Dating tips for men

Pregnant girls need love too

If you have sex while you are pregnant it will kill the baby. Please repeat…..if you have sex while you are pregnant it WILL kill the baby. This is the message I want to get out into the world because I do NOT want to have sex with my pregnant wife. I’m afraid of her vagina for the next few months, its like her vagina is Dr. Jekyl and Mr Hyde…….before pregnancy it was dashing and debonair, now it’s a monster that spits blood and smells like death. Dr. Jekyl’s hair is neatly trimmed and well kempt…… Mr. Hyde’s is like a jungle…..who knows what the fuck is living in there…..you wouldn’t stick your dick into a death smelling blood spitting jungle now would you?

I might be exaggerating a little….and lets be honest guys we WOULD stick our dicks into a death smelling blood spitting jungle right? As long as no one was looking. I do have sex with my pregnant wife I just tell everyone I don’t…she’s become the little nerdy asian kid that no one wants to play with, unless no one else is around…..”Hey you’re playing with Changlee?” “NO!!!.....I was just pretending to”…and then you call him a dumb chink and run away with the other kids laughing….that’s my wife now. Except it’s worse because now your fucking Changlee.

I feel bad about it though and I promise I’ll make it up to the baby…..whenever he wants to borrow the car…no problem…..hey go right ahead son it’s only fair for all that cumming I did on you. Labor was hard on mom…you came out as a plaster cast of a baby…..we had to chip you out to cut the cord.

It’s not the biggest turn on either when she’s standing there….big fat fucking gut just hanging…..my cock is envious of her belly button….and then I look at myself and figure I kind of owe her…….but then I gotta try to keep my hardon while she’s slipping off a maxi pad that looks like a kickboxer could practice with…….then she gets on top and Im closing my eyes thinking…..there is no god!!!!......and for some reason she’s fucking aggressive now…..all those crazy hormones got her jacked up like a UFC fighter…..she’s pounding me into the mattress, howling at the moon, has me in the rape choke and her nipples are leaking all over me…. I’m underneath flailing around trying to tap out……I’m trying to buck her off and she thinks she’s in a rodeo…….then she makes it even better by saying real sexy turn on things like….”oooow did you feel the baby kick”….”Fuck yeah I did….he’s trying to tap out too!!!!”

You really think he doesn’t know what’s going on….he’s in there like Neo in the matrix trying to dodge my cock. Poor kid’s first image is dad’s helmet. No wonder they come out crying. Imagine how you’d feel if a couple times a week your dad ran into your room and starting waving his cock around trying to smack you with it…..while your mom just sat there? After about 8 months of this the baby gets sick of it and says "fuck this shit Im flipping over"……except those breach baby’s....those are the ones who grow up and write poems in coffee shops.

My wife actually told me the other day that she read online it’s safe to have sex through the entire pregnancy. I told her I read online that blowjobs promote weight loss…..she told me that’s bullshit…I said oh yeah…..suck my dick and try to eat a hamburger…..but then she did…..so I lost that one.

I think what she read is bullshit….everyone knows having sex while pregnant WILL kill the baby. And it’s irresponsible to say otherwise….fuck it….lets face it…even if it did kill the baby we’d still be asking to put the tip in. Come on baby just the tip… it’ll be like bouncing on trampoline. A blood spitting jungle of death trampoline.

Sunday Bloody Sunday School

My father, being the good catholic boy that he was…would stick his dick into anything…..including the atheist woman he ended up getting pregnant. In an effort to prevent me from going straight to hell, do not pass purgatory, do not collect $200….he did the good catholic thing and married that atheist woman. The day I graced this world with my presence they had decided I would not be Baptized. Instead they would leave it up to me as I got older to decide whether I wanted to be saved with my father or burn in hell with my mother. The decision would have been so much easier had they been honest about how much fun sin really is.

My grandmother who was sick and dying no matter how hard she prayed was convinced that only Catholics get to go to heaven and so in an effort to make her happy at age 14 I decided to get baptized…..for a goof. In order to do this I was told I had to go to Sunday school and study something called the catechism.

So for the next several weeks I went, I was enrolled in grade one, and I was the smartest kid in class since everyone else was 6. Little Elsie Grennier thought she was so fucking good at remembering the lords prayer but I showed her. Kicked her fucking ass in the lord’s prayer spelling bee too……..little bitch.

The one thing I did learn at Sunday School is you cannot go to Sunday School when your old enough to know some priests fuck 14 year old boys. I was on constant guard, the priest would say “how are you today my son” and I’d say “kind of sick actually, bad diarrhea and I think I broke my wrists….I can hardly move them…..id be pretty useless if someone wanted to molest me today”.

In my third week they made me go to confession….with a bunch of 6 year olds….how fucking fair is that….what do they have to confess, “forgive me father I called my sister a poop face”? 14 is the worst possible age to have to go to confession, especially at a place where masturbation is a sin. I had 3001 impure thoughts just while waiting in line for confession. Then I had to go in and say “Forgive me father for I have sinned……all over the floor of your confession booth”. But it was a good opportunity to help keep the horny priests at bay, “Forgive me father, I have terrible hygiene…and carpel tunnel syndrome”.

Eventually I learned all my required hail Mary’s and lords prayers and was ready to be cleansed of my original sin. At the baptism it was just me and a couple babies getting done in. The priest rubbed some holy lube on our chests and thankfully only our chests, we bobbed for apples in the holy water and were ready to party with Jesus.

I thought I was all done with this baptism stupidity; grandma was pleased I wouldn’t burn so now I could get back to making sure I would. Being the good catholic boy that I was, I would stick my dick into anything….including the catholic woman I ended up getting pregnant.

By this point I had no use for church or religion but since my girlfriend did and she wanted our daughter to be baptized I agreed. She was dipped and saved and we went back to our life of sin. 5 years later we found ourselves back in church to plan for my newborn son’s baptism. We realized what frauds we were when my daughter was drawing pictures with the son of another couple. This little boy proudly held up his picture for my daughter and exclaimed, “I drew Jesus”, my 5 year old daughter with a look of confusion on her face said, “Who??!?”. A few more years later and my wife had decided much like myself that there is no God so if we are going to hell at least we’ll be together. And at least I wont have to see any of those bastards from Sunday School.

Cookie Monster would give a hell of a BJ

I went out for lunch with my coworkers the other day and one of them confirmed something I have suspected for quite sometime. Fat people....I mean REALLY fat people, like "your sofa will never be the same" fat people don't eat much in front of other people. This one lady in my office who we keep in a cubicle because no office will hold her, we just stack a bunch of room dividers around her like a UFC ring....she comes in every morning and its like Jurassic Park...my water glass starts shaking and I know Sharon has entered the building.

So everyone is ordering their lunches and Sharon just wants a salad?!?!?! Yes, because lettuce made her the size of a Parade Float. I've noticed this with other fat people too, not me of course because I have no shame, I order a large whatever and use a pork chop as my napkin.......but others seem to want to pretend like they have no idea why their arms hang down like table cloth's.

So Sharon eats half her lunch and pretends to be full. I see the lust in her eyes as she stares longingly at the half eaten Souvlaki on my plate. She says, "I keep light snacks in my purse in case I get hungry, like raisins and celery sticks".....Yeah, and a foot long fucking Hoagie.....who does she think she's bullshitting? I want to tell her come on lady, you look like you use a snickers bar as your toothpick.

She’s got these big meaty sausage finger hands and all I’m thinking is damn Id like to get a hand job from her. I bet it'd be like getting jerked off by a couple of throw pillows. I bet she'd give head like the cookie monster.

Not that I think the cookie monster gives head, I just mean the visual...the whole...."UMMM nuymmm nummm" that kind of thing. Of course the likelihood that the cookie monster would give head has probably tripled now that he's a vegetarian. Why on earth would they make cookie monster a vegetarian anyway? He’s a big blue blob of shit that eats like a fucking pig......so he’s supposed to be a role model for our kids? Maybe instead they should have given him some fucking table manners. He eats like a rapist fucks.

Shouldn’t we make changes to other sesame street characters? How about the obvious Ernie and Bert......talk about sexual tension...."Hey Ernie have you seen my rubber ducky"...."ummm no Bert but here, just use my cock". They should let those two fuck all ready or get Ernie his own place. I also think they should change the way big bird sleeps......he looks like he's blowing himself. I don’t think that’s appropriate plus I’m envious.

Oscar the grouch? Come on,,, they don’t change this guy? What are we trying to teach our kids that is perfectly ok to talk to some homeless crack head that pisses all over everyone in the neighborhood. He lives in a garbage can and plays with worms....you telling me he's not a crack head. You can bet he’s got a few meth pipes in that can of his. Get him on welfare and into a job search program, or move him in with Ernie and Bert......in a blowjobs for crack exchange program.

Elmo......please some one just feed that annoying little pussy to Mr. Snuffleupagus already. I miss Grover. Grover used to be the man until Elmo showed up. If I was Grover Id hire Oscar the smack head to take out Elmo. He could chop up the body into tiny little pieces for the count to inventory.

I don’t even know how I got on the subject of Sesame street? I just started typing and all this came out. I had a point I think but I lost it somewhere between cookie monster blowjobs and Oscar the smack head. Fuck it I’m going for lunch, I have a buffet line to rape.

Love for sale

I remember when I was a child my mother had Tupperware parties. I’m sure the only thing that bothered my father about these parties was how much my mother would spend increasing her collection of plastic bowls that burped. I don’t think Tupperware parties challenged my father’s maleness in any way. I envy my father. If only my wife would get together with friends to buy bowls, life would be so much better but nope…they get together and buy dildos. Big Giant veiny put a porn star to shame cocks. They call them passion parties but I just call them dildo parties because that’s what they are. And you ladies are fucking relentless at these things…..I’ve heard you……housewives who’ve been married 20 years exclaim loudly…..”Oh that’s what ones SUPPOSED to look like”. All the ladies laugh and my penis and I slink away to cry in the basement until it’s all over. Shouldn’t this be an embarrassing thing, should you ladies be buying your dildos and butt plus from some strange guy in a dark alley? I’m just not quite comfortable with my wife sitting with the wife’s and girlfriends of my friends, contemplating whether to buy the “Freedom tickler for him”.

My mother would spend maybe $40 on bowls my wife comes home dragging Santa’s Sack with her, or was it called Sancho’s Sack? Either way it’s like when I buy exercise equipment, I’m only bullshitting myself because we both know none of this shit is ever getting used. Does she really need a different dildo for every day of the week? “Fridays Dildo is loving and giving, Saturdays Dildo works hard for a living”.

She’s tried to convince me that the stuff she buys is for both of us. If that’s the case then why does all of it get smeared on her pussy? Oh look honey I bought you something so my pussy won’t make you want to throw up…….”oh really, what is it…..someone else’s pussy”? If she was really trying to buy something to enhance MY sex life it would be a bib for he, maybe some safety goggles. I don’t need all this shit, I’ve already bought something to make my sex life better, and it’s called Rohypnol.

Even though we will never use the shit she bought that still didn’t stop her from getting mad when she caught me eating her Strawberry flavored Tasty tease cream. What was I supposed to do we were out of syrup and I made the kids pancakes? They enjoyed the watermelon flavored nipple nibblers so much I ordered three more bottles.

Not all of the stuff she buys can help me out when I’m baking; some of it is really quite frightening. She bought this one thing called a “deluxe pleasure ring for couples”; this fucking thing looked like something out of that movie SAW. I just know Id end up putting it on wrong and then having to explain at the hospital that my cock needs the Heimlich maneuver.

Thankfully she didn’t feel the need to buy this one but I saw it in the catalogue, its called “The hot rod enhancer”…..if you buy this for a man its probably because at more than one time you’ve laughed out loud when he undressed. “Yeah your cock is a good size honey but it would look better if you strapped all these extensions on. Great now my cock looks like a robot….the sperminator. Sure it might feel good for her but what’s it doing for me? I imagine when you pop that shit off your prick would look like Luke’s dad at the end of return of the Jedi, all fucked up, pale and trying to catch his breath.

How about “The triple tickle dolphin”….. JESUS Christ….id need three friends just to help me hold this thing and someone wants to stick it in her pussy? Why are all these fucking dildos so huge? It doesn’t do much for the ego when your wife’s viberator looks like it could take out a storm trooper.

She wasn’t lying though; they do have a, “JUST FOR HIM” category, what a bunch of shit! You ladies have enough toy options to fill Santa’s workshop and we get happy meal toys…..and not the good happy meal toys kids get today, I’m talking about that cheap shit we got, the fucking ring stick toy or the roll the balls into the hole toy…..actually that last one is one of the just for him toys. We have that and two water balloons we can fuck. One of them even glows in the dark….perfect because every guy fucking a balloon wants to see it happening so he can be completely reminded of what a fucking pathetic douche he is. At least one thing hasn’t changed from those Tupperware days…..when I’m done fucking the balloon, it burps.

Bumped into my good friend, whats his face, the other day.

I’m standing in the express line at the grocery store the other day counting the number of items the guy in front of me has, sure enough the dirty bastard is a loaf of bread and jar of Miracle Whip over the limit. I’m tempted to bust him for trying to sneak these extra two items past but then I consider the fact that I’m 5 over and keep my mouth shut.

Any way I’m standing there when this guy who I have never seen in my entire life comes up to me and says “Hey John, wow that is you, how have you been”. Now I know a lot of people in this situation get embarrassed that they don’t remember this person and so they will try to pretend they know who he is…..”Oh hey buddy…..how have you been”? So you stand there like an idiot hoping the name will come to you before someone else asks you to introduce them.

Not me, I don’t even care anymore……I’ll ask straight, “Who the hell are you”. The way I see it, if I should know this person I would. It’s not like I’m going to forget someone who actually mattered to me you know? It’s the asshole who you met at a party 5 years ago who you didn’t care to meet then so why should you remember him now? It's this guy who has the ego of a small planet thinking for the past 5 years you've been home waiting for him to call.

I know it may be rude, ok fine it is rude to say “who the hell are you”, but think about it this way. These guys always seem to know way too much about you for the relationship level you previously had. He’s probably some kind of stalker, if you met a guy at a party once and 5 years later he’s asking you if you still work at IBM and still drive a blue Neon, you have cause for concern. “Wow it’s been so long, hey do you still shower with your bathroom curtains open an inch?” So yeah I see no reason to be polite.

In this particular case the guy tells me “We went to high school together”. Now I went to high school with about 500 people. I talked to 50 and liked maybe 10. This guy was definitely not in my circle of friends, yet he’s talking to me like we used to hang out and terrorize the neighborhood together. As he’s talking all I’m thinking is hurry up and ring up my groceries buddy so I can get the hell away from this guy.

To make matters worse he’s one of these guys with no concept of looking presentable in public places. He looks like he may have just woken up, climbed out of which ever dumpster he calls home and stumbled into Safeway looking for abandoned shopping carts so he can scrape together enough quarters for a beer. And he’s standing here talking to me….so people think I’m with him! So I say “Hey it was nice seeing you again and I don’t mean to be rude but could you possibly fuck right off”.

I just have no patience for people. Especially people whose fondest high school memories are of sitting around with friends, talking about the crazy antics of me and my friends. I still love watching other people who are too shy to say anything squirm in these situations. If I see it happening I’ll be the asshole who comes up and says “Hey Adam, who’s your friend”. I also love doing it to people; I don’t even have to actually know them. If I see you wearing a name tag there’s a good chance I’ll approach you….”Hey Greg you old bone smoker….how the hell are you”. I can get guys telling me about their family, their jobs…..if I put on a good enough show I can even get myself invited for dinner, sometimes I’ll even go.

And the worst part about this little adventure of mine in the express lane was that this guy felt the need to point out I was 5 items over the limit. No wonder we weren’t friends in high school.

The Heinous Sin of Self Pollution and all its Frightfull consequences

I have noticed that everything I talk about invariably ends up about masturbation. I could be giving a church sermon and end up saying "and on the 3rd day god whacked his bag and took a nap". So I figure why fight it? Therefore I’m devoting this entire note to one of my favorite topics…..burping the worm.

I probably discovered masturbation back when I was 3 but it really wasn’t until about 10 years later that I discovered what it was really all about. Sitting on the living room floor after bath slapping your little penis around and proudly exclaiming, “look mom it gets bigger when you play with it”…doesn’t really constitute the type of masturbation I’m talking about. Its not masturbation until you’re ashamed for doing it.

I suppose that’s not quite true there is some grey area before you realize you’re supposed to feel shame and you think you’ve just made the greatest discovery in the history of man. This is around the age of 10 or 11. The only age where you think it’s perfectly acceptable to teach your best friend how much fun it is to stick your dick in the vacuum cleaner. Hey give us a break we didn’t have Nintendo Wii. I think I was 10 years old when my friend and I were gang banging my mom’s vacuum cleaner like it was Jodi foster in the accused. It was so much fun we reasoned that we were being greedy by not sharing this information with my older brother. So down the hall we went, little boners pointing the way to share this wondrous information. The first inclination that this was a shameful thing we were doing was moments away. “Sick, you guys are fucking perverts I’m not doing that”, that’s all it took and from that moment on “applying the handbrake” became my personal dirty little secret. I vowed at that moment I would never ever do this sick and twisted thing again. Of course the second I was alone in the house I noticed that the living room carpet was a little dirty so perhaps Id just give it a quick once over and hey while I’m at it why not shove my cock in it?

I realize now years later that my older brother was probably in his room “badgering the witness”, while we were knocking on his door to share our great news. We were poor, we didn’t have TV’s, videogames, or computers or even sometimes beds in our room. So there really was no reason for a 13 year old to be in there at 2:00 in the afternoon.

“Rubbing Buddha’s tummy” would be my dirty little secret, one I unknowingly shared with likely 100% of kids in my class for the next 6 or 7 years. I don’t think there was an object in my house that I hadn’t tried fucking at one time or another. Laundry baskets, furniture, shampoo bottles….. (I loved that shampoo bottle) and even food. My parents were nice enough to never question why I took two showers a day, or why I insisted at age 12 on doing my own laundry. No one questioned why I always knew exactly where the sears catalogue was (Usually under my mattress and flipped open to the bra section).

One day a kid at school told me that if you “tickle your pickle” you’ll grow hair on your palms. I could feel my hands getting hot and I knew all eyes must be on them at that very moment. I imagined my hands must have looked like part of Lon Chaney’s wardrobe. I snuck a quick look and was relieved to see that they were smooth like they should be…considering all the hand lotion I was going through. This was followed by other rumors, masturbation would make me go blind, it would make me stupid and crazy, and it caused acne and could even lead to death. At the first sign of a zit I found myself thinking, “Fuck…. I’m busted”!!!

To make matters even worse I was raised Catholic so I really felt guilty. To Catholics sperm is sacred; they don’t use condoms or any birth control for that matter. I’m sure even pulling out will get you a few Hail Mary’s at confession. This is because every single sperm is considered potential life….and there’s approximately 180 million sperm in each orgasm! Do you have any idea what kind of responsibility this puts on us teenage catholic boys? Every time I “played a little five on one” it was like committing a Catholic Holocaust. Can you imagine carrying around that kind of guilt……….several times a day? So apparently God is very much against Masturbation in fact years ago Masturbation was truly considered evil and was often referred to as the heinous sin of self-pollution. I find myself wondering, if God was so against jerking off why the fuck didn’t he just make our arms a little shorter?

Masturbation was once thought of as one of the worst crimes one could commit against humanity. Dr. Reveille-Parise wrote in 1828, “Masturbation is one of the scourges which secretly attacks and destroys humanity. It is the destroyer of civilizations.” It was truly believed to cause, blindness, acne and insanity. Medical journals were filled with articles such as, “treatise upon the Disorders produced by Masturbation “. Circumcision was offered as a possible cure to masturbation, I for one can testify that it doesn’t work.

Dr. John Harvey Kellogg was a huge advocate of circumcision of boys to reduce masturbation. Dr. Kellogg was fiercely against masturbation and even sex of any kind. He believed that if children ate bland food it would reduce their sexual desires and therefore help reduce masturbation. It was this belief that led to the birth of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes. I’m seriously not making this up…Google it for yourself. Dr. Kellogg also believed the colon was the key to good health and gave himself “Yogurt Enemas”. Now I have to interject here, if you’re against sex of any kind why on earth would you want to slap pudding all over your asshole? If corn flakes really are meant to stop me from “auditioning my hand puppet” then why do they put such a sexy rooster on the box? Is it a coincidence that the cereal invented to keep boys from “playing couch hockey for one” has a cock as its logo? I took the cornflakes challenge head on and whacked my bag while eating a bowl. The only thing it did was cause me to spill more milky white on myself than usual.

As time went on scientists discovered that these masturbation myths were as empty as their test subject’s nutsacs after a session of, ummmm, research. Test subjects were in ready supply since all those scientists were likely yanking on their own little test tubes and filling beakers on a daily basis. It’s difficult to argue against masturbation when you’re too much of a nerd to get any pussy. I have so much more Id like to share about “helping put Mr. Kleenex’s kids through college” , my hope that typing this would get it all out of my system has been unrealized. All it’s done is make me want to go hold my sausage hostage. Perhaps I just need a yogurt enema and a bowl of corn flakes.

We came here to party

“You know you have 10 minutes to drink those because the bars closing”. My friend Adam and I looked at each other, expressions of shock planted firmly in place. You see where we were from the bars didn’t close until 2:00 am, we assumed it was like that everywhere so imagine our surprise finding out this particular bar was about to close in a few short minutes regardless of the fact that we had each just ordered 10 beers. We told ourselves right before ordering that we were going to show these Americans how we drink in Canada. With 4 minutes to go we had attracted a rather large crowd of spectators and I had finished my 10th and was working on Adam’s 7th. We managed to finish them all in our allotted time and our reward was a swift kick out the door as the club bouncers announced that the party was over.

We had tried to condense several hours worth of partying in those few minutes, we drank the beers hit the dance floor for a song and even met some ladies and made plans to meet up for an after party. The only problem was its hard to remember directions when we just finished plowing through 12 beers. We stumbled out into the street and were convinced we were supposed to go left and then go left and then make a left and then for good measure go left once again. At one point we stumbled into a pizza place that was closing and drukenly convinced the clerk to give us free pizza.....either that or we robbed him...im not too clear on that detail. 30 minutes later we found ourselves standing outside the same club. By now the only people remaining on the downtown streets were the homeless, the criminals and those who had drank 12 beers in 8 minutes. We did what any highly intoxicated University student on vacation would do….we hoped in our car and drove around looking for the girls we met earlier. Of course we couldn’t find the party but we did find that the sidewalks were traffic free at 3:00 am.

Up ahead we could see some hope, the lights of a convenience store were faintly visible, although blurry…perhaps due to the alcohol, perhaps due to the three homeless people we ran over on the sidewalk. Windshield wipers are not very effective at cleaning off blood splatters and squeegee pieces. The brown guy behind the counter would surely be able to offer better directions than the ones we had scrawled on a beer soaked bar napkin. As we pulled in we noticed that 2 of the three parking spots were currently occupied but thankfully we only needed one. Well, in that drunken state we actually needed one and a half but since the two cars (that we slowly and as cautiously as I have ever driven in my life pulled in between) just happened to be two police cars, we made damn sure one space was enough.

In an academy award worthy performance we excited the vehicle and walked into the store. Concentrating on every single step. Since we managed to get in and out without being arrested we assume we put on a good sobriety performance but perhaps the cops just thought it would be funny to watch and see if we drove ourselves off a bridge. The clerk wasn’t any help, he may have given us perfect directions but between the beers and his accent we ended up back at the club again. At this point the realization of a night of masturbation seemed a certainty. We decided that drinking and driving was probably not a good idea since the only vehicles remaining on the streets were the police and ambulances and if we continued to drive we would eventually find ourselves receiving services from one of them. So we parked and decided to walk again. Now was that a left, left left followed by a left? Ok, let’s try that.

By this point the alcohol had reached its full potential and this will require me to make up the rest of this story because the truth is I remember parking the car and then waking up in a field missing a shoe……and an Adam.

Since I get to make this part up I believe what happened was, the ladies who were desperate to be with someone as gorgeous as I…continued to drive around until they spotted Adam and I passed out in the middle of the expressway off ramp. They could not agree on who got to be with me and so they rolled Adam off into the safety of a bus shelter and took me with them. The scent of college girls making out brought me enough consciousness to be able to sexually pleasure all four of them at the same time. They begged me to stay but I was worried about Adam and left to go find him. After 2 hours of walking I grew tired and decided to rest my eyes….for just a second. While I was sleeping a stray dog mistook me for a fire hydrant but the fact that I just had sex with four gorgeous women made getting pissed on by a dog all worth it. The evidence all points to this being true…..well it also points to a slight possibility that I wandered off to take a piss, fell down with my pants unbuckled and pissed all over my drunken self.

I decided that walking to the right and making a bunch of rights would help me retrace my steps. After 10 minutes of walking I realized the sidewalks were not nearly as clean as I had thought when I walked on them with TWO shoes. After 20 minutes of stumbling around aimlessly I began to hope I would find a homeless person passed out in an alley….so I could steal his fucking shoe! I tried to think…..where could Adam be? I asked myself, “if I was drunk out of my mind last night and got split up from my friend in a strange city…where would I go”…..after pondering this for several minutes I realized that apparently the answer is I would throw away one shoe and go sleep in a park.

After an hour of wandering shoeless through the streets I recalled that I had a cell phone in my pocket….and Adam knew the phone number. Perhaps he managed to locate a phone and left me a message explaining where we was. I called my voicemail and sure enough, you have 2 new messages…..

Message 1, “Hey budd itshhhh Adam, I garbellled narrw and then you dishhhaperrrded on me……..I……whenear a shiiine mannnn……petco…shawdoomizedem…..g’ner a drank way too many beersh man….so come get me whenyougetthish messhage”

Message 2, “I forgotto shay…..i have your shoe”

I’m pretty sure it was Adam but it may have been the convenience store clerk. The only word I could be sure of in the first message was Petco. So Adam was near a Petco store. Now all I had to do was find the nearest Petco. The first lady I came across had no idea where Petco was and she accused me of touching her woo woo when she was 12. I decided not to argue and she pushed her shopping cart full of belongings off in the other direction.

Like any good friend worried about his missing friend in a strange new city I decided the best course of action at this point was to go into the Denny’s and ask for directions….just as soon as I finished a grand slam breakfast. My eggs went down surprisingly well considering I was worried that my friend Adam may have been sodomized behind a petco. In fact perhaps he was still being sodomized. I decided the smartest course of action would be to let him wait another hour. This way if he was being anally raped the rapist would have moved on by then.

The manger at Denny’s was surprisingly knowledgeable about the local petco, leading me to deduce that he was heavy into gerbilling. As it turns out the Petco was a short 10 minute walk from Denny’s……30 minutes if you’re missing a shoe. By 9:05 AM, I spotted Adam, curled up underneath a picnic table outside the petco. Our celebratory reunification was short lived when we realized we had no idea where our car was. But on the plus side I did get my shoe back. Eventually we did locate our car but that’s a whole other adventure. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never know what happened after we parked the car that night, I wont know whether we would have scored with those college girls, nor will I know how we ended up getting separated but I sure would like to know how the fuck Adam ended up with my shoe?

Like any reasonably intelligent and relatively sober university students on vacation in a strange city we decided that the right thing to do would be return to that club later that night and start all over again. Only this time we’d leave ourselves 20 minutes to finish the beers. Its amazing to me how your ability to learn is so diminished when you’re in college.

If you don't stop it you'll go blind

Last night I saw a woman with a hunchback. You need to understand....to me this is like seeing a ghost or Jesus or witnessing a female orgasm.....these are just things that I didn't believe existed. I know you’re not supposed to stare at things like this but how often do you see a hunchback out in public any way? Of course the second I got home I had no choice, I absolutely had to go online and Google search "Hunchback Porn". Sure enough......if you build it they will cum.

That is the beauty and at the same time the most frightening thing about the internet. You can find anything you want. If your particular fetish happens to be watching midgets dressed like penguins poking each other in the doo doo hole its there for your viewing pleasure. I wrote a note a long long time ago titled, "The risks of too much porn". If you read it you know there’s no longer any hope for me. I discovered that myself one day when I typed something and the internet didn’t have it. You know your porn tastes are pretty fucked up if the internet can't accommodate you. I hold out hope that one day though I will find that amputee nun porn I was seeking that fateful day I discovered I was in serious need of therapy.

Don't get me wrong these are not things I want to view while enthusiastically smacking around my penis. In fact I’m even a little uncomfortable myself when while viewing these things my Penis wakes up and wants to say hello. Its just something you HAVE to see....you don’t want to but you HAVE to!!! Like a car accident, if half of someone’s face is laying on the sidewalk you want to be able to tell others how fucked up it was to witness that. If someone leaked a porno tape of Will Smith and Barack Obama having kinky homosexual ear sex.....you'd Google it.

Seeing this hunchback got me thinking......and I realized id really like to fuck a hunchback. Any one can bang a hot chick...half the time hot chicks are boring in bed anyway.....like they think they don't have to put in any effort because they're doing me a favor. Some fucking favor too at $250 an hour!!!! Any way I’m thinking having sex with a hunchback would be like riding a teeter totter. I guess if you were going down on a hunchback she'd have no choice but to sit up and watch you?

See this is what happens when you watch too much porn. It warps your entire world view. I can't even talk to people...its like an evil superpower.....everything I hear is turned into something perverted. "Oh your uncle's in the hospital because he had a stroke?.........well fuck next time tell him not to pull so hard"........."Oh you bought a new pool cue?.....yeah check it out it has a really smooth shaft". Don't even get me started on hockey announcers....."....and Getzlaf is rammed hard from behind.......the puck comes loose.....Crosby gets his stick on it.....he's got good hands.... Crosby's in deep but he cant get a shot off.....Penner Rides him into the corner......he's getting double teamed.....he got in there too tight......Crosby breaks loose.....he winds up....and he stuffs it in!!!!!"

I’m too far gone for therapy, too many words that could set me off....."and how are you feeling today"....."same as I always do....I use my hands". I think the only answer is to fully embrace my sexual deviancy until it runs its course. I only hope in the meantime I don’t end up impregnating a midget hunchback while watching a hockey game. But now that I mention it....that is something Id have to see!

Writers get writers block, do pornstars get porno cock?

Thoughts race through my mind, twisting, turning and narrowly avoiding crashing into the corners of my imagination. I begin to type a note about the snow that is slowly falling outside my office window. Taunting me with its beauty by reminding me that the next 6 months of my life will be spent shoveling the shit out of my way every morning. Then I realize im not ready to bitch about the winter yet, besides, I've said that in other notes, comments and status updates. Suddenly and without warning my penis stands at attention as though a vagina drill sergeant walked into the room and blew a whistle. He has no arms but if he did they'd be waving frantically above his head screaming, "Write about me....write about me". But we've been down that road before too. Hermaphrodites, white house party crashers, pigeons as an endangered species, kids at war with bedtime all float around in my mind waiting for their respective turns to be born into the world as facebook notes. I begin to write, and the paragraphs flow like always, no writers block for me....the ideas, thoughts, jokes and sexual innuendos spill onto the page faster than drunken old Uncle Wayne will spill his wine on your new carpet on x-mas eve. Just as quickly the select all and delete buttons are struck with a knock out punch, sending the note back into the dungeon of my mind with all the dirty fantasies that therapy has yet to prepare me to speak openly of. I lack motivation and so I stick them with coat hangers and end their chance at life. So fine I come to face it, writers block has me in its dirty little grasp....like old drunk Uncle Wayne, when no one else at the party is looking..... I have to sit back and figure out why. The words are all there, and they seem to flow as effortlessly as dropping a roofie into an unsuspecting girl guides fruit punch. So why can’t I finish what I started? Then it hit me like a paparazzi pursued princess.....slam...and just like that I got the answer. It's all your fault. The few of you who actually do still read these things. I've come to enjoy making you laugh and smile and yet when I began this it was to make me smile. If you liked it great, if you didn’t even better. Sure I still occasionally say things that most others wouldn’t even consider admitting they think about but I've noticed an increased desire in myself to make my notes funny for you. Well now I've decided to say, fuck you all...lol. Once you start caring what people think you're no longer free to truly and completely be yourself. That’s why people snap and end up shooting a McDonalds full of kids on their lunch break. If we hold all this fucked up shit inside it will eventually cause some sort of break down. I am increasingly frustrated with people feeling a need to "fit in", to look, act and be a certain way. Most of the people around me make me sick so why the fuck should I pretend to be something Im not.....just so I can get a Christmas card once a year, so I can get birthday greetings on facebook from 50 people I really don't give a fuck about any way. I'm as much myself as I can possibly be with everyone in my life, I hide very little of my personality. I obviously can't share all of it at the office, at least not with the certainty of sensitivity training looming but I do my best to be me at all times what you see is what you get. I really think it was the facebook gods that got me to this point and not my loyal readers, the ever impending threat of being shut down again, and again and apparently again. But fuck the facebook Gods too. If I want to write about what the bible says to do in case someone cums on you, (Leviticus 15:8) I am going to do it. If I want to joke about what the number one cause of pedophilia is (the answer is sexy kids) I am going to do it. And if my penis is standing at attention, (as Im preaching this can you here the patriotic music in the background) demanding to be seen and heard, I am going to set him free.....because in this nation our fathers fought for the freedom of not one but of all penises. And when the facebook gods get wind of the impending anarchy and I get shut down again....I will meekly start from the beginning again having learned the same thing I would for getting arrested for indecent exposure.......chose your audience carefully.

Can't I just buy them Candy and stay home!!!!!

I woke up this morning and it didn’t feel like a Friday. That whole surge of positive emotion that revolves around having made it through another week without putting any bullet holes through upper management was missing. Had I shot my boss and blacked it all out…..nope…no such luck there she is at her desk pretending not to play solitaire. What is it then…what is causing this overwhelming dread? The weekend is here I’m supposed to feel free and alive and then…..I looked at my calendar…..October 31. Fucking Halloween!!!! As a kid Halloween and Christmas were the only 2 days of the year that really mattered, birthdays were alright too but back then parents didn’t feel the need to top all the other parents in the neighborhood by putting on bigger and better parties. When I was a kid a goodie bag had a balloon a whistle and some gum. My kids return from parties with entertainment systems and Microsoft stock. So the only 2 days that really really mattered where Christmas and Halloween. As an adult Christmas has survived…I still love it, but Halloween is like that one guest who comes on Christmas that you just want to take out back and pound the shit out of with a roasting pan until they vow never to return again. Ok I admit it, I’m a Halloween Grinch. Don’t get me wrong I love the whole costume bit but I live in Winnipeg….affectionately known throughout my country as Winterpeg….and for a reason. It’s damn cold here. The kids get stuffed into so many layers of sweaters and such that by the time we squeeze their costume over top they’ve gone from being Batman to being Batman after Marriage. From Barbie to Barbie after 5 kids. I’m sure it’s hard to feel heroic when your batman looks like all he’s saved is food from being wasted. And how much Candy do you really need any way. My kids are insane they’d stay out banging on doors until Christmas Eve if we didn’t reel them in. So tonight I’ll plaster on my “look how cute my kid is” smile and trudge from door to door. The sound of my 4 year old saying twick or tweet will go from cute to let me go home by about the 5th house. But the kids love it so for all they know tonight I will love it too. But secretly I’ll be done when we walk out the door and I will not be happy until the kids are tucked in bed and I can steal their candy as they sleep. Did I mention I happen to love the day after Halloween? Yes I like the Candy, I hate the work. Happy Halloween!

...and on the third day God made Oreo Cakesters.....

One my way to work this morning I saw this homeless man sleeping in a box. It’s not the first time I have seen this but what made it unusual today is that he had a homeless woman sleeping in the box with him. Most people might not even give this matter a second thought but to me this man whoever he was, was now my new hero. All I could think was how on earth do you get pussy when you don’t even have a bed? This homeless man must have been the obi-wan Kenobi of pussy. I could even picture him waving his hand in front of her face saying, “you want to suck my cock……and wash my hair”. I mean this guy doesn’t even have a bed!!! How do you pick up women when you’re homeless? Does he say, “Hey you wanna come inside my box and then I’ll come inside yours”? I guess in a strange sort of way it makes sense that if you lived in a box all you’d have to do is fuck. There’s no distractions, no phone, no cable, no internet……no self respect….might as well fuck. I recognize that this woman was probably a crackhead and that just became more of a turn on. Now the potential for embarrassment is pretty high if your caught staring at two homeless people while sporting a massive erection. I couldn’t help myself though the thought of dating a crackhead is pretty sexy……if I was dating one my cock would be like her I.V. I wouldn’t take it out of her mouth until it looked like a hand that had been soaking in a bathtub for too long. Who wouldn’t want to date a crackhead? They’re all built like supermodels, suck a lot of dick and will let you pee on them. Now I’m not saying I should or would even want to pee on a crackhead but it’s nice to have that option. There’s just so many advantages to dating a crackhead…..do you think a crackhead would get angry at you for forgetting to pick up milk from the store? She probably can’t even remember whose dick she’s sucking….or why it’s suddenly peeing on her. The only down side I can think of is if you happen to run out of crack she will stab you, but the fact is I run that same risk with my wife and Oreo Cakesters. Which is fair because if any food on this planet has the same addictive qualities as crack its Oreo Cakesters….if you haven’t tried one….DON’T. They will ruin your life and you will find yourself standing outside the 7-11 offering to suck some dick for one….I’ve already been banned from every 7-11 in my city!

I knew math class would come in handy

They say that men have so much more to gain from the institution of marriage than women do. They, of course being my wife and mother-in-law. I am sure this is based on years of long-term quantitative, scientific research or by watching old episodes of The Newlywed Game. It has to be old episodes too, I don’t care who texted who first on the new series I want the old series, if there aren’t answers like, “In the Ass”, then I want no part of it. Either way I’m disputing the evidence, I have to…my penis is making me be a man, he’s angry at me for watching The Notebook and crying. This argument that women gain less is based on really two arguments. Sex and housecleaning. I’m going to pick apart both arguments. The first states that generally speaking in relationships women end up being responsible for the majority of housework. I agree this is of some benefit to us guys but are we really gaining anything? If my wife does 80% of the housework and I do 20%....does that mean I’m gaining that 80%? Some would say quite obviously the answer is yes but I ask those people have you visited a bachelor pad? Because I will guarantee you that those guys are still only doing 20% of the housework around their apartment!!! When they were single that lady is doing 100% of her cleaning and the guy is sniffing his jeans to see if they can make it through another day. I’ve walked into my single friends apartments, no scratch that…I have waded through seas of pizza boxes, beer cans and the occasional used prophylactic….these guys don’t clean up until the pizza boxes crawl into the trash on their own. The refrigerator has 3 beers a few frozen pizza pops and maybe a carton of egg nog….which is a problem since its August. Single ladies will do things like, dusting, vacuuming and flushing the toilet…..these concepts are foreign to the single male! Odds are he doesn’t even own a vacuum; he just does his best to get rid of “the big chunks”. Which is similar to his concept of when to flush the toilet. The other argument is that we gain more because of sex. Lets face it when it comes to sex you ladies do have the power, you are the gatekeepers and our entire reason for being is to stick our cock in to something that won’t electrocute us…….yes it was a hard lesson but I will never fuck a light socket again!!! I can’t speak for other married men but in my own case I have been with my wife for 15 years. In those 15 years we have gone through 4 pregnancies. Each pregnancy lasting 9 months. Now I’m a big fan of “first trimester” sex. For one thing, you can’t get her pregnant twice? And I don’t believe embryo’s are people so I have no problem unleashing the cock puke and making them look like a chicken McNugget ready for the deep fryer. But once those little things start sprouting ears and eyes I am not going near that vagina. I know I wouldn’t want to have a memory of my fathers cock smacking me in the forehead or god forbid I’m a breech baby!!!!!!! So that means that’s some out of order pussy for 6 months out of each pregnancy. That’s 2 years for those of you keeping score. In that 15 years my wife also likes to sometimes sleep. 8 hours a day on average…that’s a third of our relationship out the window. Another 5 years out of order!!!! If my cock suddenly turned into old faithful and shot blood for a week out of every month I’m sure you ladies would not want to visit. That’s 12 weeks a year……180 weeks for me…that’s Damn near 3 and ½ years of PMS. Are you still counting…..that’s 10 & ½ yrs of some Out of Order vagina. We fight a fair amount in my relationship, in fact with all that no fucking going on Id say we spend a good 10% of our relationship pissed off at each other. That’s another year and a half. Do you ladies use the washroom? My wife does too…..and what the fuck do you need a whole hour in there for? I’m in and out in 5 minutes flat…..and that includes having showered, shaved and shit…….all at once but that’s beside the point. My wife is in that washroom an average of an hour a day…..that’s 365 hours a year, 364 on a leap year. That’s 15 days a year! That’s another 8 months. Add in about 4 months of headaches and a solid year of “im just not in the mood” and that’s 14 of 15 years with an out of order vagina. And by the way we don’t need you ladies to be “in the mood”; we just need you to be agreeable and perhaps not say anything for the next couple minutes. So I get 1 year of available vagina and the truth is my dicks only good for about 10 minutes of fucking a day. Once he’s done he’s like he went 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, he’s not moving for the next 23 hours and 50 minutes. So I’ve probably only got to do about 2 and ½ days of fucking since entering into this relationship and I could have had more than that just by spending a week in prison. At least my cell mate wouldn’t bitch at me for not flushing the toilet!

May the breast man win

I'm growing increasingly worried about my 8 year old son. I keep finding his sisters Barbie dolls completely naked, hiding under his bed. Its not that they’re naked that worries me, all boys do that in fact I still do that! What worries me is they’re gagged and their little plastic arms are tied behind their backs. Oh and quick question, do Barbie dolls have nipples? If so I have no idea what he’s done with them! I’m starting to question whether it was a good idea to give him that chloroform that he asked for last Christmas.

Actually I’m thinking that around age 12 it’s probably a great idea to just buy your sons their own Barbie doll. Obviously he won’t admit it but it would be the greatest gift you could possibly give him and it would probably help keep your sears catalogue from disappearing. If you think he keeps taking it to look at hockey sticks get ready for a rude awakening. There’s a perfectly good reason why the bra and panty section flips as one giant clump of pages. On second thought forget the Barbie Dolls just buy him a bra to play with. Of course you couldn’t just hand it to him; he’d be too embarrassed for that. Just leave it under his pillow one night while he’s sleeping and he’ll think the masturbation fairy left it in the night.

Maybe he’ll even solve one of life’s great mystery’s, how to unhook one of those things. We all know men who claim they can open a bra with one finger and a toe but I am not one of those men. I’m not at all impressed when a guy tells me he can open one with ease, I just assume he’s a cross dresser. I need a well stocked tool kit and some moral support just to get through it. Bras may have been invented by a mother but the hooks were invented by a father. I’m surprised they weren’t traditionally made from barbed wire.

Not that it would have stopped us. If a set of fun bags were hidden in a labyrinth us guys would scurry through that fucker faster than a little hamster racing for a piece of cheese. No matter how treacherous the terrain we’d make it through unscathed, mouth watering, erections pointing the way. Boobs really do have that much power over us. If you don’t believe me pop yours out sometime at a football game, it could be the superbowl and every single guy in your section would be done watching the game….all eyes would be on you on the off chance you might decide to do it again.

It’s why all men dream of going to Mardi gras at least once in their life, hands full of beads and eyeglasses securely in place. Even guys who don’t need glasses are going to have them on just in case. In case you don’t know at Mardi gras angelic women will exchange a flash of their boobs for a string of beads. If you were looking for me at Mardi Gras you’d just have to spot the giant Jabba the Hutt shaped pile of beads walking through the street. It’s why I cant go….id never leave, Id rent an apartment and all Id have would be beads, and even with all that breast exposure my son laying in his bed of beads would still have his sisters Barbies bound and gagged under his bed. The only difference is perhaps Barbie would be wearing a bead necklace.

How much for a knob bob?

Id like to take this time to discuss a subject that is very near and dear to my heart, blowjobs. Without exception blowjobs are all at once the greatest and most romantic gift you could give a man. Blowjobs are like our kryptonite and our crack cocaine at the same time. You can own a man completely even with just a hint that you might at some point in the evening decide to shine his silver. You know that kid who shot his teachers husband because she asked him too? You can bet she asked while his cock was covered in her saliva. I saw a picture the other day of this exceptionally beautiful woman at Mardi gras wearing a sign around her neck that said, "Free blowjobs". I thought to myself, what a brilliant idea!!! The fact is without the sign she looked like Shrek but as soon as that sign went around her neck......instant perfect 10. I wondered why more women don't wear these signs and then I figured it’s probably at least in part due to a fear that no one would stand in your line. I'm here to tell you ladies......they will line up!!!! If you build it they will come!!!!! Jabba the Hutt could give out BJ's and I'd take one. Seeing that picture tainted me though.....now I’m constantly on the lookout for those signs. Yesterday I was in a small town doing a presentation and I stopped into a little craft store and saw a sign which read.....all kidding aside now....."KNOB BOB's - $1.25"I had two bucks in one hand and my cock in the other before I realized they weren't selling what I was shopping for. I think they did that on purpose too just to get us guys into the store....there was a long line of dollar bills and cocks behind me. I'll tell you this too....you lose all bargaining power when you’re standing with your cock out. At that point you just pay whatever they ask and get the fuck out before the cops arrive. As it turns out to them a Knob Bob is like a little hat for the handle on your pots. I wish I had a picture so I could give you a visual. To me it looks like what I would describe as a "Manhood Mitten", or a "Schlong Scarf", in fact I’m thinking it may come in handy this winter. I don't know how familiar you ladies are with the concept of "shrinkage" but let’s just say our penises are Mother Nature’s thermometers. That food saver system has nothing on a pair of cold testicles! You want to talk vacuum sealed!!! In the winter apparently my penis wants to know what its like to be a clit. It's like my balls are Luke Skywalker in the Empire strikes back.....they're slicing open my lungs and huddling inside for warmth. So I bought my knob bob and will never request a Bj the same way again...from now on all I want are Knob Bob's. I haven’t given up on my quest to find the free bj's sign, it's become my new #1 goal in life, so if you have a black marker and some comfortable knee pads let me know and I’m on my way.

This note is suitable for viewing by all ages

Sex, drugs, violence and foul language are the building blocks of my very being. They are my foundation, all of who I am is build about a solid rock of vulgarity and general offensiveness. I take pride in it too. So now I find myself being told that in order to enter a local amateur comedy contest I need to write a pg-13 act. I don’t even know what pg-13 is? I imagine it’s a lot of fart jokes though. I sat down and wrote and wrote and you guessed it, wrote some more and I came up with a whole bunch of pages of doodles. Yet I don’t think 10 pages of cartoonish boobs and penises are going to win me anything, and it’s probably not pg-13. Eventually I tore those pages out and wrote some jokes. I think they’re funny while I’m writing them and then as I reread them I begin to just think they’re really quite lame and so I begin again. Another 10 pages of boobs and penises later I realize I’m somewhat stumped. I refused to give in though, once upon a time people like Jack Benny and Milton Berle cracked the world up without any of my go to material. I never once heard Uncle Miltie taking about how his birds and the bees talk consisted of an explanation that “some bees make honey and other bees just get it shot in their face”. So eventually after a parade of cartoon boobs and penises came together to form a rather naughty flip book I wrote some actual material. My comment about Lady Gaga looking like she applies make-up by stuffing her head in a bag of it and shaking around was left on the cutting room floor. Keeping that joke company on the floor is my joke about never eating salad unless there’s bacon and gravy on it. My jokes about the movie Twilight will never see the light of day, I cut them too although I still think it’s funny to comment how the premise of that “romantic” movie was “we shouldn’t be together because I’m not sure if I can resist the urge to eat your face”. I’m not sure if my jokes about that new TV show “More to Love” will make the cut or not. Have you seen this show? Basically it’s the Fat Bachelor and I really think that’s just what it should have been called. I think that’s less offensive than “More to Love”. If some chick told me “Your not fat, there’s just more of you to love”, Id tell her, “thanks and your not ugly, there’s just less of you to look at”. I’ve never actually watched the show but I’m betting instead of roses he gives the girls cheeseburgers. I could change my mind at the last second and put up a completely different act then the one I have written which is certainly in my character to do so. Once I have it up and running I will provide you with a link if you’re interested so you can vote for me. Since I have your attention now do you think it’s offensive to say entering me in a pg-13 contest is like entering Stephen Hawkins in “So you think you can dance”? Im not sure if I'll use that or not. Like I said at the end of the day it could just be a slide show off animated boobs and penies, Im sure 13 yr olds would approve.

Everything you always wanted to know about sex

My son Dylan was 2 years old when my wife became pregnant with our youngest. It took quite awhile to convince him that there was a baby in mommy’s stomach but eventually we talked him into it. The problem then was trying to convince him that there wasn’t a baby in mine. At least he didn’t run around telling people” mommy has a baby in her belly….and daddy has two in his”. I think we’ve done a pretty good job of preparing our kids for the birds and the bees talk. I think it’s important that kids have some information about sex. So we at one point sit them all down and explain that mommy birds and daddy birds sometimes fuck like horny gay squirrels and the daddy birds don’t pull out soon enough and so 9 months later a baby comes. Ok so we clean the language up a bit, especially when explaining that some bees make honey and some bees get it squirted in their face. In all seriousness I do feel that sex education is important. We actually got a warning letter the other day from the school asking that we sign consent for our daughter to learn about this stuff. I kind of figure better she learns about it in a controlled environment then from some neighborhood kid who wants to play doctor. Are people really still against sex education classes though? I thought we were kind of over that whole….”oh no if they learn about it then they’ll be having little grade 5 orgies” mindset. I was really kind of shocked to get the letter because it really is such a non-issue to me. My daughters were in the delivery room when they’re little brothers were born. We had prepped them to know exactly what to expect and even watched some videos of other babies being born. Some people even within our own family were against it but those people just were a little apprehensive because they’re stupid. I cannot stress enough the importance of sex education. Especially when you consider the potential traumatizing effect of a young mans first wet dream! See I don’t even remember mine. I suppose I must have slept through it and when I woke up I didn’t even know it had happened. I’m quite thankful too that I didn’t notice it; if I did I wouldn’t have known what was going on. My parents never talked to me about the birds and the bees, I would have thought my dick was melting. Plus I was Catholic so I would have really felt guilty. I mean to Catholics that sperm is sacred; they don’t use condoms or any birth control for that matter. I’m sure even pulling out will get you a few hail Mary’s at confession. This is because every single sperm is considered potential life….and there’s like 180 million sperm in each orgasm!!! Do you have any idea what kind of responsibility this puts on us teenage catholic boys? Every time I jerked off all over myself it was like committing a Catholic Holocaust. Can you imagine carrying around that kind of guilt several times a day through your teens? 180 million sperm!!! What does that tell us by the way about men and women that women only need 1 egg to create life and us men need 180 million sperm!?!?! I guess it’s like hunting with an UZI….you shoot off enough rounds and you’re bound to hit something. Damn I’m off track again…..it’s all this masturbation talk…it tends to cause my mind (and hands) to wander. So any way we signed the form and in the comments section my only request was that they not get into topics like Donkey Punches, and Dirty Sanchez’s. I’m thinking I probably don’t need to worry about that though….at least not until high school

I had a friend named BJ, I was 6 so I didn't know it was funny.

When I was a child money did not mean a whole lot to me. On the school ground we traded in marbles and hockey cards. Those were our currency, nothing else really mattered. And back then of course we believed everyone felt the same way and were shocked when we discovered this wasn’t the case. This was a hard lesson for me to learn. I could not believe my teacher would not change the grade on my science project for a Dale Hawerchuk Rookie card and three of my best marbles. The look she gave me was bad but it was nothing compared to the look I got for offering Sally Thomas a Paul Coffey Rookie card to let me stick my cock in her, of course we were in the 10th grade by then. I suppose it was time for me to adopt actual money as my currency of choice. Money worked out quite well for me for some time, when I could actually get some of it that is. Now several years later I find my self realizing that in relationships money is no longer the most valuable commodity, blow jobs are. “Hey honey can you drive my parents home after the party tonight”……”sure thing but you know what it’s going to cost….and you already owe me two so that’ll be three I got banked”. I like to save mine for a rainy day, or in case I have nothing else for the church collection plate. “No sorry I don’t have any money for the United Way but I’ll tell you what…..hey honey….give him one of my bj’s”. It’s no wonder I get every canvasser in the city knocking on my door, and some from other cities too. What I really want to talk about though is a bad blow job experience I had the other day. So this is new territory for me. It would be like bumping into Bigfoot at wal-mart, and if Bigfoot shopped anywhere you know it would be at wal-mart. I didn’t even know bad blowjobs existed. I didn’t believe in them anymore than that Sasquatch in house wares. Now it’s not that it was really bad, I mean there was no far out change in technique it’s just that I was not at all in the mood, I was exhausted and just ready to sleep. Far be it from me to turn down a bedtime bj, in my house bj’s are like Bigfoot you see them so rarely you begin to believe they don’t actually exist. So I graciously accepted the offer and as I’m laying there I realize I’m really not into this at all tonight. I know if I said “you know what honey, I’m just not feeling it tonight”, then pulled my prick out of her mouth, rolled over and went the sleep…….the only thing going in her mouth for the rest of her life is food and a toothbrush, ok maybe the occasional delivery man too. But certainly not me, there’s an expectation that we guys are always ready to go, which is pretty much true but god forbid you find yourself in a situation where your not because she is going to talk it personally. I don’t know maybe she should too, I mean I cannot imagine how I’d feel if a woman were on top and suddenly jumped off saying “no thanks, this just isn’t working”. So I know there’s no escape I just have to go with it. Now as a man you need to understand this is a whole new phenomenon for me, you ladies I know can understand me on this one. You ladies have some complicated machinery down there; it’s easier to master a Rubik’s cube than a vagina. I’m sure you ladies have all had to lay there pretending to have a good time while thinking what the hell is this guy doing. Don’t blame us though it’s your pussys fault, like I said it’s complicated. We need to have the right rhythm, pressure, temperature, footware.....we have to be hitting the right spot at the right time, the right way with the sun and moon in the proper alignment and maybe our other hand has to be jack hammering you at 40 miles a clip. Lets face it you ladies have it easy. The penis just hangs there……out in the open…accessible. You ever try to eat a meal while your face is mashed up against the plate, licking at every last crumb? A little off subject here but I bet homeless men would give women great head. #1 they don’t care what the hell they’re eating and #2 I’m sure they’re all about licking their plates clean. Any way back on topic….so you know what I’m talking about, you’ve all been there just waiting for it to be over so you can tell us how amazing we are, the best ever in fact!!! At least you can end it, you have that option you can just fake it. If I wanna fake it I’m going to have to let some urine fly and I’m thinking she might catch on. So I’m laying there and I’m thinking “what the fuck is wrong with me”? I mean, I’m a guy there’s no complicated machinery down there. You grab it, twist it a bit, maybe spit on it a little, yell at it whatever, guys are easy. I think if you just took it out and starred at it we’d cum. Like your doing some kind of Jedi mind trick or something. I wonder if Jedi’s ever use the force to whack off? If I had the force I’d use it all the time, Id have to walk around wearing plastic underwear. I’d get nasty with myself….Id use the dark side. Think about it though even in the movies they were giving us clues. In Empire Strikes back Luke’s hand gets cut off right? And it wasn’t until after that happened that he learned to master the force. Yoda couldn’t teach him shit but as soon as he loses his hand…..yeah baby now he has a reason to practice. Damn I’m off topic again. Oh yeah by the way I still have those rookie cards, if anyone would like to trade.

I need a vacation!!!

My office is choking me. Why does it seem after an extended absence the walls seem to move closer together? To make matters worse I have a rather large window up here on the 7th floor so I can watch the outside world taunt me while I’m confined in here chained to my desk. Vacations are supposed to recharge you so you can clock in for the next 50 weeks or so with a full but slowly draining battery. Yet they always without fail end up making me angry. Not just because I end up spending a couple of weeks crammed into hotel rooms and vans with the one person who actually inspires me to want to be in my office….my wife…….nope not because of that but because I realize that beyond the ugly brick building blocking my otherwise decent view of the city there is so much more going on that Id rather do. So many people that Id rather…..you get the message. It’s just so hard to get back into work after being away for so long. The evil red message light blinks with seemingly more intensity….like it could actually be holding back angry clients. The email inbox overflows, spilling junk mail and inappropriate jokes onto the office floor. And yet the most pressing matter on my mind is planning my Next trip to Vegas and LA. Perhaps it’s my work ethic that sucks. In fact I know damn well it’s my work ethic that sucks. Unless someone was willing to pay me to oil down beautiful women before nude photo shoots I don’t think there is a job on this planet that I would want to do. And I’ve tried getting the oil boy job the best I could get was washing the Winnipeg Blue Bombers Jocks after games. Not quite what I was hoping for and the hours sucked. I’ve also tried offering my services as a freelance gynecologist but so far no takers. Speaking of gynecologists I have to ask how is it possible for a person to be that serious about a job looking at vaginas all day. I mean professional or not don’t you think the Dr. still gets a little….umm…..unprofessional at times. Sure he has to stay technical and pretend he has no personal interest in your fully exposed body but come on…do you believe that’s the case? And if it’s true that these guys really have no interest in vaginas anymore how does that impact them in the bedroom at home? Do dr’s talk all technical in bed…..”Ok darling now hold still, I’ll need you to bend your knees a little…now I am going to apply some lubrication to your labia…just scootch up on the bed a little ..your going to feel some pressure……it’s just my penis being inserted into your vagina” Damn that’s actually kind of sexy…I need to date a dr. I think, preferably a female one of course.

Mr. Right is alive and well and living in Egypt.

Unless of course you live in Egypt, in that case Mr. Right lives in Boston. Yes the internet has revolutionized the dating world. Used to be you could only pretend to be someone else for a few months of dating and then your true self would seep though, the mask of romanticism and perfection would slip….revealing a man who would really rather watch football and scratch his balls all night then do something to please you. Why is it that people get so naïve when it comes to meeting people online? Isn’t it just too much of a coincidence that so many men and women who are online every Saturday night like clockwork are also supermodels? Do supermodels really stay home on Saturday night? Is it not also a coincidence that Mr. Right’s webcam is broken? I sort of view the internet as a massive costume party. 14 yr olds become 40 yr olds or even more scary reverse that……fat men suddenly have washboard stomachs, married men are magically single, gas station attendants become executives and executives become submissive slaves in some dominatrix’s chat room. All with the same mission, every single one of these men with the same agenda…..I’m really not much better myself……that all important quest you ask?..........to see boobies. Don’t blame us too much I mean we’re conditioned to worship the breast. It’s our be all and end all….our reason for life!!!!! Think about it. You make the most important connections…the strongest bonds in the first few years of life right? And for those formative years our God is a breast. And to top it off since we’re so small every single one that’s heading for us is the size of a 3 bedroom home. It’s no wonder we’re obsessed with the damn things. For those first couple yrs we spend the majority of our time awake either screaming and crying for it or chewing on it. I’m surprised most grown men don’t walk around with soothers in their mouths. I bet if we did though there’d be less wars. Damn did I get off track!!! I started this rant about fake people online and ended up talking about breasts. How does this always happen to me? I think I need to find my soother!

The risks of too much porn.

I don’t sit on the computer at all hours of the day looking at vaginas. I think it’s really not healthy to do so. I tend to think the more you see the more you want to see and I wouldn’t want to get desensitized anymore than I already am. Back in Junior high I didn’t even have to see a naked tit....a bowl of fruit was sometimes all it took to get me excited. The refrigerator was like a strip club to me back then. It got to the point every time I opened the fridge I heard "Lets Get it on" by Marvin Gaye playing in my head. Any food shaped the right way could set me off. I remember many a lonely night as a teenager raiding the fridge looking for a sexy looking tomato or a nice sized pair of grapefruits. Then after awhile I actually had to see some real skin. The bra section of any clothing catalogue was enough at first but then I discovered playboy and everything changed. Suddenly those large tomatoes in the fridge weren't enough. Then in my early twenties and fully into my sexual prime porn needed to be a little more hardcore. Even a breast wasn’t enough at this point; I needed to see a vagina on a big screen television. If it didn’t rival the grand canyon in magnificence who needs it. So then I start thinking its taking more and more to get me interested now. Regular porn is boring I don’t need to see people having sex. I can do that myself. SO where does it go from here. Next I'll be one of these dirty old freaks where normal porn just isn’t enough anymore, now they need to see a woman taking on twelve cocks at a clip and if one of those cocks isn’t peeing on her then it’s not quite enough? Is that where we men are headed?..... watching pee and poo videos. ....Yeah no thanks here’s where I jump off the pornography train. But now Im really worried, what about these guys that keep going….."no thanks I’ll take the next stop". These guys keep going and move from pee videos to animal porn and on and on and on. I suppose by the time they're 60 they're going to need a woman to take out her dentures and chew on her own vagina before they get hard. Ok admittedly that last line was a little off color but you get my point. Id like to stay where I am thanks. Where a nude woman is still enough to excite me, no urine required (isn’t that a Phil Collins album?). Actually Id like to go back to where the fruit got me hard. Unfortunately I think that ship has sailed. So now I’ll just have to think back on those assorted fruits and vegetables like the one who got away. Nice to reminisce but unfortunately u just can’t turn back the hands of time.

The Office bully

My boss is packing me up and shipping me off to a conference. My company is so cheap when we travel, never mind first class, we don't even get to fly coach. They just Fed-Ex us, do you know how embarrassing it is to arrive at a conference and still be spitting out those little Styrofoam packing peanuts? I don’t mind though, any chance I get to be unchained from my desk and let lose on the world I take. Every conference I have ever attended there’s always been that one guy; every office has at least one, the rebel in the bugs bunny tie. These guys used to be all bad asses back in school and now bugs bunny is as hard core as they’ll get. It’s a feeble way of saying “fuck the establishment”. I’ve always wondered what happened to these guys, the kids who used to steal lunches. What did they graduate too…..you’d think perhaps the prison system but no, those of you who like me work in an office know full well that these pricks grow up to be our coworkers. You leave food in the office fridge for later in the week right? Do you ever actually get to eat it? Please someone tell me how does this happen? In my office we all make over 60 grand a year so why the fuck can’t people buy their own pizza pops? I’m serious, offices are just like school yards for grown ups. The bully’s are there stealing your diet cokes and there’s also that one kid who sat on the merry-go-round by himself. Yes every office has that one loser you all wish would get a different job. This guy leaves the room and everyone starts in just like back in Grade 7. “What a fucking moron” and everyone else laughs. A friend of mine actually told me, “Not my office, we don’t have that guy”. I told him, “I bet when you leave the room you do”. Do you know why government employees don’t look out their office windows in the morning? Because then we’d have nothing to do all after noon. My office is ridiculous you cannot get anything done! Coffee breaks, lunch breaks, smoke breaks, lunch and breakfast meetings, workshops, committee meetings…..I have to call in sick just so I can get some work done! On top of all that my company is sending me mixed signals. They took solitaire off of our computers but we have the internet. So we can’t play cards but we can look at porn? This to me is mixed signals; I mean on the one hand they’re telling us not to play with ourselves. At least I’ll have a few days on the west coast so I won’t have to hide my pizza pops behind the frozen vegetarian meals. You notice no one every steals the vegetarian meals? Either you’re food is crap or us meat eaters are just more dishonest. Then again I don’t imagine those school bullies growing up to become vegetarians. I can’t picture anyone getting punched out for his celery sticks. I’d write more but I have to go pack my bugs bunny tie.

Lego is evil

Like many people I often find myself wondering why our society is so obsessed with celebrities. People like Paris Hilton and Angelina Jolie absorb so much of our TV viewing time already with the crappy shows and movies they churn out so why so much tabloid journalism? Do we really need to see Paris hopping into her car after dinner on Melrose? I usually find myself pondering these questions as I sit and watch the latest episode of TMZ. So there you have it, the answer is within the question. Why do they put so much of this crap on our televisions and newsstands...because we want to see it. How could I not watch this stuff with so many celebrities’s hoping in and out of cars without panties on. If ladies in my city caught on to this trend Id quit my job and become a valet. Of course not everyone watching is waiting for a cheap glimpse of Britanys real claim to fame. It's certainly not her musical talent. What’s with that song Gimmie more? Are there any lyrics besides..."gimmie gimme more"? All I can think of is "gimmie gimme more...bullets", so I can put a couple into her skull. I am going to get way off track if I stay on this topic....my point was I do know why people watch these shows. It's the same reason why part of you might secretly like it when your coworker DOESN'T get that promotion. We feel better about ourselves when others fail. Especially those who are supposed to be on top. Envy....its such a dirty word isn't it, envy is for the weak. We shouldn’t care what others have going for them in life right? We should be happy with what we have. Yeah ok sure but you know what I like Envy. I happen to think Envy is a strong motivator. It's easy to settle when you have no basis for comparison. My neighbors all drive minivans but if they all suddenly were hoping into sports cars I know Id be trying to convince my wife that we could just stack the kids in the trunk and get a Porsche. At least then I wouldn’t have cheerios and crayons all over my vehicle, just the trunk. We could just stack the kids in and pour a box of cheerios on top. It would certainly make road trips a lot quieter. And when exactly did my vehicle become a mobile toy box any way? When I tell the kids to go play and they grab my car keys you know we have a problem. I think we need to keep toys in the house, it's too easy for road rage to seep in when you have a piece of Lego stuck up your ass and crayons whizzing by your head at 40 miles an hour. I think I need some ADD medication, I get off topic way to easily. I can't even remember what this rant is all about. All I can think about now is how Lego is an evil toy. I honestly believe that Lego was invented by the devil. It never ever gets completely put away there’s always that one piece lurking somewhere....just waiting for its next victim. You ever step on a piece of that stuff at 2 am barefoot? I swear the army should stop investing in bullets and just dump a shit load of Lego all over Iraq. Id rather have to pass an 8 pound kidney stone then step on a piece of Lego at 2 am. There’s a man outside my window!?!?!? I guess its ok because he's washing it but no one gave me advance warning that this would be happening. My office is on the 7th floor so the last thing I was expecting was this. I've never been in my office while the window was being squeegeed. What’s the etiquette on this? Do I hand him $5 and thank him? Is it unprofessional for me to pull down my pants and moon him? Damn too late now he's already gone to the 6th floor. Now if I open my window and start shaking his ropes how mad will he be? I really needed this guy to come by today, I was hating my job but now I see it could always be worse. You'd never catch me scaling down the side of a building cleaning windows. Id only make them dirtier as Id be pounding on every one screaming let me in. This guy must have king kong size balls to do a job like that. I bet he steps on Lego and doesn't even flinch. Damn am I envious.

Teenage love and baby photos

You know when you're dating and you meet the parents for the first time? They always do the same thing....pull out the baby photos right? How cute......bullshit.....what a dirty fucking trick if you ask me. I don’t know about you but how am I suppose to follow through with my romantic plans for the evening. Plans to tie her legs behind her head and sweet things like that. How can you do that once you’re staring at her in a diaper? That just completely fucks with my mind and I know that’s the plan too....I know it even more now that I have my own daughters. I didn't know it was intentional back then. Had I know it back then I would have got the parents back...I would have banged her anyway and had her wear a diaper while I was doing it! I just thought the parents were proud of their little princess. Now im older and wiser and I realize how could they be proud of her when she's bringing home guys like me? I didn't even have a car! "What time you gonna have our little princess home"..."I don't know I'll have to check the bus schedule". The Bus?!?!? Im thinking as a parent that’s when you gotta know your daughters a little slob. If she doesn’t even have the class to demand to be hammered in the back of a car...im thinking she’s not going to be marrying a Doctor! It takes a special kind of woman to put out on the back of the bus. Never mind the baby pictures, at that point you have to break out pictures of her sick with the flu, or with diaper rash......maybe show the guy some pictures of cocks exploding...whatever it takes to make him think twice. The Bus?!?!?! Never mind her...at this point you're just thinking about his well being!!!I actually can't wait till my daughters start dating. I will terrorize the boys that come over like no one has ever terrorized teenage boys (with the exception of Michael Jackson of course). If those boys think puberty and algebra are hard wait till they have to get through me. I actually contemplated naming my daughter Chlamydia just to keep some of the boys at bay! I say some because I know boys and even a name like that wouldn’t make them all think twice. Don't get me wrong Im not going to be mean or anything like that. Im just not going to pretend I don’t know why they're there. No teenage boy is going to convince me he just wants my daughters company. I know the way we operate. Its not about the conversation...it’s about how many fingers can I get inside her panties before the theatre lights comeback on!!! I've already told my daughters that when it comes to relationships they have to be really careful. The truth is women are not mature enough to handle a real relationship until they're about 17. And men aren't ready until they're at least 35. As much as that’s a joke there’s some truth to it. I tend to believe that the first hundred or so sexual experiences a guy has are for his buddies. He needs those so he can feel like he's the man! "Look at me and all the action I get....Im so cool". The next 900 or so are for him. We barely even know you ladies are there until 2 minutes later and we're all done and wondering why you’re nudging us..."what....what....your turn?" You simply cannot have a serious relationship with a guy when he's still trying to convince you to do anything he saw in a porno movie. And then after that first 1000 or so times we may begin to think "hey...if I don’t want her doing this with every single delivery man who comes near her I better actually try to put on a show". All of a sudden we learn that pulling down our zipper doesn’t constitute foreplay..and perhaps tying her feet behind her head isn’t romantic after all. I suppose I really shouldn’t say I won’t be mean to these boys who make the mistake to come calling for my daughters....after all one of my goals is to make them cry before the date begins. My other goal is to convince at least a few of them not to ever get married....not to even date. Save your money for hookers and video games I'll tell them. You'll thank me in the long run.

Lots of room on the floor

When I was a baby there were no other babies around to encroach upon my territory at naptime. I’m pretty sure that had their been I would have stood firm, soother raised high as my sword and a Sippy cup shield, ready to defend my land, my domain, my crib. As a toddler, too big and too skilled at climbing to remain in a crib I graduated to my first bed and once again not a soul in sight to engage in an all night war over my Spiderman blanket. The blanket and teddy bears were all mine. A few short years later that bed morphed into a bunk bed and although I now had my brothers snoring to endure I did not have to share that bottom bunk, it was my own private Eden….especially when I discovered masturbation but that’s another story.

One day we had either grown too big or had finally broken down our parent’s patience with our incessant talking and playing after bedtime and were rewarded with our own bedrooms. By this point I had already grown accustomed to my total dominance over my bed having slept alone for 9 years. The following 9 years were more of the same; with the exception of several sticky magazines and much later the occasional female companion snuck through the bedroom window I had the bed to myself every night. With almost twenty years of nightly confirmation I hold fast to the belief that we are simply not meant to share a bed with another human…my wife however does not agree.

Even now 15 years after moving in with my wife I am not used to sharing a bed. I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t like it. I want her out!!! Not only do I want my own bed I want my own bedroom. My Iron Maiden posters have been replaced with art! My lava lamp has long since been retired, the victim of a “accident”, or so she says. The sweat socks and hand lotion smell has been replaced by incense and potpourri.

What sick person came up with this any way? Why would you want to give up half of your own personal Eden? I don’t know how she manages it but she always ends up with the side of the bed that I want….but that’s probably because I want both sides. The half conscious battle of tug of war which is slyly played out through the night is tiring. I think I get more exercise trying to hang on to my sliver of blanket then I do on any elliptical trainer. Oh and she’s sneaky about it too….a slight adjustment to the blanket….she never takes more than a quarter inch at a time but without fail I wake up at 3:00 am with only one toe covered.

Just try to get that blanket back, for some reason she’s now wrapped up in a cocoon state, I have to lift her up and squeeze her out like toothpaste. And she wouldn’t wake up if the baby started screaming and shooting her with a paintball gun but if I try to sneak a quick masturbation session out suddenly she’s wide awake, “What are you doing?....stop moving so much”……”I’m not doing anything….I’m just trying to…ahh….im just trying to…get……..comfortable”. “Well don’t get any on me”. Fuck, busted again.

It wouldn’t be so bad sharing the bed if she didn’t move around so much. Every night it’s like she’s practicing for dancing with the stars. I gotta wear a jock to bed just to ensure im not woken up with a spinning heel kick right in the hamster. She claims she’s not aware of this movement but I think it’s her way to get back at me for not doing the dishes or leaving a shirt on the floor. I just know she’s wide awake and starts beating the hell out of me to balance out those forgotten anniversaries.

She talks in her sleep too, which again not so bad if she didn’t speak Swahili. She’s fluent in 12 different languages but only when she’s asleep. And when she does speak English it never makes any god damn sense what so ever. “Don’t forget to take the zoo back to the landing pad”, “Charlie needs a new one”…..I try at times to figure out what she’s going on about, “Who the fuck is Charlie” and she replies, “Yes I know, me too”.

Please tell me Im not the only one who has to endure this. I don’t even really snore I just throw the noise at her in the hope that she’ll cave in and go find a sofa. It’s gotten so bad I don’t even want her in the bed before, during or after sex. And by the way why the hell did I buy a queen size bed any way? I end up with one leg and my head on the bed and the rest hanging off the side while she’s snuggled right in next to me. She has one foot snuggled and resting peacefully in the crack of my ass, an elbow in my neck and 6 feet of free space on the other side of her. “ummm honey can you move over a bit I need some room”……”I can't...Im already on the edge as it is”…..”Well if that’s true can you lay lengthwise instead of across the bed, we look like the letter T”.

Like everything else in marriage, you have to learn to compromise. She has 97 percent of the bed but I get to keep my Spiderman blanket. It’s a small victory but a glimmer of hope, the battle is over but the war is not.

Walk like a man

I was never very good at learning by example; I was always a hands on kind of person. I learn through trial and error, which explains why I’m not a gynecologist. I started the classes and when the professor would be in the middle of one of his various pussy lectures Id say “stop talking; I just want to dive right in”. Needless to say they refused to let me practice on real patients after I was found going down on an anatomically correct medical dummy. This learn by trial and error seems to serve me well for the most part but it does have the occasional draw back. WD-40 advertisers say it has over 2000 uses….for the record as a replacement to KY-Jelly is not one of them. Live, learn and heal right? Speaking of learning I was told the other day that as a father it is my job to teach my sons how to be a man. I would like to take this moment to apologize in advance to my sons. I have a confession to make, several actually. I do not like fishing. I have never been hunting. I really have no interest in watching sports of any kind, especially NASCAR. I can pump gas and squeegee my windshield however that is the extent of my vehicle maintenance knowledge. What lies under the hood of my car is as mysterious to me as the female orgasm. I have heard about it, but have no idea how to make it work. I am not a big beer drinker; in fact I really don’t like the taste of beer. So other than some facial hair and a rather large penis (wink, wink) there is little that distinguishes me as a man. At least by the larger society’s definition of what makes a man. I for one however refuse to accept the gender roles that society has carved out for me….I refuse this mostly because it allows me to defer lawn cutting and garbage taking out responsibilities. But I also refuse it because I believe what makes a man is being born with a penis, after that it really doesn’t matter. I don’t think you have to care who scored the most touchdowns in a single year or know how to change the spark plugs on your car. It’s not an easy task fighting traditional gender rolls. All seems to go pretty smoothly until they reach school and then suddenly you end up debating whether or not the pink plate is in fact a “girl plate”, unlike my 4 yr old son if there was such thing as a “girl plate” it’s all I would eat off of. Not for my boys though, favorite meals will be refused if there served on a plate with a picture of Cinderella on it. Consequently I serve them almost every meal on a “girl’s plate”. I under estimated this opponent I was facing, I foolishly thought my children would believe me when I said girls can be astronauts, boys can play with dolls. Little did I know I would be competing with magazines, advertisements, sitcoms, movies, cartoons, classmates, other parents and even my own family members. My wife’s parents gave my daughter a toy broom on her 3rd birthday. A toy broom? I balanced it out by giving her a toy gun so at least now if she grows up to kill people she’ll have the good sense to clean up after herself. So now I figure the best I can do is to teach my children not to believe everything they see in the media. If it doesn’t work I’ll try the WD-40 again……I figure one quick blast to the eyes and at least they wont be able to see what the media is telling them!

A few clowns short of a circus.

It amazes me how our idea of entertainment continues to change no matter how much we don’t want it to. Once upon a time in various parts of this great world you could watch two men called gladiators fight to the death, you could eat popcorn and cheer on a public hanging, and once upon a time, somewhere, at some point, I’m almost sure of it…circuses were entertaining. Congratulations PETA you have succeeded in fucking up a previously enjoyable day out for the family. The circus used to be the dog’s bollocks!!! Where am I going to get my animal cruelty fix now? I suppose I’ll have to be content with going to the zoo and throwing rocks at the monkeys. Don’t condemn me too quickly lets face it, no matter how barbaric we think the gladiator days were we still….every single one of us in that audience…are hoping that today is the day that acrobat’s reach isn’t quite what it needs to be. That’s why the circus was fun, the fear element, the what if factor. Where’s the excitement now? Ooooo what if that juggler drops his plastic hoop? Fuck it might bounce up and strike him in the knee. And this particular circus not only had no acrobats, the closest they came to an animal was the pig dressed up in tight pants climbing around on these curtain looking things. Look I know Cirque du Soleil is the big thing now but I can see all these moves and more at the local strip club with the added bonus of big bouncing beautiful boobs in all their glory. I’m sorry but I think you need animals at a circus; otherwise I could just buy my kids some cheap toys at the dollar store and drag them downtown where the street performers are earning money for crack. Look kids here’s the circus, some of the more strung out addicts could even pass for clowns. As a child the highlight of the circus every year was when the elephant would release one or more bodily fluids during the act. I don’t think they can match that without the elephant, at least not at a G-Rated show. Now there’s an idea Porno circus that’s something I could support with or without the animals! “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, can I direct your attention to the centre ring, where the amazing Lola will jerk off 9 guys while blindfolded and drinking a glass of water” I’ve heard the arguments against circuses they say they are cruel to the animals and so on and so on, the way I see it if that lion wasn’t working the circus circuit he’d be off in a jungle chewing on a zebras face, so we’re saving the zebras at least. Plus there’s the added thrill that at any moment that lions going to say to himself “one more crack with that whip and I’m biting off this guys left elbow”. I’m sure even the PETA knobs would love to see that.

… this is you're brain on boredom.

Although it took a lot more effort that you’d imagine when I was about 4 years old I did manage to successfully touch the kitchen stove and yes mom was telling the truth….that fucker was hot! How could I not want to touch the stove…..mom was always around it and looked to be having so much fun with her giant spoons and kiss the cook apron. From my vantage point on the ground that place looked like a wonderland, smoke was rising from big shiny pots, spoons would rattle as the pasta sauce was mixed just right. The sights and sounds were almost too much for my 4 year old mind to take. If I were 15 I would have had an erection pointing longingly up towards the stove…..towards my destination. Then suddenly and without warning my fantasy world came crashing down on me as mom said, “don’t touch the stove.” What the fuck was going on? I thought, that cheap dirty bitch was keeping the fun all to herself. Ok I was 4 I was probably thinking, what a big stupid head mommy is. But the translation is cheap dirty bitch. If your four year old calls you a stupid head remember that’s 4 year old speak for cheap dirty bitch. Wash his mouth out with soap immediately. Do not pass go do not collect your juice box. Well of course since mom said don’t touch now I had to touch, where once it was simply a want it was now a need. I couldn’t sleep until I knew what treasures were hiding up there. Id be scarred for life, Id be 50 years old not feeling complete if I didn’t get up on that counter and see just want exactly was going on up there. With a loud bang from my brother’s bedroom I quickly had my chance as mom went to investigate. The chair I slid over to the counter while simple to you was the toughest work out of my life at that point, but this needed to happen I was determined. I scaled the chair up to the counter, did a back flip over the sink, twisted in midair to reach the other counter, and gracefully pirouetted towards the shinny pots with the magical clouds rising up from them. I reached out in slow motion and lovingly caressed the closest shiny pot, it was then that the most important life lesson I would ever learn was firmly entrenched, not to mentioned burned into my entire being…….don’t touch the stove!I realized that the stove was not a wonderland of magical clouds and pixie dust….fuck no it was an evil evil place set on destroying everything that was good in the world….at least that’s what I thought at that moment while my hand was smoldering. Ok I was 4 I was probably thinking the stove was a big stupid head. Lesson learned right? If only it were that simple. You see I firmly believe that we all need to touch the stove. No matter how hard you try to convince your friend that this new boyfriend is a real prick she’s not going to listen to you, not until she gets burnt. I kept touching the stove throughout the rest of my life, I’m still touching the stove as we speak. Not literally dumbass I m speaking figuratively. When I was a teenager I was inundated with the “here’s your brain on drugs” ad’s. Somehow a burning egg suddenly seemed like it could be a lot of fun. Thankfully my first (and last) experience with Acid was a bad one. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, of course I had just finished a healthy serving of Vodka and several…ok fine several dozen beers. When I woke up in a friends basement in pitch black and my mind processed it by telling me that the Acid I had taken had fucked my brain up and that reality was all just an illusion and now that I took Acid my brain wasn’t strong enough to create the illusion it was the beginning of the end of my drug use. I laid in the pitch blackness for what seemed like years, until I could focus off in the distance the smallest point of red light. Of course when the Acid had run its course I was able to realize that the light I saw was from my friend’s alarm clock. But in that moment under the influence of one powerful fucking hallucinogen to me it was the beginning of all creation. My mind was getting stronger. If only I had more light I could bring reality back into existence. After almost setting fire to my friend’s house I was completely cured. I could see everything, I left his house and floated home. Once at home I broke down and learned once again why we should never ever touch the stove. Why couldn’t I just get high and stick my dick in the chip dip like everyone else I know? Or meet a woman of questionable moral fiber and wake up wearing her vagina as a hat? Why do I end up questioning the world’s very existence? Id like to say I’m completely cured of my obsession with touching the stove but I know I’m not. I don’t do drugs....but I do still drink occasionally. I figure it’s bad enough drinking to the point of passing out and having nightmares about the shit my friends were doing to me while I was gone......I don’t like the thought of being whacked out of my mind on dope to the point where I’m still conscious yet unable to move a finger to stop it as my buddy decides it'd be funny to rub his balls all over my face like a chalkboard eraser. At least if they teabag me while I sleep it wont bring back repressed memories of my years as an alter boy.