November 28, 2011

dirty words

Originally published September 20, 2003

You know what I believe are the two most disgusting words I ever heard? You probably don't care, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

The most disgusting word I ever heard: "VAGINA"

"Vagina" should either be the name of a state that grows a lot of tobacco, or the word should be banned from the English language. It's a six-letter word with three syllables in it. That's just wrong in and of itself. Plus, it is a dirty word that describes something delightful.

When I am King, all "vaginas" will be called "pussies" forevermore.

Think about it. Would you rather pet a "vagina," where the word itself makes you want to keep close track of the fingers on your hand lest they be lopped off by some Latin word with teeth, or would you prefer to pet a "pussy," which is all warm and fuzzy? I call this one a no-brainer.

The other most disgusting word in the English language is: Penis

Just roll "penis" around in your mouth for a minute (especially you wimmen!) and feel how uncomfortable that word really is. Rolling a REAL one around in your mouth is not bad at all, or so I've been told, but that word just... well, sucks.

Try "crank," "Roscoe," "cock," "tube steak," "the one-eyed warrior" or ANYTHING ELSE. No matter what you call it, it's better than "penis," which sounds like the name of a boy from Arkansas who pissed his pants a lot when he was in your third-grade class.

I am becoming obsessed with this alphabet thing. Why are "ointment" and "hemorhoid" perfectly acceptable words, when "pussy" is not? Which one would YOU rather lay your hand on? Which one would you rather lay your FACE on?

Give me pussy over ointment and hemorhoids any day. And keep that penis away from me.

November 21, 2011

how did we survive?

Originally published September 21, 2003

When I was 10 years-old, we moved into the house where my mama still lives today. At least 100 houses stand in that area now, but only about a dozen existed when first I came to live in that neighborhood. I was surrounded by woods and in a perfect Huck Finn world.

I met the Moffet boys and the Salter boys. We ran the woods, played an idiotic, acrobatic game called "tree tag," where we found the biggest, hoariest live oak in the woods and ran like squirrels along the limbs to avoid being tagged by "it" and fell out of the tree every now and then. But the ground was soft and as long as you didn't land on a root, you were okay and right back up in the tree. We ate a lot of candy and junk food back then, but never got fat.

What causes that?

My daddy took me to see the movie Spartacus one Saturday. I entered my gladiator stage after that experience. Builders were throwing up houses left and right in the neighborhood, so it was no problem to find a piece of plywood, steal it, grab a handful of nails and saw the plywood to shield porportions. Then, you built a handle to grab with your fist, you found an old lawn chair and nailed a strap to the back of your shield, and you were ready to rumble.

Of course, you had to make a sword, too. I always preferred a 4X1 inch board, because it was easy to work with, and it wasn't too heavy. I cut mine about 2 and 1/2 feet long, just like a Roman short sword, and made a really good hilt on it. Finn Moffet made a sword out of a two-by-four and he was hell for 30 seconds into a fight, but his arm got tired after that. Then, I could kill him.

We had circus games every day for an entire summer, beat each other's shields into sawdust, killed each other with bloodthirsty abandon, then just suddenly got bored with being gladiators. We found a field full of reeds that flew like spears if you cut them just right.

So, we had SPEARFIGHTS! We split into two teams and cut reeds with the energy of young boys filled with peanut butter and jelly. Once we had 100 each, the war was on. I had five guys on my team, and the enemy was lobbing random spears, one at a time, that stuck in the ground where they hit. I conceived the idea of a volley and a charge.

We launched two spears each, as quickly as we could throw them, and charged the enemy fort. We stampeded them, overran the fort and stole all their spears. VICTORY!

Why nobody ever got stabbed or had an eye put out is a mystery to me.

Somehow, doing that, we never got fat.

November 14, 2011

roscoe update

Originally published September 21, 2003

I now understand why some wimmen recommend bionic Roscoes for ALL MEN, whether the men need them or not. Having just experienced "The Night of the Machine," I can testify that it is awesome. I hope only that my ass doesn't fall off when I attempt to provide ground-support for Roscoe The Trooper. He may be a Terminator, but he's still attached to an old fart. Roscoe is tireless, but I'm not.

That's why "Darlin,' why don't YOU get on top?" are words of pure magic. "Ride as long as you want," aren't bad words, either.

I'm kinda tired today.

November 07, 2011

good lays and bad lays

Originally published September 21, 2003

I am red-necked enough to state that the WORST pussy I ever had was pretty damned good, but it's a fact: some wimmen are better in bed than others. "Good in bed" has nothing to do with the way a woman looks or what color she dyes her hair. It's all in her attitude and her approach to sex.

I like a woman who believes that sex should be "dirty" if you do it right. If I've got you nekkid in my bed, I don't want to cuddle and be sweet to you. I want to fuck your brains out. I want to feel your fingernails clawing my back and digging into my ass while I ride you like a rodeo cowboy. I want you to COME OUT LOUD to let me know I'm doing what I'm supposed to do.

We should tear those clean sheets on the bed into a tangled mess by the time we're finished. I want to be on top, and then I want to do it doggie-style. I want to be in your mouth and I want to put my mouth on you. I want YOU on top, so that I can suck your nipples while you ride ME. I want to fuck like wild dogs. I want us both to be breathless, sweaty and exhausted when we finally call it quits.

THEN, we'll cuddle and laugh, in total shamelessness. I'll smoke a cigarette and that's when you might discover the benefits of a bionic Roscoe. I did every bit of that last night, then I felt a hand on me. "It's still hard."

"I haven't pushed the button to deflate him yet."

"I can have some more?"

"All you want. Just climb aboard." She did. I was raped. I LIKED being raped. And when she finally fell off and said, "Okay, I'm full now!" Roscoe was still standing tall. Technology is a wonderful thing.

So is a woman who likes sex as much as I do and really enjoys fucking like a wild dog. Men and wimmen were built to do exactly that and it feels damned good. And you know what I feel now?

No shame.