Criticism

Hey, I have my own bulletin board thread about my blog!!!

http://sass.buttes.org/forum/viewtopic.php?pid=358690

Fuck you, fuckers, but thanks for taking the time to point out my blog. I'll be thinking of you later when, well, you know, I'm having a beer. And you thought I was going to say "beating off." Ha, ha, ha!!!

Renter's Twin Sister

As you know I tend to browse Yahoo Personals from time to time. Not for any good reason, actually, it sounds kinda creepy, stalker-ish. It's not like I whack off to the pictures or anything (at least not too often), but it's fun to see that indeed there are desperate women out there who may or may not want to suck my cock. Anyway, in my searches I came across what appears to be the Renter's twin sister. And of course, I don't remember where this person lives; my searches are broad and far. There won't be a family reunion any time soon.





Or maybe she just has this second life that I don't know about. If so, hook me up with that tall ugly bitch. Looks like she'd take it up the ass.

One More Thing I Won't Do

Besides going down on women and, well, dating women (not that I'm gay, I'll still fuck'em), I now have a new rule: no going on vacation with women. I went to Cancun with one broad years ago and had to break up with her the week we got back because she was so fucking boring. But hell, you think about it, you go out and splurge for a vacation and the chick is more likely to put out, maybe swallow even. But when you pay $350 for a two night hotel room for a little Christmas get-a-way and the woman leaves you 200 miles from home with no means of transportation and a dead cell phone, I mean, fuck, what the fuck are you supposed to do?

And yes, that's true, and no, I'm not fucking happy right now.

Personals Stalker

It’s been well documented on this site that I like to browse the Yahoo Personals for broads. Not that I’d ever pay for the service or try to contact any of them, but I like to share what I find with you, dear readers, and for, well, other personal reasons. I know their pictures aren’t all that revealing but sometimes it’s fun to imagine.

A week ago I came across Carrie. Carrie had three pictures of herself on her page, all head shots. She was pretty cute, nice smile, just looked like an overall fun girl. Then yesterday I got an email from Yahoo. Apparently Carrie had updated her photos. So I clicked on it and checked her out again.

In the first picture she’s looking kind of seductive with her hands in her hair and that “Oh my God your cock is so huge! What am I going to do with it?” look (for the record, I know what that look is, happens all the time).


In the second picture she has a more laid back, friendly, trusting look that I interpret as the “Sure I’ll suck your cock again. I never thought you’d ask.” look.


The third picture must be a little old, like when she was 18 or something. She still has the “do me” look and has the “Should I put my hair to the side so you can watch me suck it?” head tilt. I know, it’s a little disturbing since she looks 18 in this one, but hey, what else does a young girl from Marquette, MI (population 20,700) have to do on hot summer nights?


And then I got to the new updated photo. The caption for the photo was “This is my curse lol… this pic was taken when I was 18.” Honey, those things aren’t a curse.

Christmas Shopping Conversation

The scene: the smoking section in the parking garage.

The participants: a 30 yr-old woman from the mutual fund company next door and myself.


Me: So how are you supposed to do your Christmas shopping when you don’t even know what you’re going to buy?

Her: Good question. I don’t know.

Me: I only have to buy stuff for three people: my mom, my dad, and my sister, and I have no idea what to get them.

Her: Do they give you lists?

Me: No, but that’s not a bad idea. I should ask them for some hints.

(Pause)

Me: Maybe I should just get them socks. I seem to end up with a bunch of socks every year.

Her: Do you buy your own socks?

Me: Sometimes. I really haven’t had to in the last two years. I just started using the ones I got last Christmas.

Her: I’d understand that if you didn’t buy your own socks, if it was something you didn’t shop for.

Me: Yeah, socks and thong underwear.

Her: Thong underwear?

Me: No, I’m just kidding.

(Pause)

Me: How does that work with that thing riding up your butt? I think that would bother the hell out of me.

Her: I don’t think I’m the person you should be asking that.

Me: What, you don't wear underwear?

Her: I don’t think I’m going to answer that one either.

Me: Hey, anything’s fair game in the smoking section.

(Putting out her cigarette)

Her: Good luck with your Christmas shopping.

Me: Good luck with that underwear.


I really wish I was making this stuff up.

Sober Saturday

I’m not exactly sure why but I didn’t have anything to drink this Saturday. It snowed, yet again, and I shoveled in the afternoon. After that I felt a little out of sorts, probably just a little dehydrated. And it was still snowing – hard – and I knew I’d have to shovel again. Hell, now that I think about it, it probably snowed all day on Saturday. I plopped my ass down on the couch and flipped on the TV. I learned that I have this uncanny ability to sense when a commercial break is over. I know, it’s not exactly that big of a deal, but when you’re flipping from a movie to porn and back it is. You could very easily get distracted by the porn and miss out on part of the movie. That’s pretty much what I did all night till 1:30 in the morning. The funny thing is after I had decided to stay in for the night I got a call from my dad reminding me that we had to usher in church in the morning. I’m surprised I didn’t turn into a ball of flames walking in to church after all the sperm babies I killed on Saturday.

Oh wait, now I remember why I had the sober Saturday. On Friday I got fucked up at the corner bar, went to the casino and won $300, drank about four Southern Comforts and coke, almost kicked a 55 yr-old woman’s ass after she skipped me on the pool table, went back down to the casino and lost $800, ate breakfast and went to bed with all my clothes on and without brushing my teeth or taking out my contacts. Yeah, I think I needed a sober Saturday after all that.

That old lady is pretty lucky the Renter was holding me back.

Yet Another Yahoo Personals Girl

Good golly Miss Molly. Just think what you could do to that. Ladies, you can fanaticize too, we don’t judge here.

Working on it

I’ve been working on something for quite some time now but it just hit me today – I don’t know how many readers will actually be interested in it. I’ve been in the planning/writing stages for over two weeks now. First off it only applies to guys so that eliminates 50% of the population. I suppose women could get into it but I seriously doubt it. I’m not being sexist here or anything but the topic is on exercising (just eliminated another 40%), more specifically the way that I exercise (and now we’re down to a whopping 2%). While I believe more women should get in the weight room and use weights and dumbbells (and not the pink ones) to get in shape, I don’t think what I’m putting together would either interest a woman nor should one actually try it. Hitting up Jessica Biel for some pointers would be the way to go on that one.

But the piece is coming together rather well so I’ll continue with it. I know a little about weightlifting and a little less about life and absolutely nothing about sex – I’m tossing all three of those in there – so it should be somewhat interesting even if you don’t like lifting weights. In any case you can print it out and pass it along to your friends to see what they think. I should have it finished in a couple of days. After that we’ll go back to getting drunk and fucking the neighbor’s cat, you know, the usual stories.

Wrastling

When I was in grade school I used to be on the wrestling team. I didn’t really have a wrestler’s body (5’9” and lanky) but all my friends were on the team. And my friend’s dad was both the coach of the wrestling team and the basketball team; didn’t hurt to get on his good side.

I wasn’t very good. Actually, I wasn’t any good. I think I might have won five matches over four years. I even crapped my pants during one match (ah, the start of the beautiful crapping my pants tradition). I chipped one of my front teeth. I even got pinned once in 14 seconds. I didn’t really start lifting weights till I got to high school and even then I didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t till my college years that I started reading up on routines and training splits and really got in to it.

Anyway, the point is I sucked at wrestling. I was just too tall and too slow. Monday night I decided to take it up again.

Don’t jump to any conclusions here; I wasn’t wrestling with anyone else. I got up to the bar early on Monday since I had to be at work pretty early on Tuesday. I had four pitchers and called it a night. Pretty sad when you have four pitchers of beer and still stare at the ceiling trying to fall asleep. I got home around 10:00 which left me plenty of time to sleep. The Renter had picked up some new Spanish porn and it was staring me in the face. Usually I take care of business right before I go to the bar, when I’m sober. Hell, I can crank one out in under a minute under those circumstances. But I never do it after drinking. Might explain why I have troubles shooting my load during drunk sex. Monday I was determined to get it done. I popped in the porn, lubed up and went at it.

It was a battle royal.

I tugged, I pulled, I yanked, I beat. After five minutes I was beat. But I came out victorious.

Wrastling, as my high school physics teacher called it. Just wrestling.

Snow

It snowed all day on Tuesday. I’ll try to get something worthwhile on here but I’ll be busy shoveling tonight. And I have to do laundry, down to the last pair of underwear. I’ll wear the same pants and t-shirt to the bar for a week straight but clean underwear isn’t something I can go without.

Going on Strike

Since the Hollywood screenwriter’s strike is still going on, I decided to start up my own little strike. You see, I hate doing laundry. Actually putting your clothes into the washer and dryer isn’t all that bad, but the folding part kicks my ass every time. Folding jeans, socks, and underwear aren’t all that bad, but t-shirts require a little more work and since I wear t-shirts to the bar every day there are a lot of them in a normal load. So last week Sunday I decided to stage my very own laundry strike. I picked out my favorite t-shirt, jeans, and socks and decided that I’d wear them to the bar for as long as I could. I’m proud (and slightly embarrassed) to say that that streak ended on Sunday. Yup, that’s right, I wore the same clothes to the bar for seven days in a row. Pretty fucking cool, eh?

While some of you might think this is totally disgusting it really wasn’t all that bad. Sure, everything was starting to smell like an ashtray by the seventh day but when you’re in a bar filled with smoke who’s going to notice? It’s not like I was doing anything that would cause me to sweat so there wasn’t any body odor, at least none that couldn’t be covered up with a little cologne. I can’t really comment on the socks. I have sweaty feet and I’m not sticking my nose anywhere close to those suckers. As long as I kept my shoes on I was good to go. Now all that I have in my laundry basket is work clothes and underwear.

Unfortunately I did the same thing with my workout clothes. I went to the gym four times last week. Usually I don’t sweat that much in the gym. I stick to the weights and don’t touch a cardio machine in fear of suffering a massive heart attack. While my gym clothes didn’t necessarily stink after the four workouts, they didn’t really smell all that good either.

At the end of the week I saved myself the task of doing laundry and folding six t-shirts, two tank tops, and six pairs of socks. And the winner of the 2007 Laziest Person in America award goes to…

Speaking of lazy, I bought 160 lbs of salt on Saturday. It’s not even Christmas yet and I’m sick of shoveling snow.

The funny thing is I bought my house because it was a block away from the corner bar. I got sick of slipping on un-shoveled sidewalks during the eight block walk to my apartment. Now I’m the one with the fucked up sidewalks. Lately it’s been snowing late at night. There’s no sense in shoveling before I go to bed because 1) usually it hasn’t stopped snowing yet and 2) I’m drunk. On the other end, I’m not a morning person. My alarm goes off, I hop in the shower, get dressed, get in the Jeep and get to work right at 8:30. There isn’t room in there for shoveling snow. Yeah, I suppose I could set my alarm a little bit earlier but screw that; doing any kind of exercise in the morning sucks ass. So I end up shoveling at around 7:00 at night after people have walked on the sidewalks and matted the snow down. Getting that matted down snow takes a lot of work and, well, I just don’t have that much ambition to get it clean. So I paid $20 for the 160 lbs of salt in hopes of getting that all cleared off.

I’d tell you how the weekend went but I don’t remember too much of it. Friday was uneventful. Saturday I called up Pops to see if he wanted one of those new sandwiches that Burger King has been advertising, the Homestyle Bacon Double Burger. That’s a damn fine burger and its reasonably priced ($5 with soda and fries). Pops and I enjoyed all of the 1,500 calories as we watched Chuck and Larry and Shooter. After that I stopped at Home Depot and picked up the salt. I got home, tossed some salt around and headed up to the bar. The Marquette/Wisconsin game was on but to tell you the truth, I can’t even remember who won (I think Marquette did). Around 8:00 some sick fucker started playing Christmas songs on the jukebox and it was just too much to handle. I got the Renter to take me to Wal-Mart to get a new pool cue and then it was off to the bar down the street that had five pool tables. I kicked her ass 5-3 with the brand new stick. Stopped at a place with cheap Southern Comfort drinks and called it a night.

I woke up at 11:30 on Sunday, just in time for the Packers game. As soon as I walked into the bar I was treated to “Boy, do you look rough.” But I’m a trooper and started on my first pitcher right away. The Packers played an excellent game and beat the Oakland Raiders (who looked like a college team, pretty sad). T-Bag and the other bartender stopped towards the end of the game. T-Bag got a kick out of how everyone was cheering the last Packers touchdown and there I was yelling “Win me $10!!!” I don’t like betting much on home teams so it was only $10 on the over. And I had actually taken the Raiders in hopes that they’d stay within 10 points of the Packers so I lost that one, another $10 wager. I did the same with the Steelers but the Patriots smoked them pretty bad. By the time that game started I was already a little loopy so the wager went up to $40. Thankfully I did the same with the Vikings game and they came through for me. After a couple games of pool and a couple more pitchers it was time to go. The afternoon games hadn’t finished yet so it had to of been before 6:00. I upped my last wager (Colts over) to $100 and walked out the door. That’s when the 13.75 hour hibernation started. I woke up once around 11:30 and flipped on the TV to catch the score of the night game (the Colts scored enough to put the total over by themselves). I went back to bed and slept the whole night through. After the weekend I had I think I needed it.

Oh, and whoever rang my doorbell at 9:30 Sunday morning, go ahead, try it again. You’re going to see me in my tighty whities next time. Fucker.

$40

Two weeks ago Monday I was sitting at the bar talking with the bartender. I told him how he was pretty much the only person I’d lend money to because I know he’s good for it. He might be late on paying it back but he makes sure it gets settled.

I shouldn’t have said anything.

That night Mr. Top asked me for $60. He’s had this little kick lately for those “amusement only” gambling machines. He’s hit some jackpots but not nearly as much as he’s put in them. I trust him so I gave it to him (and then didn’t have any “gas money” for the lady friend). He paid me back three days later.

Saturday night Mr. Baseball asked if he could borrow some money. Mr. Baseball is older, maybe 48, and can tell you the answer to any baseball trivia question out there. I asked him how much and gave him $40. He said he’d pay me back on Tuesday when he got paid.

Tuesday came and went, no Mr. Baseball.

Wednesday came and went, no Mr. Baseball.

This guy is in the bar every night and now he doesn’t show up for two days straight?

Thursday when I walked in Mr. Baseball was sitting there reading the sports page. I said hi, walked past and grabbed a stool at the bar. After about half an hour he came over and sat next to me.

Mr. Baseball: Hey, do you need that $40 back?

Me: No, I don’t really need it back.

Mr. Baseball: Because I have it on me if you need it.

Huh?

I’m not going to brag or anything but by God’s good fortune I’m pretty well off as far as finances are concerned (mentally and sexually, ugh, we won’t go there, I don’t feel like crying today). Sure, I’ve had a $1,100 medical bill sitting on my dresser for the past three weeks but I’ll get around to that after the 20th when the credit card billing period ends. I always pay that off in full to avoid finance charges. But I don’t need $40. I would like it back, but I don’t necessarily need it right now. So now I’m at a quandary about what to do. He said he had it on him. Do I make up some shit that oh, now I need it just to get it out of him? If I wait too long he might not have it on him anymore. But then again I don’t want to ask for the money back if it’s going to put him in a bind. I’m an asshole but I don’t maliciously do things to make other people’s lives uncomfortable. Hell, I can’t remember the last time the Renter paid rent on or before the first of the month. I might ask once or twice but I know she’ll get it to me at some point (I think). I don’t know, I think I’ll hit him up for it tonight just to get it over with. And then go straight to the strip club. I know those girls need my $40.

Pool Stick

I told you a while back I bought a pool stick from Wal-Mart for $9. It wasn’t fancy or anything but it did the trick when a bar had shitty sticks available. I was starting to feel a little affectionate towards it (not intimate you gays!). But, just like everything else that I grow fond of, our relationship ended on a sour note.

I took off from work last week Friday because I wanted to watch the Packers game in style. Yeah, I got hammered, better/worse than usual. I woke up around 10:00 on Friday and did a little cleaning. For some reason the Renter was home that day so I asked her if she wanted to go and play some pool.

The Renter won the first three games because I was somewhat sober. I can’t shoot pool without beer in me. I can’t explain it but the theory has been tested many times. After the third game the beer started to kick in. She didn’t win another game the whole day. And when the Renter doesn’t win she quits. They had the pool tables open so you could play for free and she quits. Huh.

Yesterday when I was backing her car out the driveway I saw my stick in her back seat. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I yelled. I screamed. I grabbed my nuts to dull the mental anguish. My pool stick was broken. The shaft was snapped in two right where the grip is, the thick end. I couldn’t believe it. I shed a tear, said a little prayer and went on my way to work.

I think the Renter did it. She has a lot of pent up rage and after the ass whooping I handed her on Friday I think she just lost it and took it out on my stick. She probably did some Korean mixed marshal arts move on it and snapped it in half.

Now I don’t have a pool stick. Now I’m mad. One of these nights when she’s sleeping on her side I’m just going to stick it in her ass. I’ll lube it up first, I’m not mean or cruel, but it will go in deep.

Kidding.

To tell you the truth, I can’t even think of a way to break a pool stick as cleanly as it broke. It wasn’t jagged or anything, just one clean break. I’m guessing the cold weather did it. Now, you wouldn’t think a wooden pool stick would break in half just because of some cold weather, but you have to remember, I bought it at Wal-Mart. I haven’t examined it in great detail but I’m going to guess that it isn’t 100% wood. It was $9 and made in China, what the fuck do you expect?

I’m a cheap ass, I’ll be back at Wal-Mart soon for a new one, I just won’t leave this one outside in the cold.

Baboon Ass

I’ve crapped seven times in the past 24 hours (eight if you count the one I’m in the middle of right now). I’ve wiped my ass so many times I’m 99% sure it looks something like the above. It’s starting to hurt when I walk. Sitting is my only option. If liquid jet propelled shit and anal leakage are the first signs of liver failure well, fuck, I’m a gonner.

Or it could just be the midnight trips to Taco Bell.

Beonce Commercials

Does anyone else get "excited" when those Beonce Direct TV commercials come on? Makes me want to get an upgrade.

(I actually had something for you today but something happened that I can't post it. I will try tomorrow, maybe it'll work then. Peace.)

(Oh, and I'm working on something that sounds like it will be fun but it will also be a lot of work. Usually I just sit down and start writing but I had to start with an actual outline with this one. Hopefully you'll like it.)

Weekend - Dec 1-2

I almost didn’t make it to work on Monday – without crapping my pants on the drive in. I guess the pizza I ate at 11:00 on Sunday night didn’t agree with my system. Its great not being able to handle dairy products. Just splendid.

(Ok, I know you all probably didn’t need to hear that but seriously, it was bad. I was sweating it pretty hard. I thought I was going to lose it when the elevator took forever to reach my floor.)

Just by reading this website you might think I’m a little, oh, I don’t know, maybe a little self-centered? But that’s just this website and how I feel on the inside. On the outside I’m really not all that bad. My 80 yr-old neighbor knows this.

A month ago I was outside raking leaves when my neighbor came out to do his. I saw him struggling with a big pile of leaves and offered to help out. I ended up spending 20 minutes helping him clean out his little fenced in sitting area. It wasn’t that big of a deal but if I hadn’t helped him it would have taken him over an hour to do it.

This past weekend it snowed out. It snowed on Saturday but I had a massive headache so I left it for Sunday. Big mistake. By Sunday it had rained a little and the rain formed a thin layer of ice underneath the snow. I went out around 1:00 on Sunday and worked at it for a good two hours. The shit was heavy as hell and you couldn’t get a footing because of the ice. Just as I finished up and was standing outside having the “job well done” cigarette my old neighbor came hobbling out of his house. He walked around back to where he parks his car and started stabbing at big chunks of snow. His efforts weren’t producing any results. So I finished my cigarette, put my gloves back on and walked over. I asked him if he minded if I helped and started clearing a path for his car. Again, just like with the leaves, I didn’t really do much as far as work on my part but if I hadn’t helped him it wouldn’t have gotten done. I put in a good five minutes of heavy lifting and the job was done.

I’m not as big of an asshole as I portray myself on this site. Not that I’m not an asshole, just not that big of one.

Just a Little Picture I Found on Craigslist

Seriously, wow.

Quality Over Quantity

Wow, I think I shot my load on that last post.

You know, this blogging thing isn’t as easy as it looks. I like putting stuff up on here but I don’t want to put garbage up. And my life isn’t really all that exciting (well, except for last Monday) so sometimes its hard to come up with quality stories. I don’t want to insult you with some gay story about me masturbating and getting drunk. Wait…

Actually, I have lots of good shit to write about. Usually as I’m lying in bed waiting to fall asleep I mentally write paragraph after paragraph. I even do mental editing. Oh, and its good shit too, damn good shit. Sometimes I find myself laughing to myself in my bedroom. But then eight hours later when I wake up, POOF, it’s gone. I would write this stuff down but it’s really kind of hard to type when you’re loaded and any scribblings done on paper would be illegible. On a website like this, unlike sex, quality is better than quantity.

BOOYAH!!!

I got up to the bar a little before 7:00. On Monday’s I like to get up there a little early to meditate on what the outcome of the game is going to be. The game was a pretty sloppy one with lots of rain and loose sod so I went with the under in hopes of a low scoring game. At halftime it was 0-0. I think that’s when she walked in.

I had seen this woman before, maybe a year ago. She was kinda tall, long brown hair, nice smile and a rack you just wanted to stick your face in and go brbrbrbrbrbrbr. She walked in and sat next to the Renter. She asked the Renter if she remembered her and they started chatting a bit. At one point she pulled out a seductive photo of herself from her purse. (Seriously, who has pictures of themselves with exposed nipples in their purse? I mean, I have a picture of my penis on my cell phone but that’s just because we’re so close, he’s like my little brother that I wrestle with every day.) At some point in the fourth quarter the Renter told me to sit in her seat. Christie and I started talking and, well, you know, I don’t want to brag or anything but the sweet love making charm came out of the closet and I had her laughing and smiling. Oh, and I don’t think her name was Christie (could have been), but I think it started with a “k” sound, doesn’t matter. I was working it with the flattery and what have you. Actually, I don’t know what the fuck to say to women but I guess whatever I said worked. When the game ended she said she was going and asked if I needed a ride even after I had told her I live a block away. I took this to be some kind of subtle hint and went along with it. We hopped in her car and drove the block to my abode.

When we walked in the house I asked her to not look and the Renter’s mess in the kitchen sink (uh, embarrassing). I got two beers out of the fridge and we chatted for a bit. Then we started to suck face. Then she hit me up for gas money.

Gas money?

I had just loaned Mr. Top $60 earlier that night so I didn’t have much on me. I told her I had $12. She looked straight into my eyes and said that she needed her tank filled.

“So, ah, you won’t stay unless we go fill your gas tank?”

She just kept looking at me.

Goodness gracious, what’s a brother to do? She flat out turned down my $12 and insisted that I fill the whole tank. I was both surprised and a little ticked off by her response, surprised that she was pretty much offering up her body for gas and ticked off because I’d have to submit to her demands to get what I wanted. But damn, it had been a while since I’d had a woman in my bedroom (back in April) so I had a little bit of a dilemma. Yeah, I grabbed a credit card and out the door we went.

When we got back to the house I coaxed her into bed since the heat wasn’t on (but yet holding steady at 56!). We got under the covers and got to kissing. And then we got to fucking. Ah, watching those healthy titties bounce with every thrust was a thing of beauty. We went at it for a good 45 minutes with only one quick breather (more like breathing life into a lifeless penis – hey, I’d had a lot to drink). Eventually I managed to blow my load with a flailing, last second burst of true porn-style fucking. I came and then I crashed in a heap of sweat and heavy breathing.

But wait, hold the applause and fist pumping till later, it gets better.

You see, Christie was arrested this past June for having a rather risqué internet website. She had a stable of girls that would go to bachelor parties and, well, do their thing. Christie wasn’t arrested because of the nature of her business but because she hadn’t registered her site with the state of Wisconsin. She had to pay a $300 fine, perform 20 hours of community service, and wasn’t allowed to touch a computer for three months. Yeah, I know, I pick’em well.

I’d be lying if I told you I found this out after we got busy. She told me about all that at the bar. But it might explain something else: Christie had certain qualities about her in the bedroom. To put it plainly, she put on a good show. She had the moaning, the licking of her own titties, and facial expressions that had been perfected over many years of, well, fucking. It was like having my very own C-grade porn star in my bed. Maybe it wasn’t a show, maybe I was just that damn good. But it’s been seven months; you’d have to think I was a little bit rusty.

(One note for the ladies: please don’t say, “How do you like my pussy?” in bed. Seriously, how is the guy supposed to respond? He has his dick in you, obviously something is working right. “Oh yeah, baby, your pussy’s awesome!” Yeah, that’s gay. And on a personal level, I generally don’t like to hear the word “pussy” in bed at all. I’d rather hear “Fuck me!” than “Fuck my pussy!” I get confused easily. If you say “me” I know what to do. If you say “my pussy” while I think I’m already fucking your pussy, then I start to wonder. Am I in the wrong hole and you want me to switch it up? Did I miss everything and I’m just fucking the seam where your leg meets your abdomen? Is it my teddy bear that’s taking all the action? Seriously, keep it simple. Thanks.)

Anyway, the combination of the arrest and the performance made me a little leery. She asked what time I had to work and asked me if I could wake her up at 4:00am. She said she was still a little intoxicated and didn’t want to drive home at bar close. I leaned over and glanced at the clock, 12:45. I sat there for two minutes thinking. Do I really want this woman in my house, in my bed, while I slumber like a hibernating bear allowing her full access to my house? For some reason it just didn’t feel right.

“What would you say if I kindly asked you to leave?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, it’s only 12:45, you’ll be fine on the way home.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Yeah, I guess “kindly” asking a woman to leave your house after you’ve fucked her is a delicate process. My buddy Mr. Top does it all the time; I’ll have to hit him up for some pointers. Christie started to say something like, “You know, you’re lucky I even came over.” or something like that but stopped and didn’t say anything else. She put her clothes on, threw on her coat and walked for the door. I tried to toss a nice “Drive safely” in there but I don’t think she caught it as she raced out the door.

Ah, yes. I walked back to my bedroom with my chest puffed out and a smile on my face.

I think I actually made out on the deal. You figure if you take a woman out to dinner its going to run you at least $40 and that’s at Applebee’s or some place comparable. And then after dinner you have to go out for drinks. That’s going to run you anywhere from $20 to $60 depending on what she’s drinking. I got laid for a $3 beer and $31 in gas. I don’t know about you guys but I say BOOYAH!!!

On another side note, I said I haven’t had sex in a while. I don’t know if common practices have changed in the past months. Is it normal to get a blowjob while you have a condom on? The only other time that’s happened to me was in Mexico and, well, I kind of paid for that one, too. But after masturbating for the past year with a condom on, the blowjob with a condom was pretty fucking cool. Something different, you know?

The other thing that bothered me a little: she knew how to put a condom on better than I can. Granted, I was a little loaded myself, but I’ve been “practicing” with condoms on for quite some time now, I would consider myself somewhat proficient. What does it mean that the woman in my bed, who doesn’t have a penis, is more gifted than I in the art of putting a condom on? Seriously, it took her less than a second. She had this technique where she’d hold it in one hand and effortlessly slide it down while at the same time she’d go down on you. I don’t think they teach you that in sex education class in high school.

Awe, fuck, I had sex with a hooker. Wait, I had sex with a hooker! And it was cheap! BOOYAH!!!

No, I actually doubt she was a hooker; she would have wanted more than $31. Probably just a desperate woman who was a little down on her luck and needed gas to get home. I’ll take it either way. God I love desperate women.

Ice, Ice, Baby

If you’ve watched any TV on any channel lately you’ve seen them. If you listen to the radio all day you can’t avoid anything short of 15 of them. Every year around this time (and in February) the jewelry ads are unavoidable. It doesn’t matter what you’re watching whether it be reruns of Seinfeld, NFL football, or the Spice channel, there will be at least one ad for Jareds and Shaws and Zales in every commercial break (I actually wouldn’t know about the Spice channel although I think a diamond studded cock ring would look nice on me). All the ads are too much. They make me sick. So I decided to make my own diamond ads (ok, the FA sent them to me). Here they are for your enjoyment.











I've got a good one for you tomorrow which involves beer, money, more beer, and sex, pretty much in that order. Yep, old B to the... got a little action last night. About time.