Introduction

Okay, I know I haven’t been posting as often as I did the previous two months.  I know I promised myself I’d blog more often, and write more often, and exercise more often, and stop staring at the ass of my single, attractive, yet very Christian boss, and try to develop a cure for sarcasm… but life just keeps getting in the way.  It’s just hard to fit in time for all those promises while becoming re-addicted to a computer game few people have ever heard of.

Galactic Civilizations II – Dread Lords… if you were curious.

Besides, my mother-in-law informed me that at this point in my life, at the tender age of 37, it’s essentially impossible to change my behaviors and become a better person.  It’s always nice when “family” tells you to give up and just resign yourself to the same boring existence.  Makes the days until your impending death just fly quicker.  So I’m stuck being a slightly (HA!) overweight, sexually-addicted, untalented, non-Christian, balding, considerate writer/artist who dreams of publishing something that will actually make people go, “Wow,” but won’t actually achieve it because I can’t actually finish any projects.

I mean, I’m okay with half of those… but damn, I had hoped to change the rest.

Since my mother-in-law knows everything about everything, and is always right, there’s just no use in trying any more.  Certainly the woman who once screamed in an argument, “Stop screaming! It’s rude!” couldn’t possibly be incorrect about the ability of people to change even in their advancing thirties.  Yep.  Just give up everyone – the woman who yells about spotting a single Lego piece twenty feet away on her floor but can’t find her own keys when they are two inches from her because of the mess she makes has declared it impossible to change yourself.

Let the Snarkiness begin!

Wait!  I wasn’t done with that!

America and I have something in common… we can never finish anything without getting distracted.  Okay yes, what happened in Orlando was tragic.  Yes, we should talk about the ramifications, the possible solutions, and the future implications of those events.  But we aren’t – we’re just immediately throwing up memes and posts about “Stop Blaming Guns,” “Gays are People Too,” “Why Did You Make Me Take Down my Racist Flag, but Won’t Blame Muslims Now,” and “Not All Muslims are Dicks!”  There’s no discussion, except for the one post where my friend, an alcoholic gun-toting redneck, claimed he’d protect me and my family using his handgun when an automatic rifle wielding maniac charged into our local grocery store.

If the solution to protecting our population is a guy who has driven drunk more times than I can count, and has the anger management skills of a two-year old, firing back into a crowd with a handgun… count me skeptical.

But seriously… can we go back to the peeing argument?  I don’t feel like we ever resolved the question of who is allowed to pee in which bathroom.  I wasn’t done banging my head against that illogical pile of crap as people tried to protect their daughters from these imaginary guys dressing up as women to assault the daughters in the bathroom.  I mean, here on the West Coast our conservatives are perfectly fine letting female adult teachers have sex with male students at an infinitely higher rate than transsexual bathroom assaults (4 to 0 as far as I can research) without banning female teachers.

But nope… here in America we can’t discuss and solve.  We bitch and whine and point fingers and move on to the next repetitive argument.  Boo hoo… next topic please!

Does “Gangnum Style” mean Doggy?

I adore the sexual prowess-es of my wife and girlfriend.  They both bring such unique skills to the bedroom, yet are exquisite in those differences.  But on my last trip to see my girlfriend, our one opportunity to have fun, passionate sex for this year, she decided to attempt a position she and I don’t usually manage.

Ah, the glories of doggy style.

And now she knows that I can’t A) ever resist the offer of having sex where I can watch the cute ass of my partner and B) control my orgasm reflex as well in that position.  So now she plans on tempting me with the greatest position in the world of sex whenever she’s ready for the adventure to be done.

Which is still after I get her to orgasm 2-3 times… about 10-15 minutes of cunnilingus… so I guess I’m just bitching for the fun of it.  Thanks for the awesome sex during my visit, Beloved!

Poetry, Bitches!

For some reason, every English teacher in the area is having his/her students write poems to end the school year.  I’ve now helped four different students write ten different poems, including a sonnet, a narrative, a haiku, and limerick.  April was fucking Poetry Month, you idiots… not June, when a child’s mind is already on the questions of summer (how many hours of video games can I get in, how can I sneak off to smoke some weed with the guy/girl I’m interested in boning, how small of a bikini can I wear without being arrested).  Asking a kid distracted by the promise of summer vacation to write in iambic pentameter is like asking a kid distracted by the promise of summer vacation to write in dactylic tetrameter!

Difficult and frustrating was the point I was trying to make.

Now a child challenged me to do the same
A written poem in four minutes flat
As I’m not a guy who avoids a game
I promised I would do exactly that.

Won’t be distracted by big bouncy tits
Stuffed in tied yellow polka dotted tops
Nor passing a joint to share blissful hits
And running from inevitable cops.

But kids can’t be blamed for lacking focus
Society has trained them to be so
They are not interested in slow kiss
They crave velocity, motion, Bang – Go!

So although this poem may indeed suck
I won the game, kiddo… pay up the buck.

Completely Fictional (Honest!)

To whom it may concern, To Her (She knows who she is),

You’re a cock-gobbling troll.  You’re a shit-covered street taco made from the back of a pick-up truck by some guy named Terry.  You’re a mountain of crazy wrapped in saggy, pockmarked skin with a swirl of lying whore cream on top.  Your snizz smells like ass, and your ass smells like you filled it with a dead gerbil and feta cheese.  I loathe the memories I have of touching your naked body, you gross puss-filled pimple on an elephant’s erectile dysfunction dick!

Hope to see you tonight, lover.

Five Things Men Love to Get that are Rarely Given

  1. Free booze
  2. A video of someone they find attractive masturbating
  3. A direct answer to a question we’ve asked our spouse/significant other
  4. Free t-shirt
  5. Time away from everyone

Easy Fathers’ Day gift ideas for everyone.  Although I am enjoying my complete collection of South Park episodes… but technically that is being used as part of my #5 so… yea, stick with that list.

 

 

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