Panties: The Great Debate

Which do you prefer? For my birthday post, I will share my opinions on women's undergarments. Thongs are all too common nowadays, but still popular for all ages. I'm seeing boy shorts more and more often. I guess they give you an ass when you have none. Cotton panties will always be there, but strickly as period-panties (yes, I said it). I'm still waiting for the g-string to make the jump from stripper-wear to evening-wear. They're my personal favorite. Here's my pros and cons about the numerous different ass ascenders, booty barriers, coochie covers, dunker drapery, erotic end-cutrains, fanny flossers, gam garters, hump halters (I could go all the way to 'Z', but I won't) out there. Cotton panties They're classic. You can't mess with a classic. In recent years they've gone from the cute little innocent pair with a bow in the front of the drawer, to the embarassingly 'stained' pair that's only worn when business is closed for a few days. It's a shame. There's something about innocence that is strangely erotic in a woman. Boy shorts The up-and-comers. It seems like ever since Cameron Diaz shook her little ass in Charlie's Angels wearing those little shorts, they've been popping up here and there. I'm not really a fan in most cases. The lacey ones are hot, but that's it. I'm told they give the appearance of a shapely ass when there isn't one. Call it a wonderbra for ya ass. Thongs They were invented to make pantylines disappear. Now every female between the ages of 14 and 50 owns at least a week's worth of these things. A horrible song has spawned from them, contests are held in their honor, and Abercrombie says our little girls should wear them. I think it's time to hang up your thongs and leave them for the beaches of South Beach and Wahkiki. The perma-wedgie is now a staple in American culture and there's nothing we can do. It used to be a huge turn-on when a woman would tell me she's wearing a thong or if I caught a glimpse of the whale tail coming from the back of her jeans. Now she might as well tell me she's wearing shoes. Its still sexy to see them on the floor. G-strings Oh yes. The stripper uniform. The butt floss. The eye patch. The new fad that I think is gonna take off in 2007 (yes, you heard it here first). What is not to love about the g-string? It barely covers whats important and there's no panty line at all. I'm a big fan of panties I can stick in my little change pocket. I see them every so often, but not on a regular basis for two reasons. First, you have to be a certain size to wear these without cutting off your circulation. Second, women like to wear these only on special occations. Starting today, I'm making a push for g-strings to become the new norm. I figure if you have to wear undergarments, you might as well wear as less as possible. Which brings me to.... No drawers (pronounced draughs) Going commando. No panties. Why? Just because. There are few things hotter on Earth than: fire, Southern California, and an attractive woman wearing sweat pants with no panites. I like it. I like it alot and I don't know why. Not to mention... crotchless panties- kinky, impracticle granny panties- practicle, opposite of hot boxers- only when they sleep actual boy underwear- weird brazilian cut- I'm not sure what those are. I think its a bikini. satin animal print- no. just don't. anything with ties- not for the daytime edible undies- not as great as they sound What are your favorites? Comment below.

I am a superhero. Well, less super, more hero.

Me and some friends went to this shitty bar one night to visit someone we haven't seen in a while. She was a waitress there and we figured we'd get some stiff drinks while we caught up with her. It all seemed like a good idea. We got there and it was fairly empty. It was us three, a table full of preppy douche bags with their girlfriends/whores, some older people, a couple people palying pool, and a couple of really bad karaoke singers. Not too bad. We were working on getting a decent buzz when, right by our table, some black guy (it becomes important later) walked out of the restroom and accidently brushed up against one of the douche bags that was on his way in the restroom. The drunk, douchey guy exchanged a look with the brotha and they went about their way. My dear friend of mine couldn't let this opportunity pass... You gonna let him get away with that? It was funny at the time. I didn't think it'd go anywhere. We continued drinking for another 45 minutes or so when I happened to glance over and witness an altercation between the brotha and the douche bags. The brotha was attempting to leave with his girlfriend when the drunk, douchey guy confronted him about the little brush-up earlier. It was comical at first. Picture a 6-foot-2 black guy being bugged by a 5-foot-8 preppy prick. I decided to pay it some extra attention. The brotha didn't want any trouble, probably since he was with his lady and also outnumbered. As he pushed his way down the stairs, one of the other douchey guys ran down the other part of the stairs (the stairs had two ways down on opposite sides) and met him at the door. The fists began flying. This poor brotha was getting his ass handed to him by 4-5 little white dudes while their girlfriends/whores cheered them on. It was a little fucked up. I couldn't let my boy go down like that, so I ran to jump in. I ran down the stairs and started pulling these little fuckers off of him. One by one, they were getting pulled in mid-punch and being tossed aside like ugly groupies at an Usher concert. I'm not all that big, but I do my best. I really wanted one of them to swing on me so I would have reason to actually jump in, but none of them tried. It was a bit of a downer, but I continued to help. Everytime another ass tried to jump in, I was right behind him to give him a toss. I look behind me expecting my two friends to have my back only to see them drinking beer straight from the tap while the bar staff was outside breaking things up. Apparently: free beer > me. It's nice to know you can depend on your friends (I'm being sarcastic. It was completely ok.). Then the cops came. I'm not stupid, so I ran inside the bar to play everything off. I wasn't fast enough. They comenced in the mace/pepper spraying at full force. I came up the stairs coughing but nothing serious. I wasn't directly hit. Others, however, were running to the bathroom to wash their eyes out and such. One guy ran into the restroom to puke as my friend was peeing right beside his head. Funny shit. In the end, they all went to jail. All the girlfriends of both parties were crying from stupidity and lacking the ability to drive their boyfriends stick-shift home. Everyone else continued drinking. Our waitress-friend ended the night with this comment... That hardly ever happens. Please, don't be afraid to come back.

My Google Keywords

Here's a list of words or phrases that weird people have used to find my site on Google. Nov. 16th depression after masturbating- 3rd (there's actually a guy out there who searched that) nice floppers- 1st (tee-hee) buttsex- 21st being slutty- 3rd (I'm proud of that) goldielocks three bears- 36th (some obscure search engine but worth sharing) Nov. 18th longcock- 26th (I don't really know how) Nov. 19th psycho ex-girlfriend stories- 2nd Nov. 21st ruin my orgasm- 2nd (Not what I want to be known for BTW) Nov. 27th how to insult someone over the phone- 4th (why?) Nov. 28th first daddy's fuck- 1st on MSN (WTF!?!?!) Dec. 6th lonely milfy- 1st (I was sure I made up that word) Dec. 7th school is more important than boyfriend- 1st (weird) daddy's little fuck- 8th on MSN (huh?) ex girlfriend sites- 6th (yeah motherfucka!) slam pig- 1st on MSN (hahahahahaha) Dec. 9th stationed in ansbach gay- 16th (well, there are gays in the military I guess) Dec. 12th my pregnant girlfriend is illegal- 4th (wow. just wow.) Dec. 15th ungreatness poems- 4th Pt. 2->

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend ChroniclesThe Index

There's an epilogue to my tale of humor/sadness Fate has a way of biting me in the ass. Examples: -I was forced to move in with my mother after being kicked out of our apartment. Soon after, she moved back in with her parents. Her parents lived within walking distance from my mom. I had to pass it every day to drop my brother off at school. Awkward. Probably made me look like a stalker or something. -Years later, I got an aparment directly across the street (and owned by the same fucks that banned me) from the one I vowed to "never return to". -When I officially began a relationship with a recent girlfriend, I was at a friend's wedding. My friend's wedding was at the same venue where I attended my prom with, you guessed it, the ex. Looking back at it all, the good times definitely out-weighed the bad. Although, the bad weighed a shitload. Its like saying the tumor only takes up a 10% of my leg. Compare that to my hand and my hand is gone. Bad analogy, but you get the point. I do have a lot more stories that I could share, but exactly how much of an asshole do I wanna be? Honestly, if I shared any more, it'd be a little easier to find out who she is and for her to sue me in some way. That wouldn't be very neighborly of me. Also, I made it a point to not share anything that didn't directly involve me. Now, if I were offered a book deal or a movie-type offer, then I might buckle. ...and I do have movie material. There is some shit. Here is an index of my infamous misfortune: First Entry- She dares me to let her get raped. Second Entry- Things get physical. Third Entry- She costs me my job. Fourth Entry- I lost more female friends this way. Fifth Entry- She beat herself so I wouldn't have to. Sixth Entry- "I'm pregnant....and yes, its yours." Seventh Entry- One of many failed hotel getaways. Eighth Entry- Another girl told me that she loved me. Not smart on her part. Ninth Entry- An apartment trashing. Tenth Entry- "You showered without me?" Eleventh Entry- I was dumped. Me. How funny is that shit? Twelfth Entry- Her car is stolen on our 'break'. Thirteenth Entry- Cops, strip club, and another guy. The End. Fourteenth Entry- Collecting my shit. Edit: I came across an actual store that sells apparel for these crazy bitches. I laughed.

Digital music is GLORIOUS

To all the people that have MP3 players or CD burners, and a broadband internet connection: When was the last time you paid for an actual CD? Even though I make CDs sound like ancient artifacts, I don't really see why they are still around. Buying a CD is like buying a VCR. You know it's becoming a dead technology, yet you still pour your money into it instead of upgrading to a DVD player, or in this case, a MP3 player. Even before I got my iPod, I burned CDs like it was curing cancer. With downloading music available, who goes out and buys CDs anymore? In the past seven or eight years, I have paid for three CDs: Hot Boyz- Guerilla Warfare for $17, The Band- Too Hot For TV for $14, and Ray- The Soundtrack for $12. After the first one, I decided I was done making the rich even richer if I could help it. The album sucked and I felt my money was tricked away from me. The second one was for the kids. I watched the show and I felt for them, so I gave them my money. Besides, it wasn't that horrible. The third was because I just saw the movie and I loved the music. I also knew the money was eventually getting to his kids, so I didn't mind. Other than that, I tired of giving my money to rappers who brag about how they're spending my money and I'm tired of giving my money to R&B singers who sing about fucking girls I could never get because they're spending my money. That was a really long sentence. Another thing that wipes the guilt away is knowing how much the 'stars' make in doing shows. That's where the money is. Selling one or two million copies ain't shit no more. It's all about doing shows. They make enough at the shows to miss my couple bucks at fye. I can see them doing away with CDs all together in the near future. Digital music will eventually be the standard to recieving music, whether its from downloading on the internet or from an in-store station at Best Buy. The only thing holding them back is thievery. What will stop such thievery (I love that word) is the development of a new digital format/technology and the coinciding government (argh) protection of the patent to be withheld from the companies producing for the copyright infringing consumers and only allow it for industrial (I hope that's the word I want) use. No matter what technology is out there, we will be able to duplicate it with some computer add-ons, but if the government (double-argh) were able to stop companies from producing such add-ons, we would be unable to duplicate it. It may be illegal in some way, but its the only way to stop free downloading. (Hint, hint RIAA) Until this happens, free shit for everyone! Here a simple guide to how to do such a thing. Its so easy, a cave....nevermind. That may be some Geico copyrighted thing. First, buy a fucking iPod or a Creative Zen Player! Having all your music in the palm of your hand is the best thing ever. I know what you're thinking, "You're about four years late on this 'breaking' news." Well yeah, so fuck you anyway and keep reading. Once you obtain an MP3 player, get Limewire (my go-to program) or Kazaa for the 'free' shit. You could also find music on some message boards and torrent sites, but those are slightly more difficult to explain. If you must pay for what you call music, go to iTunes where they're a buck a song or Napster where I have no idea how it works. All these ways are way better than buying CDs. Next step... Buy some compatible shit for your player. Head to The Apple Store or eBay to pick up some accessories so you can hear your music. Of course you can hear your shit through the earplugs, but not everyone wants to have those in all the time. You need either some sort of docking station with speakers included (example) or a simple RCA cable (example) to be able to plug your device into your stereo in your car or home. I do not recommend one of those cheap radio frequency hookups because they have alot of static. What I do when I want music at home is just play my music straight from my computer using iTunes and my multimeadia speaker system which is similiar to this. It sounds GRAND and I have control of all of my music on my computer. I'm like a sixteen-year-old Korean DJ. If all of this is too difficult, you can still use iTunes to burn CDs to play in your car or decade-old home stereo. This will be how things are in the near future anyway, might as well start now. If this little lesson was too complicated for you, my thirteen-year-old brother will be more than glad to assist you for a small fee. Edit: Since writing this my iPod was stolen. Now I don't have one. Oh, the fucking irony. Now I have changed my beer foundation to the iPod Foundation. Just click the picture of the iPod to help me out. Read more here.

New word: Schlut

Schlut- [shlut] n. 1. What Sean Connery would call Paris Hilton. 2. What an old Italian woman would call a slot machine. 3. What I called my friend's ex-girlfriend while I had a mouthful of Ritz crackers. Example: Yo bedda ov wifouh her. She's jush ah schlut.

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Chronicles Fourteenth Entry

<--- Thirteenth Entry It was officially over, but I still didn’t have any of my stuff. A week or two later is when we finally decided on a a time convenient for both of us. We did this all through text messages between me and the 'new guy' of course. Me and the ex had no desire to talk to each other. I showed up with my 14 year old brother and my step-dad to collect my things. I had to get my waterbed, my dresser, my kitchen table, a TV, and some other stuff. I’d be damned if I let her keep any of my shit. I get there and I can feel my heart beating at an insane rate. My hands were numb and my vision was getting blurry. I was subconsciously ready to fight someone. Anyone. When the door opened, all those feelings went away. The ‘new guy’ answered my brother's knocks with a nervous smile. He was this Jon B./Maroon 5 looking ass who was actually a nice guy. It's a little hard for me to hit a nice guy. That, and the ex’s two, junior high aged brothers were there along with their mother. This startled me because in 5 years of knowing her this was the first time I’ve ever met her birth mother (she was a foster child). The ex opted to stay in the kitchen making me look like some kind of abusive monster in front of her family. That would have been the smart thing to do except that I’ve never, and would never, hit her no matter how much she she deserved it. Her brothers helped me collect my things that were already in the center of the living room ready to go. I go into the bedroom to find the waterbed taken apart already, but the mattress was still full of water. How they did that, I'll never know. I just looked at it and smiled. There was no way I was taking the bed that may or may not have been ‘tainted’ by Maroon 5-guy. I really didn’t feel a need to tell anyone this either. “Yeah, we’ll come back with a pump for this bed.” I may have been childish, but it made me happy. We loaded everything we could into my step dad’s van which left the dresser for a second trip. I went back upstairs to make sure I had everything and to say my peace. It was a short, ‘what could have been’ speech that probably made me look like this great, mythical boyfriend or just some emo bastard. Whatever. I told them I’d be back for the big stuff. When I walked downstairs to my pile of things on the curb, I found a little basket filled with every note/letter I’ve ever written to her on top of the dresser. After seeing this, I looked at my step dad and told him I was not coming back. “They can deal with the stuff on the curb (the dresser was a cheap one) and they can deal with that big bag of water in the bedroom. I refuse to come back here ever again.” The ex sent me a text the next day asking if I was coming back to collect the rest of my stuff. I responded: No, I don’t want it. Don’t ever contact me again. And she didn't. The Epilogue

"Haha! I just threw my own shit!"

...and for my 100th post. Ok, so it's the 105th. It took me a little while to get this cleared. Here's a study break for those of you taking finals this week. The shit story is a short tale of one of the craziest, non-drug induced nights that I've ever been apart of. I'm almost positive my telling it won't do it any justice at all. I doubt this will even see the light of day anyway. This will be the only entry I ever do that will need a 'clearance' from the people that were there to make sure I don't ruffle any feathers. It all started when me and two of my friends went out one Sunday night after work..... It was a magical night of drinking. Like, Walt Disney-magic. It seemed like we were invincible the way we mixed liquors and beers without ever getting sick. There were tequila shots, whiskey shots, a few jager bombs, beer chasers (for the pussies), and I'm sure some other stuff that I can't remember/name. We could do no wrong. It was GLORIOUS. We closed out the bar, as we usually do, and decided to head home. When we made it outside to our cars, none of us felt like driving off, so we hung out in the parking lot and started bullshitting. That was until someone had the best idea ever (sense the sarcasm) to walk to his cousin's house so he could drive us home. "He doesn't live far. It's not like we have anything else to do." Across the street from the bar is a Park & Ride that we opted to cut through to save some time and stay out of the lights. To the left of the Park & Ride was a small grassy field, some trees, and a Honey Bucket. I've always thought that was an odd place to have one, but whatever. From my left I heard a voice say, "Watch this" and when I turned, I saw one of my friends plow into the Honey Bucket, nearly tipping it over. If that wasn't funny enough, someone yelled from the inside, "Hey motherfucker! I'm in here!"....at 2:30 in the fucking morning. I start to double-over from laughter when I hear a voice from my right say, "Oh yeah? Watch this." I look to my right and through my tears I can see one of my other friends plow into the plastic Park & Ride sign, completely shattering it. I fell to the ground in pain from laughing and he fell to the ground in pain of....pain. We continued our journey. Every quarter mile we walked was accompanied by a, "It's not too much further from here." Keep in mind that we were walking down the busiest streets in the city, completely and utterly trashed, being as loud and as stupid as possible. If I remember correctly, I think we were yelling and flipping off cars as we walked too. Real high-school stuff, but who cares, it was fun. It got a whole lot funner when we stopped to piss. I sat on the curb as my two friends went into some bushes to pee. The bushes were roughly a couple feet away from the street so we were completely visible. As I sat there watching for nosy people, I thought I heard something that I wish I hadn't... "I gotta take a shit. I'm gonna go right here." I assumed he was full of shit (not literally full of shit), laughed, and paid it no mind. That was until I saw a foreign substance land about two feet away from me. All the alcohol must have affected my reaction time a little bit because I just kinda sat there and stared at it hoping to find out it wasn't what I thought it was. I realized what it was when he came from the bushes laughing hysterically... "Hahaha! I just threw my own shit!" ...and that he did. There was a pile of shit, covered in beauty bark, a little closer to me than I would have liked. I quickly got up, laughing my ass off. As I took a hold of the situation, so did my other friend, and he found it just as hilarious. Then all of a sudden, the shit-flinger started running across the street at full speed, still laughing... (yelling) "Dude, I just threw my shit at that window!" That's all I needed to start running myself. He threw his fucking shit on the fucking window of a fucking dentist office. His dentist, coincidently. We followed him across the street and watched as he tripped on the curb and mowed through a couple of bushes while getting drenched from the most oddly timed sprinklers ever. He got up with scratches and leaves all over his stomach, but that would not stop him. We continued to run for another quarter-mile until we safely hit a back street... "Hey, my cousin's place is right around the corner. I need to change my boxers." Yeah, I know what you're thinking, but I typed it anyway. We continued to walk with his cousin's place 'just around the corner'. Of course the last time he said so, he was right. Luckily his brother was there because the cousin was sound asleep. Like a rock. When we walked in, he made a bee-line to the bathroom. We took a short tour of the house before we went back out front. Although, the shit-flinger wasn't behind us. He did happen to resurface with a full package of Kraft Singles. After taking a break to scoot his ass across the carpet like only a drunk pitbull would do, he walked to the doorway and began launching cheese slices all over his cousin's front yard and then the adjacent neighbor's yard and car. I was told they were still there in the morning. I bet that pissed some people off. Another bright idea: "Hey, you think my cousin would mind if we borrowed his van?" 'Borrow' would be the word I'd use to the cops if we were to get pulled over that night. We piled into his cousin's work van and went 50 in a 35 all the way back to the bar. There was a point when we all nearly smashed into the windshield, going from fifty to zero in 0.5 seconds. We didn't, fortunately, but almost everything in that work van did. The shit-flinger decided at this time to confess to us what he did before he discovered the cheese earlier. "I threw my shitty boxers in the garbage." "Where?" "In the kitchen" "The kitchen?" "Yeah." "Where the food is?" "Hehe, yuuup." Keep in mind that his cousin was asleep during all of this. Like I said before, I bet plenty of people were pissed in the morning. After skidding around the city, we eventually made it back to where we started. Another bright idea: "Follow me back to my cousin's so we can give back his van." ...and then he took off. We attempted to follow him, still drunk, with his cousin's stolen work van. This was all at about five-ish or so in the morning. Luckily my friend, the master drunk driver, had a decent enough memory to know about where to go. We made it back so we can all hop in the shit-flinger's car and head to the local casino to get some steak and eggs.

New Word: Milfy

Well, the word 'Milf' is not anything new, but 'Milfy' is something I think I made up. Or at least I've never heard anyone else use it before. Milfy (millf-ee) adj. 1. A word describing a Milf Example: She's actually kinda Milfy. 2. An environment constisting of several hot, older women. Similar to a weather condition. Example: It's awfully Milfy out here today. 3. A great name for a gay, little poodle.

What don't I do?

I guess you can say I got a new job a couple weeks ago. I now do DVD reviews for a webiste based out in Australia called ScreenHead.com. If you were to venture over there from time to time, you could get all kinds of movie news for your liking. Right now I put out 3-5 reviews every Tuesday morning about the new releases that day. After this month (or whenever I stop putting things off) the number of reviews will increase due to my excess free time and what have you. Enjoy. If you don't agree (or even if you do) with my reviews, leave a comment and make me look good (or bad).

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Chronicles Thirteenth Entry

<--- Twelfth Entry All good things must come to an end. All bad things, however, usually never end. Well here it is, the end (I still got two more weeks of posts, so don't panic). It’s only fitting for our relationship that the cops would be there. We were taking a ‘break’ (Friends-style) at the time, which informally kicked me out of the apartment, but that’s another story. I still had a working key since all of my stuff was still there and I frequently used it to pick up random CDs or clothes. I also used it to check for clues to who (if anyone) was fucking my girlfriend. Not my proudest of moments. Either she caught wind of this or she just wanted to drive that 4-inch nail in the empty plywood coffin that I called a relationship, she officially kicked me out...and never told me. I found this out when my key no longer worked. Thinking I was outsmarting her, I went to the apartment manager to get some help. They actually had my name at the front desk on a ‘do not accommodate’ list. Bitches. Apparently I wasn’t on the lease and had no rights to the inside of the apartment. Mainly due to the fact that I never got around to putting my name on said lease even after being pressured every day by the girlfriend. That was my anti-genius moment. Whatever, I later learned she was unable to make rent so luckily I wasn’t liable to compensate. So I kinda reversed my anti-geniusism (real word). I left a short, emo-inspired note on the door, “Why?”, and left to blow off some steam. Deja Vu was calling my name. I’ve never been to a strip club before that day. Mostly because my ‘loved one’ frowned upon it (she dripped insecurity). For some reason I really needed to see a naked woman to calm me down. It worked...$250 later. Strippers are really nice when tipped correctly. I paid for a great deal of lap dances from a girl who was new after being a long time waitress (awfully cliche). I recommend those because they actually care about your enjoyment. I hit on her, only to be politely turned down and that's when I left. If only she took me up on my offer, my night would have ended a great deal better. My mom lived twenty miles away and the psycho's apartment was one and a half miles away. I thought I might as well stop by and try to talk things out. I pulled up and saw her parking space being occupied by a very familiar car...that wasn’t hers. I recognized the car as a friend/'co-worker' of hers that I already had doubts about. That was when I found myself at a fork in the road. I could have received the hint and left, and then decide how to get my things later. I could have also grabbed my ‘foreign object’ from my car and dealt with this in a final fashion. What I ended up doing was running up the stairs and scaring the shit out of both of them, yelling obscenities, and making sure all her neighbors knew what kind of woman they were living next to. Keep in mind I was only 19. A very mature 19, but still a teenager. I'm not proud of that. I challenged the ‘man’ to come out and prove himself. I challenged her to come out and have an adult conversation. I even challenged her to call the police on me, which she did. I would usually regret that challenge, but I was too smart for that shit. I waited on the steps for the police to come. I saw them pass the apartment so I waved them down. I ran out to greet them and this was the jist of our exchange: Me- Hello Officers. I’m pretty sure you are here on my account. (completely sober, by the way) Police- What the hell is going on? Are you some kind of gang member, Sir? You’re wearing a lot of red. Me- I’ve been kicked out of my home and I guess I’ve been making a lot of noise. My now ex-girlfriend has some guy up there now and I just want to get my stuff. Oh, and are you serious? Police- Well, sit in the back and we’ll go talk to her. Me- Can you just handcuff me and let me in? That would help me out a lot. Police- If I handcuff you, we have to take you in, and you don’t want that. Me- What makes you so sure about that? That was a joke by the way. Time passes. Police- Sir, she says she doesn’t want you around, and frankly, I don’t think you want to be around her anymore. She doesn’t seem worth it and if she ever comes around, you’re not gonna want her back. Just go home or whatever and call us when you want to arrange removal of your stuff. Me- Yeah, but it still sucks. In the back of my mind I was thinking about how bad it could have been if I would have had anything on me at that time. Fourteenth Entry --->

The Politics Of Fucking

I'm pissed that I didn't think of this first. Almost every woman should read this and take it into consideration. Almost. Some need not apply. With that being said, The Politics Of Fucking. Written by a woman, BTW. My favorites: 1. Assuming he can get a raging hard on when it suits you. Contrary to popular belief, men can't just flip a switch and get it up because you decided to stop being a frigid bitch. Getting it hard is your job. I suggest you figure it out. 20. Dissing quickies because it's not some slow sensual ordeal. Sex is a dynamic thing. Theres an awesome raw energy when you only have 20 minutes but having to have someone so bad that you do it half clothed against the wall. Readjust your thinking. 31. Forgetting that he has a body that likes to be touched, too. Men have things like backs and shoulders and stomachs and other parts that are fun to kiss and touch. You miss a lot of good places by concentrating solely on his penis. 41. Bitching when you get jizz on you. You're having sex. That will happen. Thats the entire point of sex. Establish where he can and cant jizz and be done with it. Remember, it tightens the pores. 43. Faking orgasms. Just. Don't. By faking (IF he believes you) he thinks he's doing everything right. And if he doesn't know its not working, he's not going to change it. Starting a vicious cycle of unfulfilling sex which will eventually be very damaging to his ego.

Dave Chappelle's Killing Them Softly

I was watching this the other night and I forgot how fucking hilarious it is. If you're bored at work, use my 100th post (yes, 100 of these little fuckers) to kill some time for you. Let's see how long it takes before someone cries and I have to take it down. Edit: There's 7 parts, so if they all don't show up, click here to only see this post.

New word: GRAND

What could be better than GLORIOUS? GRAND [gah-rand] adj. (spelled with all CAPS) 1. Something really, really good. The highest of all goodness. 2. A word to describe an object or event that made me (and only me) exceptionally happy. 3. >GLORIOUS Example: We got completely trashed last night. It was GRAND.

The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Chronicles Twelfth Entry

<--- Eleventh Entry Irony is a motherfucker. In an ironic twist, my ex had her car stolen during our month apart. This happened just after she stopped paying her insurance so I assumed it was repossessed. If it was, she went through great lengths to hide that secret. She called me for help and I quickly drove over there. I called the police for her and took care of the details for her and I blah blah blah for her. I would have done it for anyone. After the useless cop left, she asked me for more help. Even though I know she was thinking (and probably still thinks) I had something to do with her car disappearing. I wish I were that petty. Me- Oh, now you need me? (in my most asshole-ish tone) Her- (fake tears) How am I supposed to get to work now? Me- Working 65 miles away isn’t such a good idea now, is it? Her- Please! Me- I would do anything for you. You know that. Me driving her to work and picking her up everyday became my sorry excuse to see her. Sure, it took a toll on my piece-of-shit car, but it gave me a small ounce of hope…and prolonged the sex life. I was a sad boy. The real point of this story is for me to tell the happenings of a particular day driving her to work. I stayed over the night prior to driving her to work one day so I wouldn’t have to wake up as early. I doubt she even wanted me there seeing as we slept in the same bed (oddly enough), but didn't really acknowledge each other. Oh well. In the morning, she was getting ready for work and woke me up about 5 minutes before time to go so I could fully wake before I drove (it takes me a minute). She was being unusually nice and flirtatious with me for whatever reason. I try not to question good things; I just try to let them happen. This good mood continued to the car where she was being extra touchy-feely with me. She kept flashing me and giggling like she was all coked up or something. Being 19, I just played along. In fact I did ‘play along’ the majority of the ride. The automatic transmission is a great invention. It leaves you free to use your off-hand for whatever a job may call for. You know, like adjusting the radio. We arrived at her work, all smiles. I pulled into a parking space far from the building so she could ‘compose’ herself without a co-worker seeing. I get out to open the door for her and help her ‘re-adjust’ when I felt a pitbull lock its jaw on my soul… Her- What the fuck are you doing!? Me- I’m giving you a hand? Her- I really don’t want people to see me bottomless. Me- (there is no one around) Who the fuck is gonna see you? Let me help you put on your panties so you can go to work. Her- Don’t touch me. (awkward silence) Me- Well, have a great day at work, babe. Her- I really don’t like you. Be here at 5. Me- Whatever. If I show up, I show up. I did show up, but I refused to let her control the stereo on the way home. Ha! Take that bitch! Thirteenth Entry -->