Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
I don't really don't know what else to say.
Last edited by conoalias on Mon Aug 21, 2006 9:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
I don't really don't know what else to say.
what's up w/ the snorkel and mask?
_________________ Winner, RM all-time NBA tourney.
Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
I don't really don't know what else to say.
what's up w/ the snorkel and mask?
seriously...I mean sure...if you're doing it with someone. But that's still weird. Alone, is just freaky.
_________________ "i'm the crescent, the sickle, so sharp the blade i'm the flick of the shank that opened your veins i'm the dusk, i'm the frightening calm i'm a hole in the pipeline, i'm a road side bomb..."
Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
I don't really don't know what else to say.
If she wasn't freaked out by that, she's a keeper in my book.
_________________ Gotta say it now.... better loud than too late.
Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on.
There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons.
I don't really don't know what else to say.
what's up w/ the snorkel and mask?
who the fuck knows? maybe he cums a lot?
put out an eye w/ cum?
_________________ Winner, RM all-time NBA tourney.
I was the guy in the tree outside your apartment last night around 1:30 AM.
I knew you would be coming back from the pub, as I saw you go out with your friends. I just wanted to see you again, but closer and more personal than my binoculars will let me. You are absolutely stunning and seem like a wonderful person. Oh, don't let anyone tell you different, picking up your underwear with your toes and putting them in your hamper IS a skill. And I think it is cowgirl cute the way you wave your bra around like a lasso when you dance.
I am sorry I couldn't stay longer, but there was that moment, it was ever so brief, when our eyes met, it means so much to me and I hope it does for you too. But it was the combination of your high pitched scream of joy and the siren about 5 minutes later that made me leave. I thought the siren was from a fire truck and I would hate to be stuck in a tree that gets caught on fire.
Now it seems that your blinds are always closed, what happened? Are you sad and just need some darkness in your apartment? Why not let the stars shine in, I sure would like to see you again.
I was the guy in the tree outside your apartment last night around 1:30 AM. I knew you would be coming back from the pub, as I saw you go out with your friends. I just wanted to see you again, but closer and more personal than my binoculars will let me. You are absolutely stunning and seem like a wonderful person. Oh, don't let anyone tell you different, picking up your underwear with your toes and putting them in your hamper IS a skill. And I think it is cowgirl cute the way you wave your bra around like a lasso when you dance.
I am sorry I couldn't stay longer, but there was that moment, it was ever so brief, when our eyes met, it means so much to me and I hope it does for you too. But it was the combination of your high pitched scream of joy and the siren about 5 minutes later that made me leave. I thought the siren was from a fire truck and I would hate to be stuck in a tree that gets caught on fire.
Now it seems that your blinds are always closed, what happened? Are you sad and just need some darkness in your apartment? Why not let the stars shine in, I sure would like to see you again.
We've been roommates for what? A year and a half now? Three guys living together, we've learned to deal with each other's idiosyncrasies. We let a lot of shit slide. But you need to keep your anal beads out of the dishwaher. If your too damn lazy to wash them by hand, then you and your girlfriend are going to have to "do without". I don't want to see them. Nor do I want you to regale us with the story of how your girlfriend shoved them up your ass the other night. This is just common roommate courtesy. Thank you.
Listen up, you heinous little motherfuckers. I am not playing. Before I deliver the grim news of your collective fates, let me give you a brief synopsis of how you have driven me to the brink of insanity over the last three months. Here it is.
Unfortunately, because I am paying over $400 a month in student loans and am therefore very cheap, I made the mistake of accepting a used mattress from a coworker to put on top of my new bed frame and box springs. So. You and I have, by my calculations, been residing together since May. MAY. That's when I unwittingly brought you and your home into my bedroom. That's when I became your new food source. Your "host."
You guys are pretty tricky, I have to tell you. I mean, when I started seeing little purple dots on my toes in the morning, I did what you wanted me to do, which was to blame them on anything and everything under the sun except you. This is because I was wholly unaware that such hideous creatures as yourselves existed. I figured it was a spider, so I vacuumed profusely. Then I thought it was mosquitos, so I busted out the Off. Nothing seemed to be working. But you know this already, don't you? Yes, you snacked on me all through the month of June, getting your fill of my blood while I snored on, retreating back to the crevices of my mattress just before dawn, leaving no sign or trail. Ahhh, June. What a peaceful, sane month. Ignorance, in this case, was truly bliss.
But then came July and with July came some strange occurances. You multiplied, didn't you? Got a little more hungry, huh? You must have because that's when my body started to revolt against whatever it is you injected me with when you were gnawing on my flesh. See, I started having these weird allergic reactions. Getting hives for no reason at all. So I changed my laundry detergent to something dye-free, fragrance-free. That didn't work. Then I changed my soap to something hypoallergenic. No, that didn't work either. And the hives kept getting worse, until one morning, I woke up with not only hives all over my chest and back, but about twenty purple dots on my feet, which I (ignorance, remember) attributed to the allergies. Remember that morning, my little roommates? Do you? That's the morning my throat swelled shut and I had to be rushed to the emergency room.
You had us all stumped, from the ER doc to the allergist. They ran tests, researched, poked, prodded, scraped... All to no avail. The diagnosis? I was allergic to myself, because they could find nothing that I was allergic to otherwise. I was ALLERGIC TO MYSELF?? Yes, that was the diagnosis. But they were so very wrong, weren't they? You guys are so slick as to leave bites that disappear pretty quickly and could be ANYTHING, right? So I took my Allegra and went to sleep every night and you fed on, didn't you?
Then came August. I was dealing with being hivey all the time and rashy some of the time and generally very uncomfortable, but I was dealing, you know? And then you showed your faces. Literally. See, I have it figured out now. The grandaddy of all bedbugs came to play, didn't he? He must have been starving because he gave me three bites I just couldn't ignore. I mean, these were nasty, bright red and the size of a penny and really fucking itchy. That's when the lightbulb went on, bitches. There was something FUNKY going on in my bedroom and I was on to you, I just didn't have a clue that you were so stealthy. Really, you are. But I looked you up. God bless the internet. Yep, I Googled your asses and when I typed in "bites while sleeping," there you were. You are some ugly motherfuckers, too. I'm not just saying that because you've been stealing my blood without my knowledge or consent, either. You are really ugly.
This is where the insanity begins, because in order to prove that you really were cohabitating with me, I had to willingly and knowingly be your food and catch you eating me. This, as you know, meant sleeping (and I use the word "sleeping" very loosely at this point) with a flashlight beside me and waking up intermittently throughout the night for five nights straight to examine my body and catch you in the middle of snacktime. Thing is, you instinctively knew I wasn't sleeping, didn't you? So you held out for as long as you could. But one of you was weaker than the rest. He couldn't last, he couldn't hang and he gave you up, huh?
So there I was, reading my book, completely not expecting you guys for several more hours when he ran out from under my sheet, straight past my nose, towards the edge of the bed. Now I told you before and I'll tell you again: I am not playing. I smashed that motherfucker so fast he had no clue what hit him. And what came flying out of his crushed body? Come on, you know. YES! MY BLOOD!!
Alright, bitches. I have you now. I saved his corpse. I bought a magnifying glass. I called Terminix and I slept on the living room floor for two nights. And when Drew, the friendly Terminix employee, showed up at my door last night, I told him straight out what I have already told you twice: I am not playing. Drew and I threw out the evil devil spawn mattress. We threw out the box springs. We threw out the fan, the bookcase, the books, everything in the back closet. All of it, gone. GONE, I tell you. And then Drew, my new best friend, sprayed the FUCK out of the entire house. I was not playing. He said it probably would be okay to just get the bedroom. Fuck that. You bitches have been giving me hives for three fucking months now. You're dead, it's over. We left no crack unsprayed, no piece of funiture unbombed. That's right, assholes, I BOMBED YOUR ASSES. TWICE. And tomorrow, I'm coming for the couch and chairs. They're history. As I said, you're pretty slick, so I can see you thinking you can make a new home in my living room. Go fuck yourselves. And if any of you survived the initial attacks, be warned. Drew and I have a little deal and it's called HE'S COMING BACK in two weeks to bomb you again. And then he will come back once every 90 days for the next YEAR. So be prepared. YOU WILL DIE. I am not playing.
Listen up, you heinous little motherfuckers. I am not playing. Before I deliver the grim news of your collective fates, let me give you a brief synopsis of how you have driven me to the brink of insanity over the last three months. Here it is.
Unfortunately, because I am paying over $400 a month in student loans and am therefore very cheap, I made the mistake of accepting a used mattress from a coworker to put on top of my new bed frame and box springs. So. You and I have, by my calculations, been residing together since May. MAY. That's when I unwittingly brought you and your home into my bedroom. That's when I became your new food source. Your "host."
You guys are pretty tricky, I have to tell you. I mean, when I started seeing little purple dots on my toes in the morning, I did what you wanted me to do, which was to blame them on anything and everything under the sun except you. This is because I was wholly unaware that such hideous creatures as yourselves existed. I figured it was a spider, so I vacuumed profusely. Then I thought it was mosquitos, so I busted out the Off. Nothing seemed to be working. But you know this already, don't you? Yes, you snacked on me all through the month of June, getting your fill of my blood while I snored on, retreating back to the crevices of my mattress just before dawn, leaving no sign or trail. Ahhh, June. What a peaceful, sane month. Ignorance, in this case, was truly bliss.
But then came July and with July came some strange occurances. You multiplied, didn't you? Got a little more hungry, huh? You must have because that's when my body started to revolt against whatever it is you injected me with when you were gnawing on my flesh. See, I started having these weird allergic reactions. Getting hives for no reason at all. So I changed my laundry detergent to something dye-free, fragrance-free. That didn't work. Then I changed my soap to something hypoallergenic. No, that didn't work either. And the hives kept getting worse, until one morning, I woke up with not only hives all over my chest and back, but about twenty purple dots on my feet, which I (ignorance, remember) attributed to the allergies. Remember that morning, my little roommates? Do you? That's the morning my throat swelled shut and I had to be rushed to the emergency room.
You had us all stumped, from the ER doc to the allergist. They ran tests, researched, poked, prodded, scraped... All to no avail. The diagnosis? I was allergic to myself, because they could find nothing that I was allergic to otherwise. I was ALLERGIC TO MYSELF?? Yes, that was the diagnosis. But they were so very wrong, weren't they? You guys are so slick as to leave bites that disappear pretty quickly and could be ANYTHING, right? So I took my Allegra and went to sleep every night and you fed on, didn't you?
Then came August. I was dealing with being hivey all the time and rashy some of the time and generally very uncomfortable, but I was dealing, you know? And then you showed your faces. Literally. See, I have it figured out now. The grandaddy of all bedbugs came to play, didn't he? He must have been starving because he gave me three bites I just couldn't ignore. I mean, these were nasty, bright red and the size of a penny and really fucking itchy. That's when the lightbulb went on, bitches. There was something FUNKY going on in my bedroom and I was on to you, I just didn't have a clue that you were so stealthy. Really, you are. But I looked you up. God bless the internet. Yep, I Googled your asses and when I typed in "bites while sleeping," there you were. You are some ugly motherfuckers, too. I'm not just saying that because you've been stealing my blood without my knowledge or consent, either. You are really ugly.
This is where the insanity begins, because in order to prove that you really were cohabitating with me, I had to willingly and knowingly be your food and catch you eating me. This, as you know, meant sleeping (and I use the word "sleeping" very loosely at this point) with a flashlight beside me and waking up intermittently throughout the night for five nights straight to examine my body and catch you in the middle of snacktime. Thing is, you instinctively knew I wasn't sleeping, didn't you? So you held out for as long as you could. But one of you was weaker than the rest. He couldn't last, he couldn't hang and he gave you up, huh?
So there I was, reading my book, completely not expecting you guys for several more hours when he ran out from under my sheet, straight past my nose, towards the edge of the bed. Now I told you before and I'll tell you again: I am not playing. I smashed that motherfucker so fast he had no clue what hit him. And what came flying out of his crushed body? Come on, you know. YES! MY BLOOD!!
Alright, bitches. I have you now. I saved his corpse. I bought a magnifying glass. I called Terminix and I slept on the living room floor for two nights. And when Drew, the friendly Terminix employee, showed up at my door last night, I told him straight out what I have already told you twice: I am not playing. Drew and I threw out the evil devil spawn mattress. We threw out the box springs. We threw out the fan, the bookcase, the books, everything in the back closet. All of it, gone. GONE, I tell you. And then Drew, my new best friend, sprayed the FUCK out of the entire house. I was not playing. He said it probably would be okay to just get the bedroom. Fuck that. You bitches have been giving me hives for three fucking months now. You're dead, it's over. We left no crack unsprayed, no piece of funiture unbombed. That's right, assholes, I BOMBED YOUR ASSES. TWICE. And tomorrow, I'm coming for the couch and chairs. They're history. As I said, you're pretty slick, so I can see you thinking you can make a new home in my living room. Go fuck yourselves. And if any of you survived the initial attacks, be warned. Drew and I have a little deal and it's called HE'S COMING BACK in two weeks to bomb you again. And then he will come back once every 90 days for the next YEAR. So be prepared. YOU WILL DIE. I am not playing.
that was great
_________________ Twenty years for nothing, well that's nothing new, besides, No one's interested in something you didn't do Wheat kings and pretty things, let's just see what the morning brings.
DO NOT EAT PRINGLES FAT FREE POTATO CHIPS. THEY WILL GREASE YOUR ASS.
----------------
Date: 2006-07-17, 2:10AM PDT
Don't even fucking say a word. I like potato chips, and can't eat them very much or I'll get fat.
I tried out these Pringles Fat-Free chips because they were super low-cal. BBQ flavor. the fuck.
The can said they had 70 calories per serving, which meant the whole can had 490 calories inside total. I could munch through a can in a day with my lunch, dinner, etc. So I got several cans, and began enjoying one a day for the past four days. But what they dont fucking tell you...
Except in tiny print you cant read without a fucking electron microscope
...is that the primary ingredient is something called "olean" which I have since learned is Latin for "Unwashable & Indestructible Ass Grease."
Oh Yeah. I'm not even kidding.
So today, while I'm standing in the living room debating whether or not Laundry or Dishes will get done first, I get the urge to fart. I live alone, so sweet. I let the honk loose and its wrong. Something just sounded wrong. I know my own wind, and I have never farted a sound that sounded like a fart wrapped in a pillow.
Oh yes, something was very wrong. I had just shat myself. But this evil olean makes shitting yourself sound almost like a regular fart, and had I not been particularly attentive, it could easily have gone unnoticed, I'm telling you. THAT's how utterly covert and evil this olean stuff is. What the fuck?! What if I'd gone out to hang with friends or gone for a drive, what then?
So I walk carefully to the bathroom and disrobe. before I even sit on the toilet, I wad paper and carefully wipe from the front. Sure enough, it was light brown, and had the texture of soft spackle. You fucking Pringle bastards.
I sat down and pushed a bit, and lo, out came a jet that I didnt even feel an urge for one minute earlier. It piled in the bowl like brown marshmallow fluff.
The problem rose when I tried to wipe. I went through a whole fucking roll of TP and could not get it all off me. So.
I jumped in the shower. Yep, its gross, but it had to be done. There I stood, water pouring down, cheeks spread, and using my own hand to make certain I'm clean.
That was when I discovered that after using my hand to wipe myself (before I soaped the area) my hand came back covered in some sort of transparent grease. It was so fucking foul. The grease made water bead off my hand. It was tacky too, and very difficult to manage.
So I grabbed the bar of saop and went to work.
You fucking Pringle bastards.
The bar of soap came away coated in grease as well, and would no longer wash. I had to turn the water to hot and massage the soap for five minutes to get it to the point where I could use it again. It took me an hour to get the fucking grease off my pucker. I shudder to think of what its doing INSIDE ME right now, but I will damned sure never eat that shit again.
Fucking Pringle bastards.
This is where the joke about "anal leakage" came from. its real. Fuck Pringles.
* this is in or around ANAL LEAKAGE, ANYBODY?
* no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
DO NOT EAT PRINGLES FAT FREE POTATO CHIPS. THEY WILL GREASE YOUR ASS. ---------------- Date: 2006-07-17, 2:10AM PDT
Don't even fucking say a word. I like potato chips, and can't eat them very much or I'll get fat.
I tried out these Pringles Fat-Free chips because they were super low-cal. BBQ flavor. the fuck.
The can said they had 70 calories per serving, which meant the whole can had 490 calories inside total. I could munch through a can in a day with my lunch, dinner, etc. So I got several cans, and began enjoying one a day for the past four days. But what they dont fucking tell you...
Except in tiny print you cant read without a fucking electron microscope
...is that the primary ingredient is something called "olean" which I have since learned is Latin for "Unwashable & Indestructible Ass Grease."
Oh Yeah. I'm not even kidding.
So today, while I'm standing in the living room debating whether or not Laundry or Dishes will get done first, I get the urge to fart. I live alone, so sweet. I let the honk loose and its wrong. Something just sounded wrong. I know my own wind, and I have never farted a sound that sounded like a fart wrapped in a pillow.
Oh yes, something was very wrong. I had just shat myself. But this evil olean makes shitting yourself sound almost like a regular fart, and had I not been particularly attentive, it could easily have gone unnoticed, I'm telling you. THAT's how utterly covert and evil this olean stuff is. What the fuck?! What if I'd gone out to hang with friends or gone for a drive, what then?
So I walk carefully to the bathroom and disrobe. before I even sit on the toilet, I wad paper and carefully wipe from the front. Sure enough, it was light brown, and had the texture of soft spackle. You fucking Pringle bastards.
I sat down and pushed a bit, and lo, out came a jet that I didnt even feel an urge for one minute earlier. It piled in the bowl like brown marshmallow fluff.
The problem rose when I tried to wipe. I went through a whole fucking roll of TP and could not get it all off me. So.
I jumped in the shower. Yep, its gross, but it had to be done. There I stood, water pouring down, cheeks spread, and using my own hand to make certain I'm clean.
That was when I discovered that after using my hand to wipe myself (before I soaped the area) my hand came back covered in some sort of transparent grease. It was so fucking foul. The grease made water bead off my hand. It was tacky too, and very difficult to manage.
So I grabbed the bar of saop and went to work.
You fucking Pringle bastards.
The bar of soap came away coated in grease as well, and would no longer wash. I had to turn the water to hot and massage the soap for five minutes to get it to the point where I could use it again. It took me an hour to get the fucking grease off my pucker. I shudder to think of what its doing INSIDE ME right now, but I will damned sure never eat that shit again.
Fucking Pringle bastards.
This is where the joke about "anal leakage" came from. its real. Fuck Pringles.
* this is in or around ANAL LEAKAGE, ANYBODY? * no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Thats the funniest thing I've read in absolutely forever!!
_________________ The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness for he is truly his brothers keeper
Joined: Mon Oct 18, 2004 1:14 am Posts: 5428 Location: The Juicebox Gender: Male
I wish this happened to all parents nowadays.
Quote:
My Son Is A Moron... He Did Not Come From My Loins...
Date: 2006-07-20, 1:39PM PDT
You do everything you can for your kids. God knows I've tried. But it seems like God enjoys a good joke, now and then.
I was raised in a strict household. My parents bore offspring from the early-50's to the mid-60's. I was around the middle of this brood. With nine mouths to feed, we did not have a lot of extras. We worked for simple things, like bicycles.
Nothing wrong with that. It's what we knew. And we were given a great foundation, on which we could create a life for ourselves. As I said, my parents were strict - which made me not wish to be such with my kids.
Ah, my kids... I'm in my forties, and the wife is a bit younger. I make a fine income, and try not to sweat anything. I get up... have coffee... look out at the ocean... read the paper... move onto my business.
I appreciate not having a house full of screaming kids in the morning (something that was impossible when I grew up). All I ask of my kids is to; a) be respectful of everyone, b) be honest c) get good grades, d) clean their rooms.
I do not ask for much, nor do I demand much. However... that is going to change tonight. Events that occurred this morning will bring about change like these kids have never known. The wife has kept me in the dark about some things as well.
It's my fault. I accept it. But I can reverse this downward trend - now. My generation (baby-boomers) has found that it is easier to go around a wall, than climb over over it - or knock it down. I'm as guilty as anyone.
My guilt turned into rage this morning. My son (and my wife) convinced me that he NEEDED a car (he's seventeen). I was not keen on a kid driving, that has trouble standing a surfboard, or walking down the stairs without tripping.
But I relented (again, why fight it). With some stipulations, we aquired a car for this child. The rules were put in place, and he proclaimed we were the greatest parents in the worls. Uh huh... It's 12:00pm, and he has yet to get out of bed. His mother has been instructed to tell my prodigy that he is GROUNDED. We have never done this, but we are today. And I mean GROUNDED in his room!
Not out by the pool. Not in the gameroom. His cluttered abode is where he better be when I get home tonight. And I'm going to be stopping for a drink, first. I deserve a drink after this morning. Let me tell you about my day.
I go out to my car in the driveway (I have a three-car garage - and "hers" is the only one that fits inside). My insanely over-priced piece of shit refuses to start today (3rd time in 2 months - the car is 6-monthss old). Okay... I call 'AAA'; it will 45-60 minutes. No time to wait. Okay... I'm going to take my kids' car.
I go in and retrieve the keys (everyone is till asleep @ 8am). I leave a note telling him to call me. His car is down the street at a friends house. Why? He claimed that our driveway was too crowded (and the other kids might scratch it). Okay... I find his car... set off the alarm... Shit! People, one word; LOJACK. Goddamn, I hate those alarms.
Anyways I get in the car, after noticing the REALLY nice rims & tires on it. Hmmm, how did he pay for those? WHEN, did he get those? I get in, and notice a new STEERING WHEEL... without the AIRBAG - that I demanded he have. Oh, this car is totally bitchin' dude! It gets better...
I start it up... A huge racket comes from the exhaust (not stock anymore!)... And the stereo starts screaming out profanities! The backseat is now occupied by a huge box with speakers in it... and fast-food trash... and 'ziz-zag' papers... and empty 'trojan' wrappers (a chip off the 'ole block).
To say the least I am pissed. I proceed to drive this rattling, screaming (I tear the faceplate off - finally), piece of doo-doo down the road. I swear, I think I awakened everyone in the neighborhood. I head out onto PCH, and drive less than a mile... when MB's finest pulls me over...
WTF? I know I wasn't speeding. The officer comes up to the car, and asks for my license and insurance card... I hand over the license, and tell him I'm not sure where the insurance card is - 'it's my son's car'... "look in the glovebox" (he is - actually - smiling now)...
I open the glovebox... and a small BONG falls out... I look at him... he looks at me... This is not happening! Oh, but it is. The first thing I say is 'it's not mine!'... "um, sir, could you step out of the car, please"...
I get out, and we step onto the sidewalk. He tells me he stopped me for having an illegal exhaust (no shit - it sounds like two-dozen weedwhackers coming down the street). He also informs me that there are plenty more violations on this car... And I start laughing... He asks why am I laughing... And I tell him how my day is going.
"What about the water-pipe?" Indeed! I inform him that this is all a surprise to me, but I would like him to write up everything that is illegal about the vehicle. He looks at me like I'm crazy. But I want my kid to learn a lesson.
And the officer obliges me. He, even, finds some weed in the trunk... 17 tickets later, we are finished... almost... I ask him if I can keep all of the drug paraphenalia? "Why?" I want my kid to destroy it. I want this kid to know his "fuck-off" days are over.
The officer agrees. I could see he was wishing he could be there tonight, for the "lesson". He was pretty decent about the whole thing. This guy took, almost, a half-hour to go through all of this paperwork - and search. I thank him, and head out... He tells me if I get stopped again today, that I should show all the citations to the other officer - and I should not have any problems...
Problems?!! We have problems. I have lost control of my family. My wife is a co-conspirator. She has just been told that I want a listing of all of our household bills & accounts. 'Yes, dear - we are going to perform an audit'. She is protesting, but I do not care. This is war.
I know my family loves me, but they have played me for a fool. I may be a fool, but I am not dumb. She does not know that I just found out my son is in Summer school, because of bad grades. She doesn't know that DMV has provided me with her, and his, records; apparently they have a problem with obeying traffic laws.
It's not going to be easy, but something must be done. I swear, I feel like I have become my father... I want the best for my family, and feel something radical must happen. I can only hope they - truly - understand it is for our own good.
Some things that will be addressed tonight;
1) Son's vehicle is gone; oil up that chain on your bicycle. 2) All three kids will empty out the garage; sell it/ donate it/ whatever. 3) Mom will have a household budget. 4) Chores - that's right; everyone will have assigned chores. 5) Chores will be done, before anything else. 6) Homework will be done daily, before dinner. * Or, immediately after sports events, but always prior to 10pm. 7) Son's tickets will be paid with his allowance. Son is grounded for the rest of the summer. 9) Son will study from 8am until 4pm - daily, durint the rest of summer vacation. 10) Videogames are banned from 10pm until 6pm - daily. 11) Everyone will be up by 8am - daily. 12) The youngest child is on a diet - now. 13) Mother will inform father of ALL infractions. 14) Dad will be home by 6pm - daily. 15) Everyone will eat dinner, together. 16) Mom will cook dinner - and it better not come out of the microwave. 17) The maid is being given four weeks notice. * That is going to be fun - I may not see a sexual interlude for awhile. 18) Dad is getting a new car, and parking it in his garage. 19) Son may get a USED car, when his grades are A's & B's, for two - consecutive - semesters. 20) Mom and son are to attend driving school. 21) Son will explain drug usage - completely, or face rehab & boarding school. 22) Mom will be weaned off of her "medications"; NOW. 23) Children will make their own lunches, for school; no more money for shitty school food. 24) NO soda. Maybe, when we dine out. Maybe, on the weekends. 25) NO MySpace accounts, or any other assinine accounts - a computer geek will check all of their computers - monthly (they need fear put into their lives). 26) Dad will attend all school functions. 27) Everyone will be present for all birthdays. 28) Children will wear clothes that Dad approves of. 29) Mom will dress daughter like a little girl; not a 'hoochie-mama'. * and - definitely - no "juicy" pants on her bottom! 30) Daughter will not have any underwear, except for briefs. 31) Sons will not be told to pull up their pants, or face having said pants donated. 32) NO 'Rap' music, within Dad's hearing range. 33) NO tattoos, until you are out of my house. 34) NO piercings (except for daughter's ears), until you are out of my house. 35) NO dyeing of hair, until you are out of my house.
Just fucking fuck me, already. Date: 2008-02-03, 3:29PM PST
Dear Men of Craigslist,
Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.
But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.
When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want.
OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:
1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one.
2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.
3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.
4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip.
5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried.
6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:
"Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight." "You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?" "I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.
If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.
6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.
7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load.
8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles.
In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ----------------------------------------------------
*New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
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Frank
maybe he cums a lot?
and :interweb:
Son is grounded for the rest of the summer. 
