Peen as a Weapeen

I just read the most hilarious news article on BBC News. According to a report coming out of Scotland, a man was fined for assaulting a female officer with his peen.

His girlfriend called the cops on him when he was all hammered and belligerent. When the cops got there, he was sitting on the couch in his man-panties. It’s unclear how it all happened, but he ended up standing over the female cop and trying to slap the officer in the face with his dick.

Many of us know this as “foreplay”.

I'm a Risk Taker!

Fuck jumping out of a perfectly good airplane or off a bridge. Forget being set up on a blind date or driving without a seat belt. I’m doing something that would make my mamacita proud.

In fact, I think she’ll cry when I tell her about it later today.

What’s the big risk I’m taking? I’m eating peanut butter that expired 6 months ago. That’s right! I’m living on the fucking edge!! I’m staring food poisoning right in the face and saying, “Fuck you, food poisoning. Fuck you in your stupid ass.”

There’s nothing wrong with the peanut butter, it’s fine. In fact, I had some yesterday too and I didn’t get sick. I’m not scared of a stupid little expiration date. It’s not like it’s dairy products or condoms.

Speaking of condoms, I threw out 8 perfectly good ones yesterday morning. I should have known when I bought them that it would all go to shit and they’d end up in the garbage. You see, fine readers, condoms and I have a tumultuous relationship. I buy a 3 pack and things go grand. The second I buy a 12 pack everything goes up in flames and 9 end up in my bedside drawer mocking me for years.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to this expired peanut butter.

Coma Watching

A few weeks ago I was watching a medical drama in which a man woke up from a 10 year coma. I thought to myself, “man, he missed a lot of bad television” So I thought I’d write a post about how to explain popular television shows to someone who has just emerged from a long coma. Kids, this is what happens when titles stop being polite and start getting real.

Vapid Wealthy Children Go To Pretend Jobs, Have Altercations, Discuss, Repeat

Vapid Wealthy Adult Women Go To Pretend Jobs, Have Altercations, Discuss, Repeat

Sad Reality Contestants You Can’t Remember Do The Cha Cha Wearing Spandex In An Attempt To Win Back Their Dignity

White People Paint Selves Orange, Drink Bacardi, Exchange STDs

People Wash Up On Island, Travel Through Time, Yet Never Lose Weight or Grow Unibrows

Women Rejected By Regular Modeling Agencies Take Advice From Mercurial Drag Queen

Heartwarming Fat People Forced To Dress Like Rainbow Brite's Color Kids Get Yelled At

Giant Chin Overstays Welcome

Man Fondles 20 Women; Sleeps With 3; Marries 1...

Internet Dating: Foreigner Edition

I wanna know what love is…I want you to show me…!

Sorry. Got carried away there. So, we all know that the internet is for everyone and we are all looking for love. I also know that most programs now a days, even text on phones, have spell check for those who are not too good in that department. Soooooo, where’s the “that doesn’t make any sense!” for the foreigner emails?!…

Here are the emails. Nothing is changed or fixed. I couldn’t fix these even if I tried! There aren’t much, but I had to share these!


HI I REED UR PROFILE AND U ARE A VERY NICE GIRL AND I WAS WODER DO U DATE HISPANICS.



I don’t discriminate! I’m just sick of playing editor with my red pen. Thanks for reeding!

Just now want to say HI ,Realy you are soooooooooo pretty .not execting to revieve from you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cheers

Uhhhh…What???

frankly i can saw you are smiling wonderful. i miss to see like this smile

::nervous smile:: th-thanks. I think.

Boner is Missing!!

Have you heard the news? It’s a potential tragedy: grown up child actor, Andrew Koenig, is missing. Don’t recognize his name? That’s OK, neither did I. This poor bastard is also known as Boner, from Growing Pains. Oh yeah, now you know exactly who I’m talking about.





No wonder he’s missing. Can you imagine being known your whole adult life as a euphemism for an erection? I can imagine all the trouble he must have gone through. Wedding vows, “Do you, Boner, take this woman…”

If only he had left an autobiography. Perhaps something with a clever name like:

•I, Boner
•Boner Stories
•Boner: My Story of Perseverance

WAIT! Maybe his relatives will write his biography. It can be called, “My Boner.”

YEAH

Faux Boyfriend of the Week

None of the guys that I’ve dated have ever known their way around the kitchen, or should I say they haven’t stuck around long enough to show me their culinary skills. Sure, some of them had some mad skills in the bedroom, but when it came to cooking, it was a sad, sad display.

I enjoy cooking, and I’m pretty good at it. It would be nice, however, to find a dude that could cook something other than a hot pocket.

Enter my Faux Boyfriend of the Week:



Yes, I know that he’s gotten a little doughy lately, but guess what? I don’t care. I love it. I’ve never been one to discriminate when it comes to weight, although some guys have discriminated me on my weight. To them I say FUCK YOU!

I used to tune into Food 911 years ago. It was always hilarious to see all those women doll themselves up. They all had the same dream that I did: that Tyler Florence would cook them a meal and then molest them over the dining room table. Ahh, dare to dream.

A Lunch Time Disaster

I was such a good little recessionista this morning. I made a sandwich and fixed a Tupperware full of cottage cheese that I have been eating for six days straight and which I now hate with the burning passion I usually reserve for Rush Limbaugh, but there are starving children pretty much everywhere and also who knew that cottage cheese would start to taste like tainted milk after a few days in the fridge?), grabbed a container of pineapple (I am like the poster child for good nutrition, obviously) and treated myself to two pieces of Dove dark chocolate, which I tossed into a paper shopping bag with the rest of my lunch.

I got to work, put my food in the fridge, tossed the paper shopping bag in the kitchen garbage can, and went about my day. I had the cottage cheese for breakfast. It was kind of gross but I just kept thinking “Osteoporosis!” Which, in restrospect, might have made it taste worse—there’s nothing like visualizing bone density while gumming wet, tasteless curds.

The only better diet trick is looking at this while trying to eat. It works for sex, too.

I had a ton to do, so time flew by and suddenly it was time for lunch. I ate my sandwich while reading online gossip and followed it with the pineapple. I was saving the dove chocolates for that dreaded 3 pm blood sugar drop, which generally makes me reach for the only food substance I have at my desk: a pack of Orbit melon mint gum. I know that sounds disgusting, and it is; I got a free pack of every single flavor last year and melon mint is the last man standing. I have a daily Jedi mind fight with myself over whether to succumb and chew on a tiny stick that tastes like cantalope spiked with Ajax or surrender to lethargy.

Anyway, the point is: As Robert Burns wrote, the best laid chocolates of mice and men oft go awry. When I went to get my chocolates I realized that they were not in the fridge. Then I realized that I had no memory of actually putting them in the fridge. Slowly, it dawned on me that they were still in the paper shopping bag, which was now at the bottom of a company-wide trash can. [Picture me screaming this next part in warped slow-motion] Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I ran into the kitchen and was about to leap into the trash can like I was Cary Elwes from The Princess Bride and the garbage was the fire swamp and the chocolates were Buttercup, but then I noticed my boss sitting at the table nearby reading a book. He looked up and smiled. If it had been anyone else I might have just gone for it, but this is a person whose specific job it is to fire employees who might have a mental illnesses that would interfere with their work, the first signs of which could include digging through a communal trash can for food. I got a glass of water while stealing longing glimpses at the garbage.

Later on, after the boss left, I went back into the kitchen for another try. But as soon as I lifted off the top of the trash can, I knew I had lost my battle already (again, I used the term “battle,” much like “fight,” loosely). I tossed my bag in at 10:00am; people’s half-eaten lunches were now standing between me and my chocolates. If I were to scavenge for them now, it would certainly be a wet and unpleasant journey through a murky sediment of salad greens, pizza grease, and coffee grounds.

So the bad news is, I lost my chocolates today.

On the other hand, the good news is that at least I know I have limits*

*If the kitchen door had a lock, however, I wouldn’t even be writing this right now. I would be enjoying the rich chocolatey goodness, while trying to ignore the stench of salad dressing emanating from my suspiciously stained clothes.