on Ebay for a shitload of money.  After hearing that I thought to myself “Damn, all that cat hair, from my five cats at home, that is coating the couches, chairs, floor, and every-fucking-thing else, I could put it to good use as well, just like Suki.  So that night when I got home I took my Dirt Devil portable vacuum and started sucking up every bit of cat hair I could find.  There were 12 Home Depot buckets full of cat hair when I was done.  At that point, I was fucking siked.  My brain was reeling with ideas of what to do with all that cat wool.  At that very moment all five of my cats came screaming into the living room where I was standing.  The first one, being chased by the second, who was being pursued by the third, and the fourth and fifth galloping behind the whole group as if motivating them to go even faster!  The first and second cats jumped onto the glass table in front of the couch knocking over a vase full of water and flowers which smashed on the floor, soaking the carpet.  The third and fourth cats who were hot on their heels couldn’t stop in time before hitting the cascade of water, from the vase, flowing off the table.  They freaked out and veered in all directions, knocking over my T.V., which promptly got smashed, they tore a hole in my couch and knocked over various other items.  Finally, the fifth cat, the last in the line, sees the chaos ahead that the other cats are in the midst of causing, and she panics too!  She hurtles herself out of the way of the mess and directly towards my face, and with its claws, uses my cheeks and forehead as a spring board for getting out of the way, tearing deep gashes in my flesh.  I howl in sharp pain! 

I was so furious at the lack of discipline in my felines that I spent the entire night manufacturing a suit made, completely, out of the fur I had accumulated earlier.  It was perfect!  It fit like a glove!  I was now ready to exert my power as the Overlord of the Cats.  I vowed, out of spite, to run the household as a you would a totalitarian regime.  I didn’t disappoint; the next morning I choke slammed the first cat I saw to set the tone for how things were now gonna be.  The other cats came in after hearing the first cat getting fucked up and started talking their usual shit in an attempt to intimidate me!  I kicked the second cat straight in the teeth and then promptly round housed the third.  By this point, the fourth and fifth ones had gotten the point and quickly fell in line.  I had reestablished my dominance as the head Cat in my household.  “Fuck these cats!” I said to myself,” I’m the king dick now!!”   

SUKI'S S&M SPECIAL

I was sitting in the chair of my local Barber shop getting my hippy-length hair trimmed down by Suki, my favorite Barber [ess].  You see, Suki (probably not her real name, but I don’t know it, so she gets the generic Asian woman name), has this special way of giving a haircut.  It’s the reason she always has a line of about 10 men waiting for her at any given time.  No, you pervert, there’s no happy ending, besides, that’d be pushing it a little don’t you think, considering it’s in a Barber Shop.  You’ve been drinking that blue water that the combs and scissors go into, haven’t you?  What is that shit anyway?  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s definitely Unicorn piss . . . okay, sorry, I’m getting off on a tangent . . . back to the story.  So, Suki is a slender, good looking for her age, 40-something Malaysian?... woman who, considering her talents in the Barbery Arts, was no way in hell a barber in her younger years prior to immigrating to the U.S.   I call her special haircut the Suki  S&M  Special.  She uses clippers for the most part but she literally grabs a hunk of your hair and tugs and tosses your head around while she’s clipping you.  She has this Velcro strap attached to her hand that holds the device in her palm.  So your scalp gets a palm job.  She is aggressive as shit and it reminds me of an S&M party where old business men get spanked and whipped by hot chicks, minus the dildo up the ass at the end of the night.  In addition, whether you’ve asked for it or not, she shaves all the other fucked up shit on your face that other barbers don’t even consider getting.  Your unibrow gets a space put in it like those gaps in a grassy median on the highway with a sign that says “Authorized vehicles only” that everyone uses to turn around in anyway.   Your hairy Sasquatch nose hair gets trimmed using some dangerous buzzing pencil-like device that has to be illegal in the United States and is probably meant for back alley abortions in Singapore.  The only thing that gets aborted by Suki, however, is that rats nest of rock hard snot berries in your nasal cavities.  She gets the briar patch in your ears; those side burns that haven’t been cool since Beverly Hills 90210; the pubic patch just under your lip, cause you’ll never be an artist like you imagined you would be; and your nasty neck hair that has been creeping down, over the years, to merge with your back hair at the collar level.  She finally finishes the hair job off using a vacuum suction tube attached to her palm with a Velcro strap just like the clippers were.  She does the same tugging, yanking, and tossing to suck up all those loose hairs leaving you, at the end, euphoric and disorientated thinking to yourself, “Fuckin’ A, did I just have sex with a tornado?!”   For all of you lucky enough to get a hair job from Suki you’ll appreciate all the years of sexually deviant worker girl experience she must have had prior to being a barberess in Jerkwater, USA.     

LORD OF THE T.P.

I have a secret.  I take pleasure in listening to the ranting frustrations of people sifting through the toilet stalls in a public bathroom looking for a roll of toilet paper.   The kicker is when I’M the one in the stall with that ONE last roll.  It’s usually long after I have finished with my business and I am just sitting on the toilet reading the stall graffiti and just generally relaxing that they come in.  They curse under their breath as they go up and down the aisle of stalls, opening each one until reaching the last one, and then starting from the beginning again and repeating, as if the T.P. gnomes will replenish the supplies in the meantime.  Now, as I am typically the only one in the stalls, since I am the only one who successfully obtained that single roll of T.P., it’s pretty obvious, to outsiders, that I’ve got the goods.  So, what these jackasses always do is after rampaging their way in and out of the empty stalls, repeatedly, they stand right outside of MY stall door.  They know I have the T.P.   Their shoe tips damn near penetrating into my stall perimeter from under the door, as if testing some imaginary line in the sand.  I can hear them breathing and can almost sense the neurons in their brain firing, contemplating whether or not they should bother me for some of my T.P., and how they would even go about asking for something like that.  I just sit there as quietly as possible.  It’s like, if you were in a zombie apocalypse scenario and you were on one side of a door, of an abandoned house, that didn’t have a lock.  On the other side was a horde of the undead just hoping to tear a living human limb from limb, just one shove of that door away from getting to you.  Your only tactical option is to be as quite as possible; not moving; not indicating you are there at all, so as not to alert them.  The outsider finally realizes that decorum dictates that it is extremely rude to ask a fellow shitter for some of their toilet paper because of the potential for them to be in mid-shit.  How would you even transfer T.P. to them anyways?  How would you even determine how much shitting they’d be doing therefore how much T.P. they would need?  Are they a muti-wiper?  What do you do; hand them a wad of it or scoot the whole roll, itself, out from under the stall to them?  If you hand them a wad of loose T.P. then you just determined their fate.  If they get into their stall and the wad amount that you issued to them is not enough; they are screwed.  They’ll have to go caveman style and hand scoop it or sacrifice their underwear.   As far as pushing your T.P. roll out to them (which you would be an idiot to do) you would be screwing YOURSELF.  What if you then needed to go again, all of a sudden, or had leakage while standing up, then YOU’D be in real trouble.  I just sit in silence, that way I don’t even have to deal with that whole rigamarole.  If I WAS asked, though, I would ration out the T.P. like a King rationing out bread and cheese to his serfs.  “ONE double ply sheet, TWO double ply sheets, THREE double ply sheets, now be gone with ye peasant before I set the dogs upon ye!”  It gives you a sense of power and dominance.  Like having an elevated position in combat.  You have the dominant position and therefore all the outsiders must bow to you for offerings of T.P.   As Erasmus of Rotterdam put it, “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king”, and as Rusty Shrew puts it, “In the public bathroom, the man with the last roll of T.P. is king.” 

INTERGALACTIC GUINEA PIGS

Willy, a cute little calico rabbit from the local pet store and about 20 of his buddies have just been sold to the Johnson & Johnson Company for animal testing of their products.  The first test they undergo is getting Listerine poured into their eyes to find out if they need to adjust the alcohol content, down a bit, in order to reduce that stinging sensation in your mouth.  Now is this a bad thing?  I say “No”.  Now before you call PETA on me, here me out… I was thinking about all the women that put on Maybelline eye shadow every day.  Thanks to Willy, and the countless jabs in the eyes from that eye shadow brush encrusted with powder and mica, Johnson & Johnson Co. can ensure you are safe and they don’t get sued when your eye gets blood shot or your cheek gets permanently stained from crying over your boyfriend dumping you.    The customer’s needs always come first.  After all, with mica being used in everything from Asphalt shingles and drywall to capacitors in electronics and heating elements such as those in your toaster, you can never take too many precautions.  Without Willy, how would we ever have discovered that fine balance of, what we now refer to as, “Cosmetics Grade Mica”, that is safe for humans?  So, let’s say “Thanks Willy!” for all that you and your buddies do for the human race to keep us safe.  Now, just as Willy has a special role to play in our society; humans have a role to play in the intergalactic community.  When aliens visit earth to snatch up cows and people every one automatically assumes it is for some kind of malevolent scientific research.  A little known fact about aliens, in general, that you probably don’t know, and that STAR TREK (both original and TNG) is too PG-13 to show you, is that the galaxy is a cesspool of debauchery.  We here on earth, have recently come from the era of Leave it to Beaver  and The Andy Griffith Show, to nowadays,  Jersey Shore and Two and a Half Men, and many communities feel as though the morals of the human race are going down the shitter.  I mean, I remember when Sharon Stone’s Beaver shot in the movie Basic Instinct was, like, almost an NC-17 rating.  Nowadays, that shit would follow a rerun of Sponge Bob Square Pants on the Cartoon Network.  So this has happened in a fairly short period of time, but now imagine, out in the Galaxy, having eons to morally decline.  A good example is of the Planet Xiaxxu.  7,000 years ago, the aliens there were debating on how many times you were allowed to ejaculate on Blucopods (A Xiaxxu version of Earth’s cute puppies).   Thousands of years before the Egyptians, on Earth, were building the Pyramids, the Xaixxuians were trying to figure out NOT whether it was OKAY to jack off on Blucopods, but HOW MANY TIMES in a day you could.  So as you can see, to our observers out in the galactic community, Jersey Shore and Sharon Stone’s beaver shot is the equivalent of “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” when you were 10 years old; it’s fucking tame in comparison.  Something else you probably didn’t know is that our intergalactic peers have long had a thriving fetish industry.  When you hear of aliens coming down to Earth and anal probing humans don’t snicker at the absurdity of Beings travelling millions of light years JUST to stick something up a person’s ass.  The Galactic fetish industry primarily depends on the product testing (anal probing) of the human race to ensure the safety of its intergalactic customers, just like Johnson & Johnson’s eye shadow is tested on Willy here on Earth.  You see, for example, if hundreds of humans hadn’t died to find out that Glakthor’s Super Nova Dildo (made on Neptune by the way) explodes within five seconds of coming in contact with a warm wet environment, such as a human anal cavity, millions of potential customers; our intergalactic neighbors, may have suffered.   So stand up Human Race! and be proud of the job your doing being the guinea pigs of the alien erotica industry, you are the Willy of your intergalactic community.

NOVA SCOTIA NYMPHOS

I’m a member of the legendary Polar Bear Club of Nova Scotia and each year, in January, we jump into the frigid waters of St. George’s Bay.  I am quite the Plunger now, but that wasn’t always the case.  On my first attempt, I, actually, involuntary converted to the opposite sex.  It was a bitingly cold morning in early January of 1989.  The spot on the rocky shoreline of St.George’s Bay that we had chosen was covered with a light dusting of snow from the night before.  The ebony and emerald ocean frothed up in anticipation of this year’s victims.  That year’s Polar Bear Club consisted of me and 17 young buxom 20-something females in their sexually uninhibited primes.  All of whom were wearing bikinis that allowed me a visual of just how cold it really was that morning.  Two by two by two; the human thermometers displayed the current of the two available temperature indications, HOT or COLD.  It was time to get wet.  We all held hands in a line for moral support, said our 1, 2, 3, GO’s, and vaulted forth into the briny chill of the Bay!  Loud screams and hilarious gasping ensued.   I, however, was in shock.  The water was so frigid that upon my scrotal region making contact with liquid it immediately took the “flight” route of the “fight or flight” instinctual response.   My entire penis inverted; possibly the single most painful event of my life, actually, I take that back, that night in Tijuana was…. Well, never mind….okay, the SECOND most painful night of my life.  By inverted I don’t mean the “I jumped into a pool and that’s why my dick looks like a scared turtle” inverted; that’s just shrinkage.  I am telling you, inverted, as in, I had a vagina now.  Rather than an outward shaft, I had an inward tunnel.  My balls had burrowed so deep into my pelvic girdle that I now, essentially, had ovaries rather than scrotes.  I was terrified!  Not only had I had a catastrophic restructuring of my manhood, but all these beautiful women around me; skin taught and glistening; prickled with goose bumps; horny, as women always are after being doused in freezing water;   were now snuggling next to each other under blankets to keep warm, in obvious need of sexual satisfaction.  My concern at this point was how was I going to satisfy all 17 of these women, as I had originally planned, with my penis inside out and shoved up into me?!  Then, at that very moment, I had an epiphany.  If I now had a vagina, yet was still attracted to all these women, then I suppose that makes me a lesbian, right?  Right!   “Oh, ladies! Guess who doesn’t need a condom anymore!  As an added bonus, after a full night of lesbian scissor sex with those 17 young women, my penis DID end up reverting itself and popped out like a hotdog  switchblade, followed right after by my testicles which popped into my scrotum sacks like dodgeballs into a netted gym bag.  I was all that is man again, or, at least more than I was last night.