UN GAY BOYS 4 (DOUBLE TAKE)

So Rawbee and I were talkin’ to some bitches last weekend.  I was trying to get a Blow job and Rawbee was trying to get some anal action from this slut he was talkin’ to.  They weren’t havin’ it and I was like:

[ME]:  Yo, Rawbee let’s beat it these bitches ain’t puttin’ out and I’m trying to break my all time pussy slayin’ record tonight.

[RAWBEE]:  You got that right Rusty, this shit’s takin’ too long, let’s bounce.

[ME]:  Where we gonna go to get some ass then?

[RAWBEE]:  Yo, I just remembered something… there’s this new club that just opened up in the gay district called THE DOUBLE TAKE.  We need to go to that shit tonight!

[ME]:  Oh hell yeah, I almost forgot that bitches love hanging out with gay guys cause they feel more comfortable and let loose more and shit!  That place will be crawlin’ with hoes.

[RAWBEE]:  You got that right brotha’.  We’ll be like stealth fighters.  We pretend that we’re a couple of homos, get up on um’, they get comfortable cause they think we’re gay and then they’ll be getting’ comfortable on this big hetero dick!  “ SURPRISE BITCH YOU JUST BEEN UN-GAYED!”

[ME]:  Best idea you’ve ever had bro!

THE NEXT MORNING:_________________________________________________

[RAWBEE]:  Yo, that club was off the chain last night, son.

[ME]:  I know right!

[RAWBEE]:  Bro, I can’t believe that whole place was filled with Transvestites!  I should have figured it out from the name of the club: THE DOUBLE TAKE.  It was like a club full of….full of…..what are those queer ass things in that movie with those queers?

[ME]:  Oh snap, you mean those queer ass half horse half man things?

[RAWBEE]:  Yeah.

[ME]:  Muhfucking Centaurs, bro!

[RAWBEE]:  Yeah, yeah but instead of half horse/half man it was like half cock gobbler/half big tittied slut.

[ME]:  Yo, I got free drinks all night and I fucked like 6 of em’ in the ass in the bathroom!  Man, you gotta get a chick really drunk in a regular bar to go balls deep in her ass, but those homohoes were just takin’ it all night long.  That shit was crazy!  I was like  “YOU CHOPSHOP FAGS AIN’T NEVER BEEN FUCKED LIKE THIS HAVE YOU?  THAT’S CAUSE YOU’RE GETTING BONED BY A HETERO!  SURPRISE!”

[RAWBEE]:  Aw shit that’s crazy HA AH AH!

[RAWBEE]:  This gayboy/girl was like, “You can suck on my titties if you suck my dick first.”

[ME]:  That bitch/boy must’ve been out her mind! Yo, what’d you say?

[RAWBEE]:  I was like “What?  I ain’t suckin’ your dick but YOU are still gonna let me suck on them tig ol’ bitties AND  your gonna suck on MY dick instead…”

[ME]:  Oh shit, what’d that RuPaul say?

[RAWBEE]:  That dumb ass tranny said yes!  HA! Can you believe that shit… BOOOM!  I still got it baby!  I should be a muhfucking lawyer or some shit.”

[ME]:  Yo, you still got it! “Bro, I know you were drinking hard last night but do you remember what we did at the end of the night?”

[RAWBEE]:  Shit, I’m not a light weight.  Of course I remember.  Those gay ass centaur bitches wanted to play that game they called SHOT IN THE MIDDLE.

[ME]:  Yeah, they put a two shot glasses with the most expensive liquor in the place on the floor in the middle of 10 of those trannies while they jacked off like a bunch of homos.

[RAWBEE]:  Then they each busted a nut in those two glasses and said we had to drink it.

[ME]:  Yeah but they under estimated the UNGAY BOYS didn’t they?

[RAWBEE]:  Hell yeah they did!  We picked those two glasses up, finger scooped that gay ass jizz out of um,  drank um down and said “NICE TRY YOU GAYBOYGIRLS  BUT GUESS WHAT?  YOU MIGHT WANNA FINE TUNE YOUR GAYDARS CAUSE THESE GUYS AIN’T GAY!  THANKS FOR THE ALL NIGHT DRINK FEST FAGS!”

JINETES DE CERDOS DE LA REVOLUCIÓN

When I was in my early Twenties I had a little more of a radical and impulsive streak than I do now.  During that time there was a lot of turmoil going on in the country of Colombia between the Colombian Government and the F.A.R.C (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia).  In the struggle over the control and direction of Colombia between those two groups the indigenous population was suffering through violence, discrimination, and massive land destruction and forced seizure in the name of progress.  I watched as the helpless indigenous, caught in the middle, were being rounded up, kidnapped and killed indiscriminately. 

One day I decided that I couldn’t just sit by and let that happen.  I took the next plane flight headed for Bogota.  After I’d arrived I took the El Concho bus line until the road disappeared into the jungle.  Then when the bus could go no further I rode a donkey deeper into the Andes Mountain range.  When the donkey died of exhaustion I captured six feral roosters, lashed them together with an on-the-spot hand carved yoke with six holes for their heads , and like a dog sled team mushed them higher and higher up the mountain face.  Finally, I reached my goal; a small village of indigenous pig farmers.  These were not your ordinary pig farmers, though, they were known as Jinetes de Cerdos de la Revolución (J.C.R). 

You may have never heard of the J.C.R because they were considered a minor rebel group in the much larger battle between the Colombian Government and the F.A.R.C, but the destruction they did cause was legendary.  The members of the J.C.R were expert pig riders on par with the Bedouin horse riders of the Arabian Peninsula.  They had one simple yet extremely effective tactic.  As the convoys of soldiers entered their territory to try and destroy their village they would charge down the mountainside on their pigs of war to attack.

 Now, rather than attacking with hand-held weapons, they chose a different method.  When word came that a convoy was coming they would begin feeding their pigs C4 plastic explosives.  Being pigs, they could care less what they were eating and would gorge themselves.  I, myself, saw one pig eat 40 pounds of C4 in one sitting.  The rebels would then insert a long metal electrode into the pig’s rectum that had wires coming out of it leading to the detonator battery box which the rider held.  Now you’re probably asking “Well Rusty, why do they have to ride these boar bombs? Can’t they just send them on their own to destroy the target?”, to which I would reply “You obviously have never tried to direct an explosive loaded, 300 pound pig at full tilt down a mountain into a convoy of trucks filled with tyrannical government soldiers before?”  Let me tell you….it’s not easy.  Pig bombs require guidance not unlike the Japanese manned suicide torpedoes (Kaiten) of WWII that required a person manually steering them into the target.  The rebels, over time, adopted a martyrdom philosophy.

  After several months of living amongst the J.C.R, our day finally came.  One of their scouts came running towards the village with reports of a massive convoy heading up the steep mountain pass.  The rebels immediately went into action stuffing their pigs to the brim, strapping on the saddles, putting on war paint and inserting electrodes into rectums.  With the amount of time I had spent amongst the rebels I was ready to fight and die, if necessary, for their cause.  I felt ALIVE!!  The problem with me fighting, however, was that everyone already had their own trained pig that responded to their commands, and I did not.  I pleaded with them to let me help.  The village elders finally capitulated and gave me a pig.  My pig, which was the only one available, happened to be a scrawny 80 pound pig that was cross eyed, but with an impending battle looming I wasn’t going to be picky.  My sickly pig would only eat about a half pound of C4 before it was stuffed but at least I could take out a soldier or two to help the revolution.  We stormed out of the village and down the mountain side.  In minutes we were in view of the unsuspecting convoy and careening toward martyrdom.  VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!!

  I was far in the back of the stampeding bacon bomb brigade as my pig was considerably slower and due its crossed eyes was hitting every other tree on the way down.  Suddenly I saw, at the front, the lead pig of the cavalry bursting forth from the jungle.  It sprung into the roadway crashing right through the front windshield of the lead convoy truck exploding on impact.  The detonation rocked the entire mountain side as 50 pounds of C4 was ignited inside the pig’s stomach by the last reflex grip of the riders hand on the trigger.  An entire squad of soldiers was reduced to hemoglobin pâté in the blink of an eye.

  The convoy was stopped in its tracks; a sitting duck as bomb pig after bomb pig came bursting from the flora.  The explosives were in such rapid succession and the impacts so violent that by the time I burst out onto the roadway all that was left was the still raining down shrapnel of vehicle and body parts.  I looked around for anyway to put my boar bomb to use but nothing was left of the convoy or the J.C.R.  The once khaki colored dirt road was beet red and jet black from the combination of bodily and vehicular fluids.  Everything was on fire and if it wasn’t already dead it was just moments from it.  I realized that I had nothing more to accomplish in Colombia.  With my journey abruptly at an end, I giddy-upped my cross eyed companion, bid farewell to my brothers-in-arms, and moseyed my way back towards Bogota.  Viva la Revolución.

LEPIDOPTERA LAP DANCE

I was visiting my friend last weekend who works at the University of Florida’s McGuire Center for Lepidoptera.  Mark, my friend, is himself a Lepidopterist (a person who studies moths and butterflies).  I first met him while he was completing his Doctoral Thesis several years ago.  Since I was heading into the area I figured I’d give him a call and was glad that I did.  Mark expressed to me that the McGuire Center was having a hard time, lately, getting as much funding as they were used to due to the Recession.  He wanted me to come by and see a revolutionary and unique fund raising program that they had been implementing.  So I did. 
      When I got there he greeted me outside the entrance to the McGuire Center and we started meandering through the facility until we got to a door that had a small placard above saying “massage therapy”.  Upon entering there were seven different rooms within and a receptionist desk.  I asked Mark why there was a massage therapy clinic in the McGuire Center and he simply replied with “Trust me Rusty, this will blow your mind” and instructed me into the first room.  He gave me a small spritzer bottle and told me that once inside I should take my clothes off, lay on the massage table face up, spray my genital area with one or two sprays from the spritzer and relax.  So I did.  
      Once I had stripped, sprayed my junk, and started to relax to the music of Enya, that was playing, I was becoming increasingly curious as to how this was a fund raiser for a Lepidoptera center.  Then I started to hear a gradually increasing sound of fluttering coming from three vents situated in the ceiling.  In a rush the vents spewed forth thousands of moths that began swirling around the room like a tornado.  Before I even had a chance to try and comprehend what was happening they began, in waves, to dive bomb down and over my cock and balls.  Again and again thousands of fluttering wings cascaded across my testicles and my now rock hard baby juice injector.  It was the single most exhilarating moment of my life.  I almost immediately busted a nut so hard that the force and volume of the ejaculate hit thousands of the passing moths sending them crashing to the floor.  It was like a German artillery barrage on an attacking American bomber run in WWII except the American bombers were moths and the Nazi’s were firing semen! 
      After about fifteen minutes an intercom system voiced by the seductive receptionist instructed me to cloth myself and exit the room.  Mark was waiting outside and told me that the spritzer was female moth pheromones.  He said that he had, in just six months, raised over 2 million dollars for the McGuire Center and opened up a whole new field of research in the process with his venture.  I congratulated him on his success and invited him to lunch, but didn’t tell him I had kept the spritzer and hand full of moths for later.  Have a great week, Rusty out.

APOCALYPTIC LOYALTIES

With the December 2012 apocalypse looming, I have been doing a lot of thinking about my loyalties.  Let’s assume that when the aliens land on Earth their plan is to eliminate the scourge of human insects that have infested their planet all these thousands of years.  The dilemma I have is who would my loyalties be to?  Do I stick it out with my guns and defend against the overwhelming alien force with the last remaining survivors of the planet?  Do I go out in a blaze of glory to demonstrate to the aliens that although they have us beat when it comes to fire power we, as humans, have heart and courage?  Am I standing there side by side with the ragged last rebel  group firing round after round with reckless abandon only to cease my assault when the aliens' energy weapons vaporize the liquid in my body turning me to dust?...... FUCK NO!  I have zero loyalty to the human race AT ALL!  Human’s are shit heads; fuck um!  The VERY first thing I would do is pledge my allegiance to the first alien I saw and to prove it, as I’m sure they’d want a demonstration of my loyalty, by curb stomping the first person I saw.  Then the aliens, impressed by my turncoat mentality, would hand me one of their energy weapons to assist in the decimation of the humans.  The next phase of the alien occupation campaign would be to round up the useful humans such as those that are built well for labor and as breeding vessels.  With the elimination phase over, the human race dropped to its knees, and the occupation phase commencing I would then, having proved my loyalty, surrender myself as a breeding vessel.  The reason I would surrender myself is because with my proven reliability and willingness to aid the alien cause I would not just be a standard breeding vessel but would be one of the upper echelon breeding vessels.  Now I know what you’re thinking…”But Rusty, how can you be a breeding vessel? You aren’t female”?  I would then shatter your preconceived notions of alien breeding practices.  As I’m sure you would know had you been watching the show “Ancient Aliens” on the History Channel, the aliens’ physiology and means of reproducing is incompatible with the human female reproductive tract.  Only human males can become breeding vessels.  The human male anus and the human male urethra are the only suitable body cavities for alien fetal growth.  So I would have my anus implanted with upwards of 60 alien fetal pods and my urethra with up to 12.  The great thing is that all I have to do is sit in a comfortable breeding room in the alien home planet’s maternal facility.  Now granted with that many butt babies and cabies (pronounced KAY-BEEZ, which is short for cock babies) growing in me I would look like a bloated termite queen but I get all the mochtar (alien version of Chinese dumplings), Lookra(a delicious spiny fruit on their planet), and Globpus (A fat gelatinous worm that takes some getting used to but with some paprika and lime tastes like a cross between a deviled egg and a Del Taco fish taco, both of which I love) that I can eat.  The only downside is giving birth but once you get used to it and your orifices get more flexible the pods just basically fall out.  My dick would look like a dead elephant’s trunk that some kid set off a pipe bomb in the end of it but, hey, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  So get ready cause those aliens are coming.  You need to decide whose side you’ll be on cause I already know where my loyalties lie.     

MILK ME MATH

After reaching ejaculatory climax this morning I got to thinking….  How much have I ejaculated since I started masturbating?  I figured that I must have busted enough nuts to repopulate the entire population of the United States.  So I sat down and went through the math.

AVERAGE VOLUME OF SEMEN PER EJACULATE:  About 2 milliliters to 6 milliliters. So lets just split that and say that my average ejaculate is about 4 milliliters.

NUMBER OF TIMES OF DAY:  With that number (4 ml) I will take the EXTREMELY low ball number of one time a day.  (My record in one day is 13 times just to give you an idea of how low ball once a day is but that’s a story for another day)

AMOUNT OF EJACULATE PER WEEK:  4 ml X 7 days a week = 28 ml

AMOUNT OF EJACULATE PER MONTH:  28 ml X 4 weeks = 112 ml

AMOUNT OF EJACULATE PER YEAR: 112 ml X 12 months = 1344 ml (keep in mind that a one liter bottle of soda is 1000 ml)

AMOUNT OF EJACULATE SINCE I WAS 12 years old (roughly when I started full time): 1344 ml X 22 years = 29,568 ml  (That’s over 29 full one liter bottles full of semen).

APPROXIMATE AMOUNT OF SPERM PRODUCED SINCE I WAS 12 YEARS OLD: 28,568ml X 280 million (average amount of sperm per ejaculate) = 8,279,040,000,000 (8.27 Trillion sperm)

CURRENT UNITED STATES POPULATION AS OF TODAY: 314,189,172 (over 324 million)

CURRENT WORLD POPULATION AS OF TODAY:  7,033,713,687 (over 7 Billion people)

So after doing the math I could easily repopulate the entire United States population and potentially the entire World population by myself.  So ladies, since the Mayan calendar proves that the World is going to end in December of 2012, how bout it?  I am ready and willing to fill your gas tanks, top off your reservoir, plug your dyke, be the pig in your blanket, stuff your turkey, pack your bags, lube your gears, cream coat your cookies, butter your bread, plaster your pelvic girdle, soak your spunge, circumnavigate your cervix, flog your fallopian tubes, baste your baby maker, over-easy your eggs, dredge your canal, if you know what I mean….  Repopulate the United States?  Shit, I wouldn’t even break a sweat but the child support would be a bitch!

***Just as a side note if I were to have been donating sperm and getting paid for it I calculated that too.  

AVERAGE AMOUNT PAID PER SPERM DONATION: $40 dollars to $206 dollars (So I realize my sperm, being obviously of a superior stock, would be at the high end, but lets just go with the low ball amount of $40 dollars)

AMOUNT OF EJACULATE SINCE I WAS 18 YEARS OLD (of legal age to sell my baby gravy) = 1344 ml (yearly amount) X 16 years= 24, 192 ml

AMOUNT OF SINGLE SERVINGS OF EJACULATE SINCE 18 YEARS OLD: 24,192 divided by 4(ml)= 6,048 times

AMOUNT OF MONEY MADE SINCE I WAS OF LEGAL AGE (18 years old) AT THE RATE OF $40 DOLLARS PER NUT:  6,048 times ejaculated since 18 years old X $40 dollars =   $241,920 dollars!!!  What the fuck!!  To think I could have been cashing in this whole time!  Shit, I better start saving those happy socks cause they are all worth at least a $1,000 each!