Tis the Season

It's that time again,Everyone is hustling and bustling around, spreading the holiday cheer. Today I saw a small girl, probably about 10 years old spread some cheer as she flipped off a driver who wouldn’t stop for her to cross the street. “Tis the season”. I am not a huge Christmas fan. I think that it has been blown way out of proportion. I mean for the kids, it is great. I love watching kids get into Christmas. But they are just getting into it for the gifts. I can’t blame them. There is some pretty cool shit out there these days. I envy the little bastards. In my family, this is the time for the Christmas list. Even if you don’t want a thing, you better get a list in or you’ll end up with the stuff you only find in those odd catalogs. Like the sock that warms up, but takes a battery the size of a Honda to power. Great sock, heavy as hell and you can’t get your shoes on, but hey, thanks. Or you’ll get the knitted cap made from the lime green yarn that was on sale. You might even get the Chia Pet that looks like Fred Flintstone. I have a few of those. The list is a must. I myself prefer the cash route, but rules are rules, I have to make a list.
I have been checking out the stuff out there that might be cool, interesting and something I might desire enough to put on my list. I think that I have found a few.



My first item could be, “The Real Doll”. What a concept! A woman you design from head to toe who is just as realistic as any chick around, for the sole purpose of banging her! Sure, you could go buy accessories, dress her up, make her part of your living room, but you get to bang the crap out of her. Guess what? She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t say no when you want to do the dirty stuff. This is a must for my list. Make sure you check out the “Doll Configurator”. When I got done, my doll ended up being $6,000 (not including S&H).
Another cool item to add would be a Coffin. Costco is now selling them for about $800 a pop. I could store the “Real Doll” in there, as well as scripting some kinky role playing. Yes, I must have one. What should I look for in a coffin?
I was also thinking about the XBOX 360. But then I got pissed that I bought my XBOX because MicroSLOP pimped it as the last system you’ll ever need. It is a freaking computer with more memory than my Dell. Now it’s new andimproved. If I want the premium model with the hard drive, it will cost more. I wonder why I just couldn’t use the hard drive from my current XBOX?
Those are just a few ideas. I will check out a few more things. The new Mustang looks sweet. If anyone may have any cool suggestions feel free to drop me a line. My list must be done this week. BTW, the ass is doing much better. I took my first healthy shit today, one of those “Big steak grilled burrito” kind of shits. Everything seems to be functioning

Thank You

A kind "Thanks, but no thanks” to the blogger who sent me this. It is the thought that counts. If I thought that it would ease the pain, and that I could actually find it and buy it with a straight face, I might give it a whirl. I am still trying to make my peace with having to shove a suppository up my ass. I know it is a short post today; I apologize, but since you’re here, visit some of the great links off to the left.
See you tomorrow for HNT.

Back from the ER

For those of you that know me, or have read this blog you know that I like to share with you my bowels and the movement of said bowels. You will also know that I do not like “Away Games”, meaning I like to crap exclusively on my own toilet unless it is absolutely an emergency. Well this was and turned out to be a bigger emergency than I had planned for.

{Disclaimer – I know that I some times tend to take the liberty of stretching the facts in some of my posts. For the record, this is 100% an accurate account of such events}

I left work and headed over to a friend’s house. We were to go out and catch a movie and a bite to eat. We both arrived at said friend’s house from work about the same time. Said friend wanted to take a shower and change before we headed out. No problem. While said friend was showering, I had the urge, the one that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can not ignore. The eye watering, gut wrenching, gas bubble of a shit in the works. I knew we were on the road, but this game would have to be played. Luckily, said friend had a guest bathroom. I figured that I could get in and out without being noticed. I get into the guest bathroom, undo the belt, release the button, and drop trou. Before my ass can hit the seat the rush of release came. As uncommon as it is for me to be in this position, the relief I felt was beyond words. It was an almost orgasmic feeling as I purged the poisons within my bowels. Once the quivering subsided and I knew the mission had been accomplished, I was proud that this time I was victorious at the away game. In my haste however, I hadn’t the time to do the usual 10 point inspection of the surroundings insuring that it was safe to unload. MISTAKE NUMBER ONE. In my haste to complete the deposit and get outta there before said friend realized I was taking a huge dump in their guest bathroom, I failed to notice that there was no clean up material. Not even an empty roll. I quickly went through the cabinets searching for something that I could use. Nothing! There I sat unclothed in the most undignified position with out anything to wipe my ass with.
THAT IS WHEN I SAW IT







MISTAKE NUMBER TWO. I picked up the container and was relieved. Said friend had seemed to move into the modern age and instead of the old boring ass wipeage, said friend had the latest and greatest tool for ass wiping. “Clean up Wipes” the container said. “Lemon scented and quilted”. It sounded very refreshing!
On our way to the movie, I got a burning sensation that words can not describe. My ass was literally on fire. Over what seemed like seconds, it spread to my whole crotch area, too include the twins. Said friend asked what was wrong. I barely could catch my breath to explain the events in my nether regions. I explained to said friend that I must be having an allergic reaction to the toilet wipes. I quickly explained the away game to said friend in which, said friend began laughing hysterically. Said friend suggested that we make our way to the closest ER. Said friend explained that the “Clean up wipes” that I had used on my ass and nether region were actually bathroom cleaning supplies.
I write to you, back from the ER, humiliated as each and every person there tried unsuccessfully not to bust out laughing. My anus is swollen to the size of a tennis ball (probably more like the size of a golf ball, but it feels much worse) and I have a chemical burn across my ass and other “Important” areas.
Just thought that I would share that.

SAY WHAT?

Men are simple. Like a dog. Not in the usual “Men are dogs” way, but we can learn to do tricks, learn to be obedient and obey. The basics. We can not lick our balls unfortunately, or I would never leave the house, but in comparison to a canine, we’re pretty easy and straightforward. Women on the other hand are complex. I don’t think that I will ever truly understand them. Women talk in riddles and drop little hints that we are suppose to pick up on, catch on to and know what in the hell they are saying. Ladies, men don’t do well with the hints. If you have something to say to us, come out and say it.
Today is Monday. Not the usual Monday, but the Monday after a long weekend. Things back up naturally at the workplace and everything seems much larger, more important than it really is or usually is. Everyone is in catch up mode and there is not a lot of anything else going on. It was no different for me. The day was flying by. Usually I will stop and BS with the others in my department and ask how their weekend was, that sort of stuff. Not today. Strictly business. About 11:30 one of the guys in my department walked by me and said, “Man, you fucked up”. I asked as to what he was talking about and as usual, he didn’t have the details. He is one of these suck asses that eavesdrops on others conversations only getting enough to spread shit all throughout the department and building. It appears that Cindy, a girl in accounting was not happy with me. Cindy is this chick that has recently broken off a long-term relationship. Rumor has it that it was with another chick. I find that part hard to believe because she is pretty hot, and most carpet munchers I have ever known or seen were anything but hot. Except in the movies that is. Either way, it really wasn’t relative. She is one of the people that hang at our lunch table almost daily. Her and I are friendly, but I wouldn’t say that we were exactly friends, beyond our working relationship and our group lunch gatherings. Why in the hell would she be mad at me? Again, I had to consider the source. It started to really eat at me so I decided to go find out what the deal was.
I head over towards Cindy and asked her how her day was going. I made it look like I was just passing by, not a deliberate mission to find out what was up her pretty lesbian ass. She kinda grunted something and did not smile or even look at me. This stopped me in my tracks. “What is your deal today”, I asked her? She replied as a typical woman who is not happy would. “As if you would care”, was her answer. I tried to get what was wrong out of her (another major malfunction with women, you know something is wrong, but unless you guess, or at least take a shot at it, you’re never getting it out). After playing 20 questions with her it seems that she waited all weekend, the long weekend for me to call her. “WHAT”? She claims that she told me that she wanted to hang out and do something. “WHEN”? Rewinding back to our conversation, she asked “So you doing anything this weekend”? Which I replied that I would do the family thing on Thanksgiving, but other than that I had no plans. She told me that now that she was “on her own” she didn’t have any plans either. Well, in woman talk this was meant for me to decipher as, “I am all alone, I am a converted lesbian who needs some rebound sex, call me”. Hell, I didn’t even have her number. Which I made a point of telling her. She pointed out that her cell number was on the employee contact list.
Bad news – I missed out on 4 days of what can only be imagined as incredible sex, with a former lesbian coming out of a long relationship, who assumedly hasn’t the hammer laid to her in those said years. The thought of it and the fact that I missed it makes me nauseous.
Good news – I know she is interested, and after some apologizing for not getting the HINT and some ass kissing, I still have a shot.

Yoyoyoyoyo!

What it is, motherfuckers!

(Sorry, obscure quote from the lyrics of a band quite popularly known as ‘The Bloodhound Gang’.)

I have nothing to write about. (Maybe it’s something in the water; I hear Mike has writer’s block or some shit.)
God damn, I’m horny. Maybe I’ll ask if Kate wants to come do some more bellydancing for me.
(And just for the record, I agree tall blonde slender chicks are very self-absorbed, and only interested in being tall, blonde, and slender. Kate actually had something to talk about—I mean, during the bits where I wasn’t braining her on the floor.)
You know what I like? Kissing. You know what I like even more than kissing? Kissing in a church. You know what I like even more than kissing in a church? Fondling a woman’s bare breast in church.

Oh, I’m going to hell.

Damn.

Happy Sunday!

I have nothing. Nothing that is blog worthy, so I wish you all well after a long weekend. Today I have dedicated myself to watching football and eating pizza, and drinking beer! You’re all welcome to join me. I’ll be back tomorrow. See ya then.

Penny Pinata

Yes I know, I did not post yesterday. I try and make it a habit of posting on a daily basis, even if it is just a quick hello. Yesterday I decided that I would take all of my change into the grocery store, to that machine thing that you dump in all of your change, it counts it, and “for a fee” spits out a ticket that you take to the register for your cash. Normally I would take exception to the fee because I am a cheap bastard, but the banks these days really give you a hard time if you bring in the rolled change, and besides, who has that kind of time to sit there and roll over a years worth of filthy change? Not I. About 2 years ago, I got one of those cheesy mock “Pepsi” bottle plastic change things, filled with pop corn or some crap. Since then, every day I deposit my change from the day into it. Well it is full now. It is not so much that I need or care how much is in the thing, but the fact that I have no place to deposit my change is problematic for me as I am a creature of habit.

I grab the thing and was shocked as to how fucking heavy it was. I load it into the car, and off to the store I go (I said LOAD). I carry this huge oversized plastic fake “Pepsi” bottle into the store. The machine is on the other side of the check out registers, so I make my way past all of the shoppers in line, with my change. I read the instructions on the change machine. Doesn’t sound so difficult. They have the nerve to charge 2% for this. Screw it I am here. I turn the machine on and wait for the little light to come on to let me know that it is OK to dump the money into the counter funnel (I said DUMP). The light came on indicating it was ready for my change. I bent to lift this heavy ass change container, or “Pepsi” bottle. I begin to upturn it to pour in the change.

DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME.

As the change shifted due to me turning or attempting to turn the bottle upside down, the weight caught me off guard and I lost grasp of the giant “Pepsi” bottle. It fell and hit the floor with a loud crack and thump. Now folks, when considering giving these things as a gift, please keep in mind that someone may actually use it for its intended purpose. Also keep in mind that these things are probably made in some third world country with the cheapest material available and after 2 years, this cheap material could become brittle and,
I stood there and watched the “Pepsi” bottle hit the floor and explode. I watched my change, the change I religiously deposited daily, disperse, and scatter in a million different directions. Every single shopper, every single clerk, and every single bag boy and girl, were all now looking at me and my change. Like kids reacting to a piñata filled with candy, everyone began to literally try and catch the fast moving change.
I’ll never know how much change there actually was. A bag girl swept as much of it up into a pile for me as she could. With the machine beeping at me to insert the change, I scooped up the change in my hands and in several trips got it all into the machine. I received a whopping $98.31 for my efforts, far less than what was probably in the “Pepsi” bottle, but the experience was worth much more.

Damn thing Blew Up!

My modem died, so I won’t be blogging as often. (Yeah, I say that like I blog a lot. Ha, ha. It’s only by the grace of Mike that I’m even still part of this team; I’m so bad at keeping up on things.)

I would like to point something out right now: Yes, the club I was at played Gwen Stefani. No, I do not like club music.

I just had to get that off my chest. My flat, nearly concave chest that I have now because I don’t work out anymore. Sigh.

Speaking of working out, holy hell! I have a new love. One of my lady friends came over last night to use my VCR, since hers shit a brick. (Not literally—it’s more like it ATE a brick. She chucked a block of cheese at it and knocked it off the entertainment centre—don’t ask.)

ANYWAYS, she came over to use my VCR to try out this new workout video she got. My first thought was, “Oh, great. A sweaty women in Spandex jumping and panting all over my living room, getting everything sweaty, to the background sound of some motivational Richard Simmons saying, ‘You can doooo it allll niiiiight looong!’ “
Oh, how I love being mistaken. So she pops the tape in, turns and looks at me, and says, “You’re not just going to sit there and watch me, are you?”
I laugh and say, “Hell yes I am.”
“If you want to watch me, you have to at least try it with me.”
I laugh her off and say, “Maybe later.”
So I watch attentively as she stretches on my floor. God, that girl is flexible. Kate (that’s her name, by the way) can do the splits on my floor and lean all the way back ‘til her head touches the carpet. It’s insane.
She starts the tape and waits through the whole “Welcome to blah blah my name is blah blah this video is an introduction to bellydancing.”
Wait—BELLYDANCING? I look at Kate, who is in pyjama bottoms and a tank top. “You aren’t in bellydancing attire,” I say. “Besides, didn’t you have a workout video to try out?”
“Bellydancing is a workout. Besides, it’s to hiphop music. What’s the proper dress for hiphop bellydancing?”
“You’re supposed to wear the whole golden brassiere thing!” I insisted, and to my absolute and total surprise and delight, she stripped off her top, revealing her black and green bra.
“Is this close enough?” she says. I nod, while absolutely drinking in the sight. I’ve never thought of Kate as my type (my type is tall, blonde, slender, etc—every guy’s type!). She’s short, has a good set of hips on her, with pretty thick legs and waist, and a smallish chest—don’t get me wrong, she’s not fat. She’s just curves.
So I hadn’t really given her a second glance until she stood in my living room with just a bra and pyjamas. She isn’t the type to really go for tight shirts, so I figured she had a chub tummy—hell no. It’s smooth, with just a bit of a pooch at the bottom—mm.
ANYWHOO, while I’m paying attention to her ass, she’s trying to follow along with the video. I was pretty surprised at how quickly she picked it up—it’d’ve taken me time to even figure out the first move, the “hip drop”.
I watched her step side-to-side, swinging her hips in smooth circles, and do this funny move called the “chest something-or-other,” during which she thrust her chest up and relaxed. Nice bouncing.
It slowly got more and more complicated until she was basically doing this nice bellydance routine in my living room. Man, I think she just totally changed my taste in women—I was comparing her (large hips and ass, nice stomach and waist, small chest) to the chicks on the video (small hips, no ass, very skinny waist and stomach, huge tits) and I was like, “Dude! She’s hotter than they are!”
She wasn’t quite as hot when she fell over, though, which she did numerous times.
But then came the HIGH POINT OF MY DAY:
(Okay, pay attention now)
She wasn’t certain she was moving her hips in a complete circle through a specific move, so she (here it comes) TOLD ME TO STAND AGAINST HER AND GUIDE HER WITH MY HANDS.
I wasn’t sure that she was doing it because I was a friend and she could be comfortable with me, or if I was a sex prospect and she wanted to do my brains out.
So I come up to her and she says, “Okay, put your chin on my collarbone so you can watch my hips from the front, and push your crotch against my ass and move me how I’m supposed to.”
Gee, I really don’t think I can do that! I tried not to get hard, but…I mean…hot chick! Humping! Hello, Mr. Hardon!
I think she felt it, ‘cause she took a quick step away. Oh, shit, I think.
Then she turns around. “I still don’t think I’m doing it right,” she says, and grabs my hips and pulls them to hers. We were facing each other this time, and she swung her hips, sliding herself over my now rather erect self. She grins (God, it was a wicked, absolutely hot grin) and says, “I told you that in order for you to watch me you’d have to do a bit of a workout, too.”
“Uh-huh,” I breathed, trying not to moan as she continues grinding against me.
So long story short, I got a workout. It was incredible. Too bad she has a boyfriend

Giving Thanks

Today I am thankful that the day is over. I am thankful for my friends, family and also you guys. But wait, there is more, some of the little things we tend to over look. Today I am also thankful for hot water as it is colder than an Eskimo outhouse, and the pipes did not freeze in this complex, with the owner away in Florida, as they do every year when it gets this cold. I am thankful for having a pair of clean underwear as I headed off to Mom’s house. It would be just my luck I would get hit by “that bus” and she would say, “See, I told you to always wear clean underwear”. I am thankful that even though my fuel light has been on for days, that I had enough gas to make it there and back with out having to get out and freeze my balls off while pumping gas. I am thankful for that little local market that I never shop at. It was open. I needed to bring a pie, and as usual, I waited until the last minute. Even though the place is on the verge of bankruptcy, I bought my pie. I am thankful for the paper towels this morning as I am out of toilet paper and I took a healthy crap, which by the way I am also thankful for. I am thankful for the expiration date on my milk being wrong so that I could eat my chocolate Lucky Charms for breakfast. I am thankful for the invention of “Thong” underwear as every time my cousin’s girlfriend bent over I got to see hers which filled my head with pleasant thoughts. I am thankful for the guy who married my sister. They couldn’t stay long and took their screaming kids with them off to his family’s house. I am thankful for the NFL for making the day a little better. Lastly, and once again, I am thankful to you and this outlet that allows me to release the madness within. Oh, I almost forgot, I am thankful for Chuck. Your emails are great!

A bit Early but what the hell-HNT

Ok, the moment of truth. I have agonized over this decision for days now. I have read the rules for HNT and I think that I am in compliance. I have read your emails, your comments and decided that this is what you want. After all, this is your blog as much as it is mine, so taking one for the team, here is my HNT post. As promised, 100% naked. You can see from the picture that I am not real thrilled, shy actually. It is not everyday that I pose nude for the world. I am sure that you can see my inadequacies. Just know that no one is perfect! I hope you all enjoy your Turkey day. Think of me, as I will be in family HELL!
Peace Out!

Older and Wiser

WHILE I – Took my first Jell-O shot off of the belly of a hot striper, I reflected on how at my age most people know where they are going, or already there. Me, I still am undecided. There are several avenues I one day would like to pursue.
AS I – Took the tequila shot from the cleavage of the shooter girl, I thought back on my life. I haven’t done so badly. I kept to the straight and narrow; I haven’t caused or gotten into too much trouble. I can’t say that I have made my parents proud, but I surely have never embarrassed them or brought shame to our family.
WHILE I –Sat there enjoying my 4th lap dance from a naked Mexican girl named Rosa, I wondered if I had really matured. I mean, for a while there I was sure that I was doomed. Destined to end up in jail or even worse, dead. I got my shit together and finished my education, got a decent job and have worked my way up the proverbial ladder. But have I matured?
LATER WHEN –We were at the club and I gave that smoking hot girl a phony name and a cheesy pick up line, I thought to myself, “What if she is the one”? Sure, right now all I can concentrate on are her tits, her ass, but what if this is the future Mother of my children? I know that does not matter now, or later when I have her naked on all fours, taking it like a champ. But would I know? Could my actions change the course of destiny?
WHILE WE – Had a beer chugging contest and I snorted beer out of my nose, I looked around at my friends. They all seem to have it together. Wives, children, that big house, the mistress, Why them and not me. Why are they my friends, I thought as beer ran down my neck?
AFTER SHE – Slapped the crap out of me for asking “If she’d ever been eaten properly”, I knew right away that she could never be my future wife, nor the mother of my children as she was a bitch. But I took pleasure in knowing there was one more I didn’t have to worry about offending.
WHEN WE – Decided to see how many shots of Jeager we could down in a minute, I felt really close to this group of friends. I heard the “I love you man” commercial play through my head as the bar chick said “GO”. Shot after shot I downed thinking that this was really a good day. This was having fun. Me and these guys, we were in control, we got this.
FINALLY – Kneeling before the porcelain throne, hurling up the last of the beer, tequila, Jeager and Hooters chicken wings, I swore that I would get that wife. I would have those kids. I would buy that big house. Yes, I would mature and show everyone. I would pave my path and choices and set forth towards then like most adults do. My Mother will be proud, my Father will look upon me from the heavens above saying ‘That’s my boy”.
SHE – Kissed me on the cheek as she tucked me into bed. “I guess I’ll take a rain check tiger, you don’t look like you have much to give right now. And, your question, the answer is I really don’t know”. My head hit the pillow and as it pounded away I thought, fuck it, I like things the way they are.

Please don't take my sunshine away!

This weekend I have a wedding to attend. By rule I usually never go to weddings, but that is another story. My good friend has decided to spend the rest of his life, in theory anyway with the wicked witch of the Northeast. No amount of discussions, alcohol and strip clubs have been able to sway his decision to join in holy matrimony with the seed of Satin himself. But it is his life and he asked me to do him the honor of being his best man. Sure, why not.
Lately I have noticed that I am looking rather pale. I thought that I might try one of those tanning places. Normally I am not into fake anything, well, maybe some things fake are OK, but tanning isn’t anything I have ever considered before. But since I have been looking like the Pillsbury doughboy I figured I should at least give it a shot. Why? Because as much as I HATE weddings, there is an upside. Single, unmarried, emotional, lovely ladies. All the friends of the “hag to be” who have been unsuccessful in sinking the hook into a man. So I have to look my best, are you with me?
I show up at the local tanning place (BTW, there are gorgeous chicks that work at and frequent this place) and tell the girl I wanna tan. She starts asking questions like booth or bed, how long, super 70 or regular, on and on. I explain to her my situation and tell her I am looking to get tan quickly. She explains that the preferred method is to do it in steps over a few days. I don’t have that kind of time. She explains that the super 70 booth would probably be the best route, but didn’t recommend anything longer than 5 minutes. I asked her what my choices are. Against her advice, I chose the max aloud by law. 15 minutes in the Super 70 and I should have that nice Coppertone tan.
She points me to my room, which was pretty cool. Stereo and CD player. Mental note to bring CD’s in the future. In the corner is this booth that reminds me of a time machine from one of those old sci-fi movies. I locked the door and undress. Now I wonder about the protocol of tanning. Should I leave the boxers on? What the hell, I have never had a full body tan, so off with the shorts. I turn to my favorite station and enter the metal upright coffin. The walls are lined with huge fluorescent bulbs. I figure out the on switch thingie and as the lord himself had appeared, the entire chamber lit up. As I stand there “in the light” I begin to wonder what exactly do you do while standing there tanning. I decided dancing wouldn’t hurt. There was music so what the heck. So picture this. Me butt ass naked in this tanning both getting my groove on the best I could with the limited space I had. Time flew by and FLASH and POOF. It was dark. The music is still playing as I try and find the door handle to exit this thing. I now realize I am as blind as the 3rd blind mouse. I step out and look into the full sized mirror and see that I look exactly as I did when I entered. What a rip off. I told the girl at the desk that I was not satisfied and I got no tan. She giggled and said see you again. I let her know that I would not be returning because this whole tanning and Super 70 crap were a scam.
As I write you, I am currently covered with Noxzema from head to toe. I noticed when I got home and started to change that not only my tee shirt but drawers were sticking to me, why. I’ll tell you why. I am burnt from head to toe. Little blisters everywhere. I began feeling dizzy so I went to see my doctor and he freaks as I have a severe sunburn. The super 70 does indeed work it appears. My doctor says that I am dizzy because of some equilibrium effect from the sunburn. He says that I should “Take it Easy”. So I sit here undressed shivering with ointment everywhere wondering how in the world I am going to get the tux on? How am I going to get anything on? The worst part of the story is that since I was tanning, dancing and carrying on in the nude like a 60’s flower child, “Jimmy and the twins” were baking away as if they were those 10 minute instant biscuits in an oven. Swollen and tender, I don’t see myself or my “mini me” getting any play this weekend.
I blame this on her. She is evil. I must talk him out of it. This will convince him surely. Well folks, I am off to prepare for the Bachelor Party. No lap dances for