ON BEDS, THE BOOTS UNDER THEM, THE MESSY DIVORCE OF SHANIA TWAIN & THE VINDICATION OF skippy
The seperation of Shania Twain and Robert "Mutt" Lange probably wasn't a very big story in the rest of the world, but the rest of the world isn't Canada. Shania is from a place called Timmins, Ontario, which is so roundly horrible that it makes the shithole that spawned Avril Lavinge look like Shangri-La. Also, Shania has sold a hundred zillion records. Canadians like it when one of own becomes a global phenomenon and moves as far away as humanly possible. We've been building statues to her and considering creating a state religion dedicated to worshipping her for a decade now.
For that reason, her divorce from the Man Called Mutt is being covered like the Kennedy assassination in her home and native land. When the news was announced last Friday, it was on the front page of all four of Toronto's daily newspapers. It is also believed that Shania is hiding out in Toronto, so if she's reading this, I hope that she'll call me.
Celebrity divorce is always amusing and this one has the potential to be more amusing than most. Most people seem genuinely heartbroken over this, if for no other reason than most people are sexless dwarves who live vicariously through celebrities and anguish themselves over their trivial trials so that they can better ignore the true horror that stares back at them in the mirror every morning.
Canadians, being every inch the rancid starfuckers Americans are, responded to the news with waves of collective sobbing. I'm a more down to earth guy, so I reacted by blasting an industrial sized dollop of goo from my mighty prick directly into my eye. It still stings.
I'm going to be completely honest with you folks. I would very much like to fuck Shania Twain and have from the second I first laid eyes on her. That might not mean a lot to you, but it's important to me because I try to avoid sleeping with women who live within 200 miles of me and she's believed to have a place in town.
But there's no ignoring the soon to be former Mrs. Lange's body. Even after shitting out a kid six years ago, it's damned near perfect. You'd never know that she's 42 years old, which leads me to believe that her fitness regimen includes a pact with Satan. We might have to ask a famous fitness blogger these important questions. A lady never answers questions like that and we can't be sure that Satan would tell the truth.
But the whole sad spectacle reminds me of an "Ask skippy" question I got many years ago. The question was an age old one, can a woman that hot be a good lay? I contended that she couldn't be.
The answer wasn't without controversy. Every regular hot woman I know was up in arms. And these were indeed beautiful women. I didn't mean them. Rather, I was talking about totally flawless women. Women who were more like paintings than flesh and blood human beings.
The example I used four years ago was Halle Berry, perhaps the most objectively beautiful woman alive. She had been married and divorced twice. Both husbands reportedly cheated.
The question is obvious. Do you think those dudes found someone more beautiful than Halle Berry to fuck? Really? Do you suppose that's even possible? I don't. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure the scientific odds are against it.
And, as the fine folks at People tell us, the same has happened with Mr. and Mrs. Mutt.
As Shania Twain copes with her sudden split with the support of family and friends in her native Canada, sources close to the singer say she is reeling from a double betrayal – not only by her husband of 14 years, music producer Robert "Mutt" Lange, but by a woman she considered a close friend.
Lange's relationship with Marie-Anne Thiébaud, 37, a longtime secretary and house manager at Twain and Lange's estate in Switzerland, was behind the breakup, say several sources familiar with the situation.
"Mutt and Marie-Anne left their spouses for each other and are still in a relationship," says one source, adding that the Swiss employee was a fixture in the household Twain, 42, and Lange, 59, shared with their son, 6-year-old Eja D’Angelo.
One of these things does not look like the other. The appearences seem to indicate that Mutt has left Shania for her mom. There's only two problems with that theory. Shania's mom is dead and Marie-Anne Thiébaud is actually five years younger than Shania is.
"Gadzooks," you might be saying to yourself. "We have a mystery here!"
Not really. What happened couldn't be more obvious. Shania Twain has no idea how to satisfy a man. It's a tragedy, really. If only this had happened just three short months ago, I would have been more than happy to teach her. However, I am connected at the soul with a beautiful girl who could teach an advanced class on the finer points of fucking. And since I can't seem to persuade my beloved into a three-way, I'm off the market.
But I will offer some advice to the intensely beautiful women who I know comprises 93.6% of my international readership. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't? I couldn't just sit idly by as your menfolk abandon you for pigs.
Look, you're all extremely attractive and we're proud to have you on our arms in public. That's even true of agoraphobic recluses like myself and Mutt. But that beauty is a big pain in the ass if you think of it as a license to just lie there when we're engaged in the making of the love. Beauty is a wonderful thing the first sixteen or seventeen hundred times we fuck you. But after that first weekend, there just has to be more. We already know you're hot. Start acting like it.
For example, under no circumstances should you refuse to blow us just because we haven't showered in a week or so. After all, we're very busy making Bryan Adams sound like he knows what he's doing. And when you're down there, swallow, for Christ's sake. You're not Karen Silkwood and my cum isn't toxic waste. It'll be fine, I promise. Begging to swallow wouldn't hurt, either.
Look, I know anal sex hurts a little at first, okay? But I'm pretty sure that the 19 hours of aerobics that you do every day to keep your body looking like that isn't comfortable, either. There's no point in having a banging little ass if we don't get to bang it. Unless there's hidden treasure up there, you really oughta share. Be a daredevil with your dumper. Not only will you thank us for it, you'll thank yourself.
We also know that our irrational demand that you call us "daddy" during frenzied intercourse is humiliating. That's why we want you to do it. Unless someone is feeling worthless and humiliated after the orgasms stop, chances are that you're doing it wrong.
You can act like you're too fucking precious to do any of those things all you want.
That's fine, because we know that there's always going to be that a longtime secretary and house manager at our place in Switzerland who would like to meet Angus Young and the guy from Def Leppard. And do you really want to lose a guy as hot as Mutt or me? I didn't think so. We'll still be the one, just to somebody else.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: You're Still The One By: Shania Twain From: Come On Over
HATS OFF FOR THE BIGGEST HOMO IN SHOW BUSINESS: THE BALLAD OF VALERIE AND ED
Life has got to be pretty good if you're Edward Van Halen. You get to sit around doing nothing for a decade at a time, get paid tens of millions of dollars for playing songs you wrote 30 years ago, and you can hire your own kid and nobody bitches all that much.
All that and you only have to be sober for four or five months every three or four years. I'd give my left nut to sit around getting hammered until "my people" decide that it's time for me to make another small fortune, thereby necessitating yet another trip to rehab where I could relentlessly hit on Lindsay Lohan.
That might not sound like a huge sacrifice for a lifestyle like that, but I have gorgeous nuts. I have them shaved so closely that you can actually see your reflection in them. Losing just one would ruin the whole aesthetic, and if you know anything about me, you know that I think aesthetics are everything.
But that's not all. When Ed wasn't inspiring three generations of guitarists to sound like annoying carbon copies of him, he was quite the family man. While David Lee Roth was learning to kickbox, hiring midget bodyguards and kiyaking the Amazon; Eddie was married and fathering his bass player.
However, that's only half the story. You see, Edward was married to Valerie Bertinelli.
My younger readers might not understand this, but when I was a very young boy, Valerie Bertinelli was what you youngsters endearingly refer to as "the shit." In the late Seventies, Miss Bertinelli was the very first woman to make me feel funny between my legs.
Needless to say, that funny feeling never subsided. Intead, it became the focus of my life, the core of this blog, and the reason each and every one of you loves me so much. If you like Enjoy Every Sandwich, you should send Valerie some flowers.
Because of Miss Valerie, the years between 1975 and 1984 were a magical time of exploration for my penis and I. That's where my love of analingus comes from. I spend a good percentage of my prepubescent years thinking of how I could best express my love for Valerie Bertinelli, and I figured that if the willingingness to shove your tastebuds in your beloved's dumper doesn't do it, nothing will. I'm not ashamed to admit it, I sometimes whistle the theme song to One Day at a Timewhen I masturbate to this very day.
As a matter of fact, she became the template upon which I judged all other girls for more years than I have the courage to say. The surest way for a woman to make my heart rattle as violently as testicles routinely do was to be tiny, cute, brunette, and Italian-looking. If you absolutely must know, that's where my passion for the Terri Schiavo story came from.
If I had a nickle for every time that combination broke my heart, Bill Gates would be my fluffler. What, you think I can write with this intensity flaccid?
Alas, like 90% of my great loves, my affection for Valerie was to remain unrequited. She married one of the most influential guitar players of all time and they birthed a bassist. They were so happy.
But my love was still there too, lingering in the darkest recesses of my pants. Even when Mrs. Van Halen appeared in a cover story in Us magazine discussing her near constant miscarriages; I was there for her, masturbating furiously. I have it on good authority that throttling your prick to something as tragic as a miscarriage is wrong, but it sure felt right at the time.
However, that happiness was not to last. He got drunker, she got fatter, and my penis and I got distracted with other things. Edward and Valerie Van Halen seperated in 2001 and divorced last year.
Since both of the former lovers have new career ventures to promote - Ed pretending that it's still 1982, and Val pretending that she could ever look as good as she did then again and hanging out with Kirstie Alley - it's time to let a little dirt out.
The story starts out rather tepidly, with Bertinelli's admission that she and Edward cheated on one another.
Valerie Bertinelli is kissing and telling: In a revealing new sit-down with Oprah Winfrey, the actress and Jenny Craig spokeswoman says that she and ex-husband Eddie Van Halen cheated on each other. "I cheated," she tells Oprah on the episode airing Feb. 25. "He claims to this day that I cheated first, but I don't know. I don't know about the timing."
You mean that alcoholics and people with eating disorders make bad decisions? Thank God for Oprah! I never would have known that without her messianic Hour of Power.
Then things get well and truly weird.
Bertinelli, 47, who's promoting her tell-all book, Losing It: And Gaining My Life Back One Pound at a Time, also reveals that her ex, with whom she's now friendly, wanted to take their relationship slow – at least at first. "He didn't want to sleep with you," asked Winfrey. Responded Bertinelli: "I know ... I wanted to sleep with him ... and he wanted to talk to my dad first."
Jesus Christ and all the dwarves in Disneyland, what the fuck is that about? Eddie was in one of the world's biggest bands at the time. When you're in one of the world's biggest bands, here's pretty much what your day looks like: performing for two hours, interviews and promotion for say another three, and the remaining 19 hours are devoted to fucking the hottest women you can find. And in 1981, there weren't many women hotter than Valerie Bertinelli. What was he doing, waiting to see if Loni Anderson had a day off first?
On the other hand, I think I finally know what "I'll Wait" is about.
The part I find most disturbing is Ed's wanting to talk to Valerie's dad first. That must have been the most entertaining conversation ever!
Eddie: Hi, over-protective Italian father of one of television's hottest starlets. I'm a guitar player in a hard rock band with a singer who wears assless pants. We make videos with lots and lots of girls in bikinis and our lyrics make the term "single entendre" sound really high-brow. By the way, did I mention that I'm a drunk?"
Anyhow, I'm not really sure how to say this, but your daughter really wants me to fuck her and I was just wondering if that's cool with you?"
Mr. Bertinelli: Well, is it Eddie? Well Eddie, as an over-protective Italian father of a hot television starlet, I usually try to discourage alcoholic hard rock guitarists who hang out with guys in assless pants from fucking her, but you seem different. You seem like you could be family!
Not only do I want you to fuck my little girl, Edward - may I call you Edward? - I want you to marry her. She may end up looking like her mother and a financial empire of ineffective diet-plan advertising hasn't been invented yet. Valerie needs to be provided for.
All I ask is that you fire the guy in the assless pants. I'm a Catholic, for Christ's sake!
While I'm sure that it's possible that such a conversation could have occurred outside of my fevered imaginiation, I sort of doubt it did. I'm thinking that Ed might be a little light in the manpris.
Refusing to fuck Valerie Bertinelli when she's practically clawing your furniture apart begging you to is one thing. But the only thing gayer than going around the world with a guy in assless pants is doing it with a guy in red pants, which Eddie did .... twice.
I might be way out of line for saying this, but I think that, given Valerie's revelation, DNA testing is more likely to prove that Michael Jackson is Wolfgang's dad than is Ed.
And you know what? I'd still fuck Valerie Bertinelli. But I'd have to pretend that she was Lindsay Lohan.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Romeo Delight By: Van Halen From: Women and Children First
(Editor's Note: The above You Tube video is from the 1983 US Festival, where Van Halen became the first band ever to earn a million dollars for a single show. "Romeo Delight" was the first song of their set, yet Roth couldn't be bothered to remember the lyrics. To his own song. For $1.5 million dollars
That's why I miss bands like the original Van Halen.)
BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO: THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES EDITION
I like to think that I'm a pretty good guy and that being in a relationship with me shouldn't be all that difficult. Then I sober up and realize what the women in my life inevitably learn, that I'm every bit the misanthropic scumbag that Enjoy Every Sandwich suggests that I am. I tend to forget that sometimes.
Frankly, it's a miracle that I'm ever in relationships at all. I'm ugly, stupid, broke, and have a truly shitty personality. Were it not for this blog and my fourteen-inch wonder cock, I'd probably never get laid at all.
Having established that I'm a train wreck of a person and barely human, I'd like to point out that I'm a great guy to break up with. Whenever that special someone looks up into my eyes and says "You know, I thought having that beautiful, beautiful prick inside me twenty-two hours a day would be enough, but it isn't. You're just too much of an irredeemable loser for me to be around. I'm sorry, but no one will ever love you," I understand. As a matter of fact, my typical response is "You're just coming to that conclusion now?" I almost never point out that that oversight suggests that she just might be retarded.
After all, I am a gentleman and an old-fashioned one at that. The monocle, the twirly mostache and subscription to the New Yorker aren't just a fashion statement. In more ways than one, I'm just like Sidney Blumenthal without a driver's licence.
A lot of guys aren't like me at all. In fact, they aren't gentlemen at all. Such men are brutish and not given to taking disappointment well. Consequently, they frequently resort to violence almost immediately.
I'm of the mind that that couldn't be more uncalled for. Surely there has to be a better resolution to a romantic conflict than punching a girl in the babymaker. Sure, I can't think of one right now, but I'm not all that quick. Given some time to consult a few books and I'm pretty sure that I could, though.
An old-fashioned gentleman like myself knows that you should never punch a lady in the cock pocket, regardless of whether she's asking for it. Not only is it wrong, it's a pretty tough thing to take back. I mean, for the love of Christ, hasn't that guy seen Gigli?
Who knew that J-Lo actually had a point on top of having a giant ass? Who knew that you could actually learn something from Gigli? When I was listening to her describe the vagina, I almost forgot that I actually want to throw Jennifer Lopez down an elevator shaft.
Jesus Christ, that dude's lucky that he still has his hand! Everybody wants to be a fucking daredevil these days. Or maybe he thought that he could get a clean shot in before the viciously carnivorous teeth in her lady parts could gnaw through her undies and outerwear. Who can say?
On the other hand, I wouldn't be anything were it not for my empathy. I always try to see both sides to a story. I can't help but notice that the woman initiated the violence by pushing the young man. And since she was intimately involved with him, she probably knew that he would have the emotional response of a five-year-old to that physical contact.
But maybe he knew that his soon to be former beloved had a glass jaw and he was being compassionate in the only way he knew how.
I go through life like Rodney King, wondering only if we can't all just get along. Even after taking the 72 nightstick blows that love is famous for delivering, I continue to ask "can't we all just get along?"
Then I see videos like that and I know that we can't.
Godfuckit!: I've now tried three different times, and the video code from Spiked Humor isn't transferring to Blogger. I'm not sure why and I'm not sure that I care. If you want to see the videos (which you should because they're hilarious), they're linked immediately before each screen that doesn't work.
The more I deal with this stupid fucking blog, the more convinced I am that Theodore Kaczynski was right after all. Technology hates me, wants to ruin my funny, and I'm not sure why.You'd think that I punched Melinda Gates in the snatch or something.
Anyhow, if you wizards have any ideas, I'm all ears.
Ha Fucking Ha!: I found all of the relevant clips on YouTube. I may not be all that smart, but I can be a clever bastard from time to time.
Unless of course you consider that I just wasted nearly three hours on a post that wasn't that funny. Then I sort of look like a schmuck.
GIVING THANKS FOR THE AMY FISHER FUCK TAPE AND WHAT IT CAN TEACH LADIES ABOUT THE MAKING OF LOVE
If I were to venture a guess, I'd say that about 85% of my readership resides within the United States. As you may or may not know, today is Thanksgiving there. Canada's was last month, and the rest of the world is comprised of godless, heathen cocksuckers.
Because everyting is bigger in America, those bastards get a fucking four day weekend out of the deal. And that pisses me off. If a holiday in Canada falls on a, say, Wednesday, we just get the preceding Monday off. Americans get to bail on the balance of the week.
It isn't that I'm not understanding. Killing an entire continent of Indians and taking their land makes for a lot of thanking to be done. I'm just jealous, that's all. In Canada, we only get one day off for Thanksgiving, presumably because we only sent our Indians to the Arctic Circle where they all committed suicide. Canadians are pretty cowardly that way. We tend to elect Jean Chretien-crazy, not Andrew Jackson-genocidal.
Long story short, nobody's reading this until Monday at least. The only reason that I'm writing at all is because I'm incredibly bored. I also tend to have a lot to say when I know that no one's reading. In the next couple of day's I'll tell you seven things about me (because Token told me to), share my thoughts on on the tenth anniversary of the death of Michael Hutchence, which was actually today, and tell you the story about some Texas fuckhead who shot two guys breaking into his neighbor's house. But I probably won't get around to these things until the weekend.
I also want to express the only thing in my worthless fucking life that I'm thankful for. That would be celebrity sex tapes.
I hate celebrities with all of the intensity that I hate everyone with a better life than I have. And that includes you, Jesus Martinez! That is to say I hate pretty much everyone. But my hatred for celebrities is so much greater, if only because they're celebrated for pretty much nothing. But they do give me the gift that keeps on giving: they fuck on video and that video invariably ends up on the Internet.
As it happens, the more obscure a celebrity you are, the more like it is that you have a fuck tape floating about.
I'm sure that if everybody thinks back really hard they'll remember Amy Fisher. Back in 1992 Amy was a Long Island high-school tart who was fucking the audaciously dagoish Joey Buttafuoco. There was something almost cartoonishly magnetic about a car mechanic named "Buttafuoco" that Amy couldn't resist spreading her nymphette legs for.
But if this story only involved a characature of an Italian male stuffing his sausage into an underage girl, no one would care. But there was so much more to this story.
Amy was never one to do things halfway. Not for her the surrupticious schtuppings that most of us who have sex with married partners settle for. Fisher had to shoot Joey's wife in the face. And that's where the news - and the fun - really started. Amy Fisher was to be forevermore known as the "Long Island Lolita," despite the fact that Nabokov's heroine was only 12. And didn't shoot anyone in the face. And that the name "Humbert Humbert" doesn't inspire half as many involuntary giggles as "Joey Buttafuoco" does.
Some say that shooting Mary Jo Buttauoco was Amy Fisher's worst crime. This is because some people are unbearably stupid. The most intolerable act of this young girl is causing Geraldo Rivera to literally shit money for the better part of a decade. I think we can all agree that this is unforgivable and should have resulted in Ms. Fisher's being torn to pieces by rabid hyenas. Anything that makes Geraldo money is inherently evil. That's just the nature of things.
Anyhow, Amy went to prison for seven years and accused a bunch of people of raping her. She was released in 1999 and everyone hoped that after an initial victory lap of TV interviews she would sink into anonymity.
Well, Amy settled down, married her grandfather some guy named Lou Bellera, and squeezed out a couple of kids. As couples often do, the videotaped themselves fucking. They were so happy.
However, the marriage wasn't without its trials. There was a brief seperation this spring and Amy was seen with .... Joey Buttafuoco. May the circle be unbroken.
Of course, Lou did what any of us would do with a video of ourselves fucking a woman who shoots people in the head: he sold it to a porno company called Red Light District. The tape was already in Red Light's loving embrace when Lou and Amy reuinited (and it felt so good.)
That means you and I get to watch a really old guy fucking the erstwhile Long Island Lolita. And who said every day can't be Christmas?
Anyhow, a six or seven minute preview of the tape has leaked (which couldn't be more NSFW. This is after all graphic footage of people fucking) and be seen here. As is the case with most things involving hardcore fucking, I'm sure that you're dying to know my thoughts.
Firstly, Amy has held together quite nicely indeed. She has a tight little body that shows no sign of having shit out two kids and what looks to fake knockers but might not be. If that's what going to prison does for a girl's body, then more of you should really think about doing it. Think of it as a trip to a really intense spa.
If I were to offer any criticism about Amy's appearence, I would have to point to the tattoo around her navel. I found myself incredibly distracted by it because I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be. Is it a shamrock? Amy Fisher isn't Irish. It might be an Iron Cross, but her dad's Jewish and he might be upset by something like that. There's nothing worse than looking at a naked girl and not being able to focus on her naughty bits because of something stupid.
The preview starts with Amy giving grandpa Lou a loving combination hand/blowjob. She does a respectable job of it, but I was most pleased to discover that Ms. Fisher has quite a pottymouth when the making of the love occurs.
If you don't talk dirty during sex, you're missing half the fun. After all, how are we supposed to know that you're our filthy little whore unless you tell us. Ladies, I can't tell you how disheartening it is if we have to keep reminding you. Also, calling us "Daddy" when we're about to cum is enourmously helpful. I'm gratified to know that Amy is aware of this.
The above is sadly mitigated by Amy's New York accent. It is well and truly annoying, and maintaing an erection whilst annoyed is always a challenge. Not impossible, mind you, but a challenge. It was difficult for me and I'm a goddamn professional.
I was also disappointed by how unwilling Amy is to accomdate her man. As he approaches climax from her ministrations in the fist scene, Amy - as any good wife should - begs Lou to deposit his gunk upon her. Lou lets her know that he's favourably disposed to putting it on her face. She breaks the mood by insisting that it find a home on her breasts.
I have a couple of points that I'd like to make about that.
Firstly, a modern lady never refers to her "breasts" during the making of the love. It's entirely too clinical. When a gentleman caller is orally gratifying you, you aren't going to lay there and moan "you make my vagina feel pleasant." Hopefully, you're not going to ask a man to "spank my buttocks because I've been a bad little girl." They're your tits. Call them what they are, godfuckit.
Secondly, only allowing us to ejaculate on your funbags is fine when we're dating. Marriage is suppose to change that. Besides, don't you know that semen keeps your skin fresh and young-looking? Look, I understand that a young lady may not like having some dude cum in her mug, but I'm pretty sure that said dude isn't wild about making mortage payments or dealing with your fucking family, either. Marriage is about shared sacrifice. Or at least it used to be.
Then grandpa Lou attempts to satisfy Amy digitally and orally and appears to be unequal to the task, although Amy does a credible job of faking enthusiasm.
Ladies, I want to help you help yourselves. Once your comfortable with the lost art of dirty-talk, you really should utilize it to tell us what you like and how we can do better. Never having had a really old guy invade my orfices, I'm no expert on this, but I saw Lou perform and it couldn't have felt that good. Help us truly earn our outsized sexual egos. Always remember, not all of us are sex gods like that Joey Buttafuoco. How can any of you fairly expect us to compete with that?
Amy then straddles her beloved in what looks to be an extremely awkward position, yet one that appears to stimulate her mythical g-spot. Or she's a pretty good actress.
I should note yet again that I'm only commenting on a peview of the entire video. This is only six or seven minutes. But there is something missing. There's a discerning absence of any ass-play at all. In my rather extensive experience with pornography, anal is something you want to be as front about as possible because, let's face it, everybody loves dumper coitus. But nary a finger enters that forbidden treasure trove and we're all poorer for it.
Having said that, I must admit that Amy Fisher is just cute enough and performs credibly enough that I would let her shoot my wife in the face should it become necessary.
Based solely on the preview, I'd recommend "Amy Fisher Caught on Tape" to everyone, but I'd recommend it to the ladies in particular. Within that six minutes, you can learn not only what to do, but what not to do in the boudiour.
They are as follows;
Never have a distracting tattoo that we can't figure out what it depicts. Seriously, no good can of it.
Talk as dirty as you can at all times when you're naked.
Do not under any circumstances have a New York accent. Take a speech class. We'll thank you for it.
They're your "breasts" only when you're with your parents, friends and doctor.
Do not fake your orgasms. They only person who profits from that is Joey Buttafuoco. Use your newfound dirty-talk skills to educate us.
Do not fuck your grandfather Lou Bellera on videotape. His age is as distracting as your bad tattoo.
Semen will keep your face young looking. Facials also cure cancer. Google it.
It's an exit and an entrance. You may not like it, but we really didn't want to give up our bachelor apartments either.
Now all of you should use your four fucking day weekend to enjoy the educational power of pornography. You'll thank me for it.
Oh right. No one's going to read this until Monday. I forgot.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Let Me Put My Love Into You By: AC/DC From: Back in Black
Two-thirds of everything that you read in the mainstream media is totally fabricated. Most blogs are lying to you too. I'm the only person who'll ever tell you the truth about anything. And that goes a long way in explaining why my hits have gone to shit in the last year. You want the truth, you say? Well, you can't handle the truth! So run along and read some obese homo like Perez Hilton and I'll stay here, keeping it real all by myself.
Knowing that 90% of what the media puts out there (like the "fact" that Ron Paul actually exists) is horseshit, there are some stories out there that you just can't help but wish were true. This is one of them.
PRETTY Sarah Carmen is a 200-a-day orgasm girl who gets good, good, GOOD vibrations from almost anything.
The rumble of a train on the tracks, the purr of a hairdryer, the rhythmic drone of a photo-copier are all enough to make her go oh oh oh, ahhhhh. She had FIVE orgasms during our 40-minute interview. But I can't take the credit—it was just talking about her sex life that set her off.
Sarah, 24, suffers from Permanent Sexual Arousal Syndrome (PSAS), which increases blood flow to the sex organs.
That's how I know that there is no god. Or that He's dead. Or has been under the weather for a really long time. If there was a god, all women would have Sarah Carmen's problem. They don't, and that's how I know that Satan is real. Satan exists in female reproductive biology.
Woman are very, very dificult to bring off. I dated one woman who I could bring to orgasm about seven times in a day. That's my record and apparently a pretty respectable one. Then I was with someone else, and was disappointed in myself when I could only make her cum four times in a day. I thought I had failed, but she told me that's better than anyone else had ever done. Of course, she might have been lying. Then I was with a woman who orgasmed three times in twenty minutes from the majesty of my golden tongue and thunder cock and I once again felt whole.
But if the women in my life have all told me one thing, it that most men aren't as dedicated to their orgasms as I am. There are three reasons for this;
Men really don't care about you once they're assured of getting in your pants. I'm different because I have a massive personality disorder. And magical powers that I really don't like to talk about much.
I'm the most wonderful man alive.
You broads are really complicated, to say nothing of really different from one another. What sets one of you off into convulsions of stickiness and glee results in little more than a restraining order in another. Although the desire to be held down and fucked really, really hard is pretty much universal.
All of the above is the absolute truth. Buy me a few drinks and I'll show you my wizard's cap, ladies.
Actually, I don't think that men are assholes necessarily, although there is that. It's just that we're simple creatures and the more simple we are, the easier it is that we frustrate. I just happen to be fascinated by the ways individual women differ from one another and I have a lot of time on my hands.
Then there's the small problem of my orgasm. That is to say that it almost never happens when there's another person in the room. I guess I'm just shy. Don't get me wrong, I can get myself off just fine. I'm no freak. It just so happens that I'm my type.
That being the case, I figure that one of us should be having the orgasms for us both. I'm very giving that way.
You would think that women would glory in the karmic justice of being with a man who doesn't get his after years of being left hanging themselves. They really don't. Some cry. Some get insanely pissed off. Some get violent. One just shurgged her shoulders, rolled over and went to sleep.
But enough about me. Let's not leave Sarah hanging here.
She said: "Sometimes I have so much sex to try to calm myself down I get bored of it. And men I sleep with don't seem to make as much effort because I climax so easily."
Look, every guy wants to play basketball with Michael Jordan but if you know going in that you're going to lose, why get hurt trying. The same principle applies with Sarah. Of course, she could have a team of guys working in shifts. Or go lesbo. See, on top of being able to do push-ups with my tongue, I'm a problem solver.
Sarah, from London, developed PSAS after being prescribed anti-depressants at 19.
She believes her condition was brought on by the pills.
She said: "Within a few weeks I just began to get more and more aroused more and more of the time and I just kept having endless orgasms.
"It started off in bed where sex sessions would last for hours and my boyfriend would be stunned at how many times I would orgasm.
"Then it would happen after sex. I'd be thinking about what we'd done in bed and I'd start feeling a bit flushed, then I'd become aroused and climax.
"In six months I was having 150 orgasms a day—and it has been as many as 200."
I've finally found a press story that I want to believe in and I'm not letting go. Besides, Sarah Carmen sorta looks like the lovely De and that only further fuels my demented fantasies involving her.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Gett Off By: Prince From: Diamonds and Pearls
IF THE LEG FITS: HEATHER MILLS IS HAVING A FUNNY DIVORCE
It's always funny when somebody's marriage doesn't work out. I say this because you never really know somebody until you end up in divorce court with them.
You see, when two people are in love with one another, they tend to hide all of their own worst qualities from one another. When love evolves into contempt, as it inevitably does, you get to find out what your beloved is really all about. And the discovery is almost never sexy, unless you happen to be one of those poor souls who can't cum until somebody takes half of your assests. Freak!
Watching regular people fall out of love is fun, but watching celebrities do it is the greatest thing ever! It really is the most fun you can have with your clothes on. That's because there are always three parties to a celebrity divorce; the husband, the wife, and the rest of the world. When celebrity couples break up, everybody gets to find out how skunky their favorite stars are behind closed doors.
Unquestionably, the single greatest divorce in the whole wide world is Paul and Heather McCartney's. These proceedings represent almost all of the Seven Deadly Sins in equal measure. The combinaion of mutual loathing, money and stupidity is always a good time and the battling McCartney's want to show you how it's done once and for all.
Heather Mills hooked up with the former Beatle Paul when he looked more like Paul McCartney's mother that the "Cute One" of yore and hadn't written a song that inspired anything but hatred and violence in thirty years. Heather was a hard-bodied tart with a porno past and one leg. It was an accident waiting to happen.
I really can't underscore the importance most healthy men place on fucking a one-legged fetish model at least once in our lives. It's one of those dark kinks that gets us through our workaday lives and gives us hope for something better. Like the lighting of farts, it is an activity that men love and women really aren't supposed to understand.
As vegetarians, both McCartneys are stupid. It is a well-established scientific fact that red meat keeps the logic center of the brain active and healthy. Starve it, and it withers away, leaving you an animal rights activist who runs around trying to ban landmines, seal hunts, and pretty much everything else that a sensible gentleman considers fun. The only reason that anyone indulged their stupid little crusades is that Paul was in the Beatles and Heather has one leg and great tits. If any of you started such a campaign, you'd only get punched in the mouth and knocked on your lettuce-eating ass, so don't bother.
Because his mind had been starved of tasty, tasty beef for so long, Paul figured that he could marry a much younger uniped former fetish model with a stellar rack without protecting his assests with a prenuptual agreement. After all, isn't love all you need?
Apparently not. Last year, the pair filed for divorce after four years of matrimony and Paul found his billion dollar fortune threatened. Opps.
Since their seperation, Heather has bided her time Dancing With the Stars. However, dancing can be a taxing past-time when you only have one leg, so she found a new hobby last week: screaming at the press.
Heather Mills is a woman with simple needs. All she wanted was a few hundred million dollars and the right to write a book detailing what a prick the guy who wrote "Silly Love Songs" really is. Who could object to that?
Apparently, Heather forgot that her estwhile life-partner also wrote "You Never Give Me Your Money," and the divorce has dragged on well past the point common sense dictates that it should. Remember, we're dealing with vegetarians here, and such people view common sense with suspicion. When you are at war with the food chain, it is easy to forget that a messy celebrity divorce only benefits one person: me.
Besides wanting to write a tell-all, Hopalong Heather wants to move to America and host a talk show. While she's more than dumb and annoying enough for daytime television, her accent is entirely too peculiar for the American market. Sharon Osbourne should really sit her down and explain how these things work. Actually, Ozzy should do it. Watching him to try to explain anything is hilarious.
Shortly after the divorce was announced, some of the German fetish photos Heather took in 1988 began to surface in the British tabloids. Some have suggested that this was the work of Paul's army of lawyers, who figured that Heather wouldn't just limp off into that good night. Or perhaps they figured that Heather needed a good spanking.
Of course, you'd have to be awfully cynical to suggest that Team Paul was behind the publication of the naughty pics, and that's why you'd almost certainly be right. While McCartney might be functionally retarded, his shysters sure as shit ain't.
You'd think that having pictures of herself being spanked and covered in lotion by a mulleted Kraut for all the world to see would be sufficently humiliating to make Heather go quietly, but you'd be forgetting that Paul wasn't the only vegetarian in that matrimonial unit.
No, she kept babbling incomprehensibly about how landmines are somehow bad and dancing with the stars, while the rest off us were fixated on her knockers and full to the brim with the deviant desire to hump her stump. But she did keep her piehole closed about Beatle Paul for a time. At least until a few weeks ago.
When McCartney insisted on the inclusion of a no-talkee, no-bookee clause in any financial settlement, Mills launched into an explosion of batshit fucking craziness and weapons grade stupidity that stunned observers on both sides of the Atlantic.
So spectacular were her televised tirades that people stopped questioning her intelligence and started questioning her sanity. It was actually a pretty fucking cool thing to see.
In fact, her diatribes were so demented that her personal public relations hack immediately resigned in shame and her battalion of barristers are quietly considering doing likewise. Shooting your wad before your pants come off is, after all, a poorly considered legal strategy.
Heather Mills McCartney went into meltdown on live TV today as she raged against the media, claimed her life's in danger and admitted she's contemplated suicide because of the way she's been portrayed in the press.
Speaking on GMTV the estranged wife of Sir Paul McCartney, who is locked in divorce negotiations with her husband, said it was all the fault of the press.
"A certain part of the tabloid media created such a hate campaign against me it put my life and my daughter's life at risk," she said, choking back sobs.
"That's why I considered killing myself."
Now, I'm hardly an expert on British divorce law. For all I know, those fucking people hire a dentist to settle these disputes. But I'm reasonably certain that televising the fact that you're a suicidal mess isn't especially helpful when it comes time to decide child custody. Christ, telling the world that she's a suicidal vegetarian with a proclivity for being spanked by Germans might well result in the kid's custody being given to Britney Spears.
All things being equal, that might be for the best. If nothing else, we can be reasonably certain that Britney won't have little Beatrice duetting with Michael Jackson or Stevie Wonder in the immediate future. Yes, there are laws against having a four-year-old covered in lotion and spanked for the camera, but the Germans are famous for ignoring those.
During her morning TV meltdown, Heather revealed that she had tapes of Paul sounding less like the guy who wrote "And I Love Her" and more like the guy who wrote "Helter Skelter." Fortunately for all of us, Heather's giving us a sneak preview.
Up to now only scant hints of the tapes' contents have emerged. But the News of the World has discovered Heather is confident they back her claims that 65-year-old Paul:
DOWNED Viagra pills to pep up sex with the one-time porn star.
RAGED through tempestuous rows at the couple's marital home.
ADMITTED he was partially to blame over their marriage breakdown and stormy relationship.
MOCKED her as "a silly cow" and "spoilt".
WHINED about the tiniest of household bills.
was VIOLENT towards first wife Linda.
A close friend claimed: "There are other recordings Heather says prove Paul referred to her as a ‘one-legged bitch'.
(...)
"Some of the details about their sex life will shock a lot of people and cause them to view Paul in a new light.
You mean that he was fucking a one-legged vegetarian whose previous job was getting spanked, and he's kinky, too?
Like I said earlier, I'm no expert on Limey law, so I have no idea how this plays out in the courts. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say that Heather walks away with eleventy billion dollars, writes a book that no one reads and Paul ends up looking like a schmuck. But I can't say that with any certainty.
But there is one thing I know. Somewhere out there Ringo Starr is laughing his ass off.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: You Never Give Me Your Money By: The Beatles From: Abbey Road
VANITY'S END: WHEN HOT GIRLS FIND JESUS & THE HEROIN DIARIES
I'm a big fan of celebrity fuck-up books. I love memoirs by guys who had it all and went on to leave it running down a woman's leg, shoot it into their arms, or lose it through general all-around stupidity. I'm less of a fan of the "boy, I'm sure glad I lived through it all" and "I had my fun, so you shouldn't" message. But as a general rule, those books are hard to beat for stupid, mindless fun.
Of the three, Slash's book was the most entertaining. Not only is there not an ounce of self-pity in it - and remember, this is a guy who dealt with Axl Rose for a living - he also has a great sense of humor about what even he knows has been an incredibly ridiculous life. I've always loved him as a guitar player, but now he seems like one of the most grounded people to have written one of these books.
The one I was looking most forward to was The Heroin Diaries. Certainly, no one should expect lightning storms of wisdom from someone who willingly chose the name "Nikki Sixx" for himself. On the other hand, I'm always curious to read about someone who fatally overdoses and is revived by a needleful of adreneline to heart, only to be released from the hospital and go home to overdose again. That's a level of fuck-uppery for which many are called, but few are truly chosen.
The Motley Crue group autobiography, The Dirt, is what I consider to be the gold standard of stupid. If your thing is mindless excess, The Dirt is just the book for you. That book is all the proof you need that guys in Motley Crue are every bit as dumb as their songs. And that's precisely why you should love them. Say what you will about stupid, but few things are as much fun. Of course, I needn't tell you that. You all read me. Although, I should point out that far fewer of you read me than just a year ago.
The Heroin Diaries was touted as the dark side of The Dirt. After the fun stuff detailed in the band book was done for the day, young Nikki would go to his room and do speedballs or freebase. As was also recounted in the Slash memoir, this led to highly paranoid hallucinations from which being naked in the closet with high-powered weapons was the most common result.
The problem with that is that heroin does not produce hallucinations. Heroin withdrawl might, but dreaming up crazy shit is a more common result of acute cocaine intoxication. Heroin itself is one of the few health-neutral drugs on the human body.
Other than being highly addictive, it does nothing at all to your internal organs. The fact that it is a criminal offense to possess means that one must obtain it from criminals and criminals are famously untrustworthy.
Criminalization has made heroin a deadly drug, which has cleverly served to perpertuate its illegality. But chemically, heroin is a much safer drug than even alcohol, nicotine or marijuanna. As a matter of fact, most former junkies will tell you that quitting smoking cigarettes is harder than kicking junk. The acute phase of opiate withdrawl ends after three days and the craving generally subsides after a week. Heroin withdrawl does, however, tend to be more immediately extreme than nicotine withdrawl.
But this wasn't supposed to be an essay about why you should all start shooting smack, it was supposed to be about Nikki Sixx's book, wasn't it?
In addition to the above, I was looking forward to reading The Heroin Diaries because it was actually really well-reviewed, which is unusual for a rock-star book. Even Warren Kinsellaseemed to like it, and he hates pretty much everything that doesn't mention Jean Chretien approximately three times in a given paragraph.
The base of the book is a day-by-day diary Sixx kept during his addiction with present-day commentaries from people who were involved with him and his hobbies at the time. I'll admit, I thought it was a pretty compelling concept.
Unfortunately, instead of being fun, or even depressing, The Heroin Diaries is just incredibly whiny. If you think you'd have fun reading about a naked guy in his closet with a shotgun, waiting for the invading force that never comes, you'd be better of reading Slash's book. At least his paranoid delusions manage to involve midget Predators and golf courses.
Nikki Sixx's book is little more than a 400-page bitchfest. "I hate being on drugs. I hate being off drugs. My band is annoying. I love playing with my band. I'm tired of groupies. I need to get laid. Being on tour sucks. I hate my mommy. Why didn't my mommy love me?" Yadda, yadda, fucking yadda. It goes on and on that way.
Here's but one scene that attracted me to the book;
The same month -- while en route to a recording studio -- Sixx drove his Harley to a Denny's on the Sunset Strip, and went in the bathroom to shoot up. Sprawled out on the floor, he cooked his fix using foul toilet water, because he was too lazy to go to the sink. - His entry from April, 1987: "I was hunched, trying to find a vein so I could inject into my [penis]. Then the dope went in and I thought I looked f***ing fantastic. I can't keep doing this, but I can't stop."
I've wanted to do that since I was five. But it turns out that it isn't all glamour. Or even that interesting.
Mr. Sixx was also engaged at the time to former Prince cock-pocket, Vanity. That was yet another reason that I wanted to read The Heroin Diaries. One of Canada's very hottest exports, I spent a great deal of the 1980s wanting to find out just how much of myself I could stuff inside of her.
Vanity had an interesting career trajectory. When Prince was bouncing up and down on top of her, she was poised to be a really big star. "Nasty Girl" ramains one of of the great songs of the era. Also, she was set to be the female lead in Purple Rain, but Prince had grown weary of fucking her first and things quickly fell apart for her. Instead, Apollonia Kotero and her magnificent rack(link NSFW) were purified in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.
In fact, it was Vanity who introduced Sixx to the joys of freebasing. The first time he met her was at the front door of her apartment. She was naked and her eyes were bulging out of her head. Are you turned on yet? I know I am.
There's only one way to describe a hot, naked girl who actually managed to introduce Nikki fucking Sixx to a new way to injest drugs: nothing less than perfect.
The further one gets into the book's narrative, the clearer it becomes that everyone involved - including Sixx - hated Vanity. But as she gets progressively more wasted, naked and obnoxious, the deeper I found myself falling in love with her.
During one particularly blinding whirlwind of cocaine consumption, Vanity proposes to Sixx and he accepts. He begins to loathe himself for this, proving that he's even dumber than I thought he was. Nikki Sixx wasn't even the best looking guy in Motley Crue and he's about to claim the grand prize in 80s poontang, and he finds that hates himself for it. Indeed, he becomes embarrassed and enraged when Vanity announces the engagement to the press.
The answer to Nikki's problems? More heroin. At least he got one thing right in the book.
Nikki Sixx kicked drugs and began enjoying life just in time for his career to go into steep decline. Things didn't work out so well for Vanity.
After Sixx broke up with her in the highly novel way of punching her in the face and physically throwing her out of his house, Vanity starred in the Carl Weathers vehicle Action Jackson. The only point of that film seemed to be providing me a masturbatory outlet between purchases of new pornography, which was highly censored in Canada during that time. After the relase of Action Jackson, Vanity vanished.
Vanity's heroic cocaine consumption resulted in kidney failure that almost killed her. She cleaned up, found Jesus and resumed life under her real name of Denise Matthews.
Actually, throughout her present-day commentaries in The Heroin Diaries, she is referred to as "Evangelist Denise Matthews," seemingly at her own insistence. And she ended up annoying me every inch as much as she annoyed everyone else back in the good old days.
There's very little in her commentaries that involve Sixx, their affair, or all of the cokey fun they shared. Instead, they constitute an almost incomprehensible rant against Vanity, Satan and the firey pits he made famous. She cites dictionaries in ways that make me fear and despise the English language itself.
I'm not all that surprised that Jesus ruined Vanity. After all, there are very few instances where Jesus has a girl in a state where she answers her front door naked with her eyes bugging out of her head, which is just one reason why cocaine is better than He is.
Furthermore, Evangelist Denise Matthews is still fairly attractive, which is a shame. If Jesus absolutely insists on ruining a perfectly good coke whore, I wish that He'd at least make her a pig in the process. At least then I wouldn't even be tempted to try to understand her insane gobbledygook. But Jesus has been fucking with me like that for decades and I guess there's no reason why He'd stop now.
Reading what she has today almost killed my desire to fuck her. I mean, I probably still would and everything, but I would just try not to do a very good job of it. The powerful orgasms that I regularly inspire would probably just make her fear for her immortal soul. On the other hand, I have no soul to worry about, so the sex could be all about me for once. I can't help but think that this would be a nice change.
In the end, I view the sad story of Vanity's decline and fall as a morality play, and it does have its lessons. That's why I'd like to ask a small favor of all the parents out there who might be reading my humble musings.
If you happen to have a daughter out there who you think is going to be hot, can you please keep her away from the fucking Bible? I mean, you're going to put her out there properly tarted up in her Abercrombie and Fitch apparel, ensuring that she's properly slutty. There's absolutely no reason to involve Jesus in it.
There are two things to consider here. First, cocaine and stupidity are going to make your perfect little girl plenty annoying all by themselves. But filling her to the brim with a lot of supernatural nonsense will only make her intolerably so. Even my penis I have my limits.
Always remember, you only have to deal with her for her first eighteen years, but some poor schmuck like me has to put up with her for the rest of her life. Making that any harder than it has to be is only vindictive and wrong. And I know as a fact that I have the most charitable readers on the Internet.
If you have any further questions about child-rearing or pointless and incomprehensible book reviews, feel free to ask away in the comments or by e-mail. I'm beginning to think that I should get a job at The Learning Annex.
Editor's Note: You can see Vanity looking as hot as fuck in the video for "Pretty Mess" here. I can't post it because Universal Music won't let You Tube include a embed code because they're pitiless cocksuckers. I also couldn't include the "Nasty Girl" video because the publishing is owned by that dwarfish motherfucker Prince, and he's spending most of his time lately proving what a dick he is. So this is the best I can do. The music industry should be destroyed.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Nasty Girl By: Vanity 6 From: Girl 6 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
A few months ago I downloaded the Kim Kardashian / Ray J. fuck tape. I meant to review it for you, but what can I say? I'm very lazy.
I didn't really learn very much from the tape other than if you refer to yourself in the third person, hot girls will let you fuck them. Ray J. constantly refers calls himself "Ray J." in the video and while this distrubed me, Kim seemed to like it. And as you all know, I'm all about pleasing the ladies.
Perhaps the most important thing that came from Kim's fuck tape adventure wasn't actually in the tape itself. Rather, it was in the pre-release publicity. You see, when the story of the tape broke in the media, there was great hoopla that the action therein culminated with a golden shower. Kim and her publicists didn't exactly deny that she's a pee freak, they just said that it wasn't recorded for posterity. And as anyone familiar with public relations will tell you, the absence of a denial is an implicit confirmation.
Yeah, my mother's really proud that I notice things like that, too. She thinks that I would have made a great lawyer if only more trials involved hot girls being urinated upon.
If they did I'd be the Clarence Darrow of fetish and Ray J. would be my William Jennings Bryan. I would save the day and then run away with the girl, secure in my ability to refer to myself in the third person and keep myself properly stocked with fluids to express my love for her.
I'm the last of the great romantics, I know.
The fact is that I'm not really a pee freak. I've never pissed on a woman and I don't really have any desire to. But the fact that Kim Kardashian might ask me to is the most exciting thing ever! The way I see it, if she's willing to let a man empty his bladder on her, there can't be a whole lot that she's saying no to. I see a lot of potential there. Potential is something that's been sadly lacking in my life
Her kink might not be my thing, but if I wasn't willing to break out the rubber sheets even now and again, I wouldn't be living up to my international reputation as the world's most generous lover. And that wouldn't do at all. And if it gets her off harder, I'll even refer to myself in the third person as "Ray J." I'm just that giving, ladies.
Kim Kardashian now fills the place in our Paris Hilton once did, now that Paris makes movies and records and goes to jail with some regularlity. That is, as someone without a job, talent or actual reason for being famous, she is someone who is celebrated for the sole reason that men like me would very much like to fuck her. Oh, how we touch ourselves and image her there, taking the goo that we cover ourselves with.
Kim Kardashian is to middle-aged men what a baseball mitt is to five-year-old boys everywhere. Everybody wants to oil her up and break her in, knowing that only repeated use will make the coarser creases easier to manage on "game day."
Certainly, there are compelling reasons to be attracted to Miss Kardashian. She is blessed with Armenian features that with drive even the gentlest of Turks into a genocidal frenzy. If any of you think that something sexier than the reenactment of ethnically-fuelled atrocities from the First World War exists, then you just don't know what love is.
Also, she is gifted with breasts and buttocks so out of proportion with the rest of her body that they're just ... beautiful. Indeed, her body resembles a cartoonist's rendering of what a sexy woman should look like more than anything you would expect to be produced by human DNA. This is of course enticing in the extreme.
Furthermore, she is the eldest child of that OJ-freeing shyster, Robert Kardashian. Bob had the good grace to die of cancer several years ago, leaving only his offspring to visit his sins upon. A gentleman caller could then view his genitalia as a mighty sword of justice and the sexual debasement of Kim Kardashian could be done in the memory of Ron and Nicole. There's no reason that justice shouldn't be fun. Or sticky.
Lastly and most importantly, Kim has nothing better to do with her day than to learn the ancient art of being a filthy little slut. While not entirely unique, women of suck leisure are usually considerably older and not built like a sex doll brought to life and enraptured with the desire to be used as one, regardless of the situation or surroundings. It is not inconceiveable that you could make her your three-imput woman in, say, church and she would just shrug her shoulders, roll her eyes, say "whatever" and submit to your deviant desires.
It should go without saying that such women are golden. A keeper. A girl with such bountiful breasts, plush buttocks, clean shaven cooter and a seductive little mouth should be enjoyed in private and not shared with friends or used to pay off a football bet. After all, that's what Tara Reid is for(Link NSFW.) Any man who fails to recognize that doesn't deserve to have sex ever again.
As you might have heard, Miss Kardashian will be featured in the December issue of Playboy. This is something of a disappointment to me, as someone with her prominent sluttishness would be far better featured in one of Larry Flynt's publications. But that only serves to prove why I should be Kim Kardashian's agent or manager and not the point of this essay. This essay, as you might have guessed, is about romance and my expertise in it.
The pictures have leaked on to the Internet and are only barely not safe for work. But since I know beyond any doubt that 35% of my readers work in convents, you'll be able to find them here, here, here, here, here and here.
You're welcome.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Handjobs for the Holidays By: Broken Social Scene From: Broken Social Scene
For a guy who hasn't gotten laid in nearly twenty-two months, I'm pretty good at pitching the woo. If you absolutely must know, I'm not going through this period of forced abstinence because I'm not seductive, but because I'm very ugly. Oh, and stupid. And drunk pretty much all of the time. It turns out that women don't like the ugly, stupid and chronic alcoholic nearly as much as you'd think.
But I'm a friggin' superstar when it comes to getting other men laid. If you're not cursed with being me, all you have to do is point the woman of your dreams out to me and I assure you that you'll be drilling her to both of your heart's content by the end of the week.
My secret? Women love a man who is passionate about something. If you're passionate about it, chances are that you're good at it. Women love seeing a gentleman caller excel at something he loves. Don't ask me why, but it's true. Unless what you're passionate about is Dungeons and Dragons. Then you're pretty much never going to get laid, which is one of the few things left that makes me feel good about myself. I've never played D&D. Haven't touched a video game in nearly 30 years either.
How do I know what girls like? Because innumerable women have told me so. Why have they told me this? Because anyone who has ever met me immediately recognizes that I'm not good at anything and women are very cruel.
Having said that, women also say they like a man who listens, and that hasn't gotten me very far. My entire theory might be flawed, but I'll continue with it anyway.
Alexander Pichushkin doesn't have any of my problems. Sure, his working in a supermarket means that he has an ever bigger loser job than I do, but he's dreamy and he's found a passion.
A Russian man accused of murdering 49 people asked a court on Tuesday to add another eleven victims to his tally, and told a jury when he first strangled a man it was like falling in love for the first time.
I hope that everyone remembers that line the next time someone tries to tell you that romance is dead. Romance isn't dead. If it was, Pichushkin would probably have confessed to having killed it by now.
I'll bet his friends never recognized his passion.
"A first killing is like your first love. You never forget it," he said from a cage in the courtroom, after explaining how he started killing at age 18 with the murder of a classmate.
Pichushkin said he had suggested to his classmate that they kill someone, but when his friend refused, "I sent him to heaven." He then smirked at the jury.
Okay. Maybe they did.
Women love intimacy. If I had a nickel for every time some broad told me that she just wanted to cuddle, I'd be a friggin' millionaire. Well, I might not have been the guy for these young ladies, but Alexander is. He's all about getting to know someone.
"The closer a person is to you, and the better you know them, the more pleasurable it is to kill them," he said.
And he's really considerate. Chicks dig that. You think that you're a fucking super-hero for holding a woman's car door open for her? Our boy confesses to murders that he isn't even charged with! Beat that!
Prosecutors have charged Pichushkin with 49 murders and three attempted murders, but he asked the court to take into account another 11 murders.
"I thought it would not be fair to forget about the other 11 people," Pichushkin told the court.
Sigh.
I keep thinking that I'm through with love, but now I know the truth. Love's actually through with me. And all because I'm not Alexander Pichushkin. On the other hand, neither are most of you, so I guess that levels the playing field some.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: I Wanna Be Loved By: Elvis Costello From: Goodbye Cruel World
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Grits: An Intimate Portrait of the Liberal Party By Christina McCall-Newman Finished, 17 March 2006
Running the World: The Inside Story of the National Security Council and the Architechts of American Power by David Rothkopf Finished, 6 April 2006
Strategery: How George W. Bush is Defeating Terrorists, Outwitting Democrats and Confounding the Mainstream Media By Bill Sammon Finished, May 10, 2006
George Wallace: American Populist By Stephan Lesher Finished, June 15, 2006
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Soldiers of God: With Islamic Warriors in Afghanistan and Pakistan By Robert D. Kaplan Finished, June 27, 2006
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Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson And His Times 1961-1973 By Robert Dallek Finished, August 10, 2006
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The Fall Of Baghdad By Jon Lee Anderson Finished, October 31, 2006
The Way It Works: Inside Ottawa By Eddie Goldenberg Finished, November 12, 2006
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Right Side Up: The Fall Of Paul Martin And The Rise Of Stephen Harper's New Conservatism By Paul Wells Finished, December 8, 2006
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Exile On Main Street: A Season In Hell With The Rolling Stones By: Robert Greenfeild Finished, February 21, 2007
"Work Hard, Study ... And Keep Out Of Politics!" Adventures And Lessons From An Unexpected Public Life By: James A. Baker, III with Steve Fiffer Finished, March 7, 2007
Supreme Conflict: The Inside Story Of The Struggle For Control Of The United States Supreme Court By Jan Crawford Greenburg Finished, March 14, 2007
Imperial Life In The Emerald City: Life Inside Iraq's Green Zone By: Rajiv Chandransekaran Finished March 18, 2007
Memories Of My Melancholy Whores By: Gabriel Garcia Marquez Finished, March 21, 2007
Guests Of The Ayatollah: The First Battle In America's War With Militant Islam By: Mark Bowden Finished, April 4, 2007
Screwjack By: Hunter S. Thompson Finished, April 19, 2007
State Of Denial: Bush At War, Part III By: Bob Woodward Finished, April 22, 2007
31 Days: Gerald Ford, The Nixon Pardon, And A Government In Crisis By: Barry Werth Finished, May 6, 2007
At The Center Of The Storm: My Years At The CIA By: George Tenent with Bill Harlow Finished, May 28, 2007
No Excuses: Concessions of a Serial Campaigner By: Robert Shrum Finished: July 1, 2007
Chief of Staff: Lyndon Johnson and His Presidency By: W. Marvin Watson with Sherwin Markmarn Finished: July 12, 2007
Nixon and Kissinger: Partners in Power By: Robert Dalleck Finished: July 17, 2007
1912: Wilson, Roosevelt, Taft & Debs - The Election That Changed The Country By: James Chace Finished: August 5, 2007
Becoming Justice Blackmun: Harry Blackmun's Supreme Court Journey By: Linda Greenhouse Finished: August 20, 2007
President Reagan: The Triumph of Imagination By: Richard Reeves Finished: September 20, 2007
Dead Certain: The Presidency of George W. Bush By: Robert Draper Finished: October 1, 2007
Harper's Team: Behind the Scenes in the Conservative Rise to Power By: Tom Flanagan Finished: October 9, 2007
Full Circle: Death and Resurrection in Canadian Conservative Politics By: Bob Plamondon Finished: October 17, 2007
My Years As Prime Minister By: Jean Chretien Finished: October 23, 2007
The Thumpin': How Rahm Emanuel and the Democrats Learned to Be Ruthless and Ended the Republican Revolution By: Naftali Bendavid Finished: October 25, 2007
Not A Suicide Pact: The Constitution in a Time of National Emergency By: Richard A. Posner Finished, October 29, 2007
Slash By: Slash and Anthony Bozza Finished: November 1, 2007
The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star By: Nikki Sixx and Ian Gittin Finished: November 2, 2007
Clapton: The Autobiography By: Eric Clapton Finished: November 5, 2007
Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush's War Cabinet By: James Mann Finished: November 13, 2007
Miami and the Siege of Chicago: An Informal History of the American Political Conventions of 1968 By: Norman Mailer Finished: November 15, 2007
Memoirs: 1939-1993 By: Brian Mulroney Finished: December 3,2007
Peace Kills: America's Fun New Imperalism By: P.J O'Rourke Finished: December 4, 2007
The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 By: Lawrence Wright Finished: December 11, 2007
The One Percent Doctrine: Deep Inside America's Pursuit of Its Enemies Since 9/11 By: Ron Suskind Finished: December 19, 2007
Cheney: The Untold Story of America's Most Powerful and Controversial Vice President By: Stephen F. Hayes Finished: December 25, 2007
When Trumpets Call: Theodore Roosevelt After the White House By: Patricia O'Toole Finished: January 1, 2008
America's First Dynasty: The Adamses, 1735-1918 By: Richard Brookhiser Finished:January 7, 2008
The Road By: Cormac McCarthy Finished: January 9, 2008
The Conviction of Richard Nixon: The Untold Story of the Frost/Nixon Interviews By: James Reston, Jr. Finished" January 11, 2008
Write It When I'm Gone: Remarkable Off-the-Record Conversations with Gerald R. Ford By: Thomas M. DeFrank Finished: January 15, 2008
The Bush Tragedy By: Jacob Weisberg Finished: January 18, 2008
When All You Have Is Hope By: Frank O'Dea with John Lawrence Reynolds Finished: January 21, 2008
Confessions of a Political Hitman: My Secret Life of Scandal, Corruption, Hypocrisy and Dirty Tricks That Decide Who Gets Elected (and Who Doesn't) By: Stephen Marks Finished: February 8, 2008
The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court By: Jeffery Toobin Finished, February 18, 2008
The Architect: Karl Rove and the Dream of Absolute Power By: James Moore and Wayne Slater Finished, February 21, 2008
Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln By: Doris Kerns Goodwin Finished, February 26, 2008
Post Office By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 6, 2008
Factotum By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 7, 2008
Women By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 10, 2008
Queer By: William S. Burroughs Finished: March 12, 2008
To Live's To Fly: The Ballad of the Late, Great Townes Van Zant By: John Kruth Finished: March 17, 2008
Twenty Thousand Roads: The Ballad of Gram Parsons and His Cosmic American Music By: David N. Meyer Finished: March 24, 2008
W.A.R: The Unauthorized Biography of William Axl Rose By: Mick Wall Finished: April 4, 2008
Deception: Pakistan, the United States, and the Secret Trade in Nuclear Weapons By: Adrian Levy & Catherine Scott-Clark Finished: April 21, 2008
The Assassins' Gate: America in Iraq By: George Packer Finished: May 5, 2008
Worse than Watergate: The Secret Presidency of George W. Bush By: John W. Dean Finished: May 7, 2008
Clinton in Exile: A President Out of the White House By: Carol Felenthal Finished: May 12, 2008
Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America By: Rick Perlstein Finished: June 2, 2008
Infidel By: Ayaan Hirsi Ali Finished: June 11, 2008
The People's Machine: Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Rise of Blockbuster Democracy By: Joe Mathews Finished: June 20, 2008
The Strong Man: John Mitchell and the Secrets of Watergate By: James Rosen Finished: June 30, 2008
American Spy: My Secret History in the CIA, Watergate & Beyond By: E. Howard Hunt w/ Greg Aunuapu Finished: July 4, 2008
Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA By: Tim Weiner Finished: July 16, 2008
The Prosecution of George W. Bush for Murder By: Vincent Bugliosi Finished: July 21, 2008
War by Other Means: An Insider's Account of the War on Terror By: John Yoo Finished: July 25, 2008
Your Government Failed You: Breaking the Cycle of National Security Disasters By: Richard A. Clarke Finished: July 31, 2008
The Persian Puzzle: The Conflict Between Iran and America By: Kenneth M. Pollack Finished: August 13, 2008
The Human Factor: Inside the CIA's Dysfunctional Intelligence Culture By: Ishmael Jones Finished: August 19, 2008
Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba ... And Then Lost It to the Revolution By: T.J Enjlish Finished: August 25, 2008
Descent into Chaos: The United States and the Failure of Nation Building in Pakistan, Afghanistan and Central Asia By: Ahmed Rashid Finished: Sepember 9, 2008
The Case Against the General: Manuel Noriega and the Politics of American Justice By: Steve Albert Finished: September 25, 2008
Condolezza Rice: An American Life By: Elisabeth Bumiller Finished: October 10, 2008
Presidential Courage: Brave Leaders and How They Changed America, 1789-1989 Michael Beschloss Finished: October 13, 2008
What People Are Saying About skippy
"hands down, Canada's most underrated blog" Damian Penny, The Undisputed Dean of Canadian Political Bloggers. Posted at Daimnation , Saturday October 21, 2006
"You can count on “Skippy” to make you think in different ways about familiar issues. You can also depend on him to be rude, offensive, and outrageous – if you're offended by completely uninhibited sexual imagery (and imagination!), don't read Skippy – but your prudery will keep you from an often interesting perspective." Posted On: Jamulblog, July 12, 2007
"Your Maximum Leader is beginning to think that the less he posts, the better Skippy’s political posts are. Indeed, your Maximum Leader even thought (just a few short moments ago) that if your Maximum Leader just stopped blogging all together would Skippy just keep on writing enough good material for two blogs? (Admittedly one of those blogs would be an X-rated social commentary/diary site and the second a remarkably well-informed and insightful political commentary site…)" Posted On: Naked Villainy, September 18, 2007
"I love your writing. few could pull off sarcastic humor and self-loathing like you do. You've turned self-disgust
into an art form." Posted By:Ophelia July 19, 2003
"hahaha um, not funny" Posted By: Ophelia July 17, 2003
"This is not fucking funny." Posted By: Bee August 21, 2003
"I join Bee in saying that this isn''t funny AT ALL. jesus christ, Skippy." Posted By: Ophelia August 23,
2003
"You are obiviously being kept down by the Mud People." Posted By: DrReverend August 21, 2003
"I''ll give you $50.00 if you kill yourself." Posted By: DrReverend August 19, 2003
"Last time I read this blog." Posted By: Dave, October 24, 2003
"I think you should stop talking about killing yourself and ACTUALLY kill yourself. For fuck's sake, everybody is
tired of hearing about how you might, just do it or face the fact that you are too pathetic to even kill yourself."
Posted By: A Caring Guy, October 25, 2003
"If Joey Ramone were alive today he'd probably shit in your mouth." Posted By: DrReverend November 11,
"When you're good, you're good. When you're bad, you're even better. See you in hell." Posted By: Anna
November 11, 2003
"Skippy, if you can prove to me that giving head and swallowing will without a doubt keep lung cancer and heart
disease at bay, you've earned yourself a BJ." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious, December 5, 2003
"Wow...you know nothing about politics." Posted Dr. Reverend, December 26, 2003
"You are a dick and should think seriously about killing your stupid blog - go get a job, you big fag"Posted
By: Princess Paragonian, December 29, 2003
"You have a, how shall i say.... appealing 'tough', yet gently gay look." (Univited PM) Posted
by:Jus20012002, January 2, 2004 .
"I hope jesus doesn't kick you in the nuts."Posted By: Mary Magdalicious February 2, 2004
"Stumbled on to your blog by accident and i must say alot of the stuff had me in stitches. Love it" Posted
By:Jeremy February 4, 2004
" .....sick."Posted By: Bee February 7, 2004
"Hey Skippy, you ever consider running for public office in the states? I know some people in the West Virginia state
government and our Senator can't live forever.Hell, even Strom, Thomas-Jefferson-Fan, Thurmond died
eventually.Posted By: Ford W. Mavrick, February 9, 2004
Wow, for someone who is so opinionated, you really don't know shit about American or Canadian culture. You appear to
know even less about history." Posted By: Dr. Reverend February 13, 2004
"Your blog's the best I have come across in a long time. I may not agree with all you say but the verve with which
you say it and the humour and irreverance is terrific. These days when the media just reproduces the handout from central
control, blogs like yours do a great deal to form informed opinion in a democratic society. Thanks. Keep it up."
Posted By:Anandan February 13, 2004
"SKIPPY pities ME? Where's my noose?" Posted By: Kilgore Trout March 22, 2004
"Jesus Skippy. Now Allah is going to kick you in the nuts" Posted By: Mary Magdalicious March 22, 2004
"I could make one that says "Skippy has a small penis" although his cock is superb. Posted By: Bestest Pussy March 23,2004
"Cunt sucking is for bitches.You're considered one of the girls because you dress like one. Posted By: Dr. Reverend March 24, 2004
"John Malkovich is one sexy bastard. I have such a thing for him. And I never realized til now, Skippy, how much you resemble John Malkovich...this, by default, makes you also one sexy bastard. See how that works?" Posted By: Zombie March, 26, 2004
"Too bad you live up north. It could have been beautiful.
Ever since I started coming here and saw your pic I wondered why you weren't getting more action. You are not a bad looking guy at all.
Maybe the girls are just...well, that's enough kindness for one day." Posted By: Serenity March 26, 2004
"Hell, if they make gay marriage legal, I'll marry you..." Posted By: Outpatient March 26, 2004
"You look creepier than the REM faggot. But he looks much more like a homersexual." Posted By: Dr. Reverend March 27, 2004
"Skippy, your hits will go up again if you post pictures of your man nipples. Lots of man nips." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious April 15, 2004
"What the fuck? You turning faggot? Posted By: Dr. Reverend April 16, 2004
"Sometimes it gets to be just a little too much. Sharing, that is." Posted By: Bee May 23, 2004
"I'll give you $5.00 if you make the fucking font you use on your blog bigger.
I'll give you $50.00 if you stop fucking writing about American politics.
I'll give you $500.00 if you fucking kill youself." Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 26, 2004
"Of course women like jerks.
Why the fuck do you think they like me?
I guess you've learned nothing from me over all these years." Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 29, 2004
"Sometimes a bitch just has to die." Posted By: Ford W. Maverick May 29, 2004
"It looks like we have more in common than the swastikas carved in our foreheads."Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 29, 2004
"This might be a shallow and 'Waiting-for-Godot-like' comment but...you seem to have not only brains but also beauty." Posted By: Nietzscheswife June 7, 2004
"Skippy, you are such a twisted bastard. Seriously. Why haven't we had sex yet?"Posted By: 0phelia June 25, 2004
"Just found your site. I find some of the things you say quite disgusting. And really quite enjoyable,so keep up the good work."Posted By: Big Al June 28, 2004
"I've read most of your blog. I'd say that so far it's the best I've come across, and believe me, I've seen a few. It's funny, well written (except for the spelling...) and interesting. There will always be those few idiots who just don't get it. It's useless to get worked up about it." Posted By: Johnny June 30, 2004
"Skippy... Go for the facial tattoo. I dig em', and fuck what those other bitches think. You can always bite their tits off if they back talk you." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious July 1, 2004
"Go fuck yourself up your butt." Posted By: Reek Stankleberry July 6, 2004
"Well if ass-fucking won't keep Satan away, I just don't know what will." Posted By: Dr. Reverend July 7, 2004
"dude, you're killing me. keep it up." Posted By: Son of Nixon July 22, 2004
"Are you always either naked or in a suit?" Posted By: Rehella July 22, 2004
"That person should speak for himself or herself. 'Cause you really are that much of a cunt, skippy." Posted By: Kilgore Trout August 4, 2004
"I've read you for a long time but have never commented before. That isn't a slight to your great writing ability, it's mainly because I don't want to be seen here!" Posted By: Paul August 4, 2004
" Dead on. Bulls-eye. I take back what I said about you being a cunt. For now." Posted By: Kilgore Trout August 4, 2004
"Know what, Skippy? You're alright." Posted By: Anna August 18, 2004
"Excellent work. Damn you for being so dead on." Posted By: The Maximum Leader August 24, 2004
"Skippy, fuck the puppy idea. Try getting a monkey that smokes. That will get you laid." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious August 27, 2004
"As to the beard - I like the clean shaven better - and what's wrong with a bald head? Bald heads are hot on some guys - unfortunately most can't pull it off * sigh * You look like you can pull it off though and that's a good thing - not a bad.
BTW, love your blog. I saw it in my referrers and thought it was just a random hit. Then I started reading and found you to be hilarious - it was only after about 10 posts that I noticed you linked me. I was more than flattered - linked by someone I was about to link anyway - awesome. Thanks" Posted By: Kinky August 27, 2004
"Fuckin' Goy bastard." Posted By: Dr Reverend December 19,2004
"Who does a guy have to sleep with to get one of his Skippy quotes pasted to the sidebar?
Great googly-moogly." Posted By: Smallholder December 20, 2004
"Are you a child molester or what's the story?" Posted By: Fukinator, December 28, 2004
"Sick dude." Posted By: DCayer December 29, 2004
"You officially suck." Posted By: Sorry, January 22, 2005
"I heart you, Skippy" Posted By: Karinsky, January 25, 2005
"As I've stated before, you were quite skilled in bed and I had no need to fake any of my multiple orgasms." Posted By: 0phelia, June 30, 2005
"I love Skippy. I swear I do. The only blogger more twisted than me." Posted on: Velociworld, July 26, 2005
" You are so fucking ignorant about America. And while the American people ARE stupid, so are you." Posted By: Bill Lassiter, August 2, 2005
"How can you not love a man who hates himself so viciously?" Posted on: It's All About De , August 31, 2005
"If I wasn't positive that all Canadian men had tiny penises, I'd be all over that Skippy." Posted On: It's All About De
"I've seen pictures of you and I'd say you're fuckable." Posted By: Joan, September 29, 2005
" I love your posts on Canadian politics even more than I love your posts on porn.
And I love your porn posts.
Why the hell do you waste all this talent on the internet? Write a book or something, goddammit! Posted By: Cliff S., November 17, 2005
"Let it never be said that underneath your self-cavilling, bitter (yet strangely egomaniacal) surface that you never take the time to give the people what they want. Even if it's just one people. Gawd bless you, Skippy! Posted By: Locke, November 18, 2005
"Wow! I don't know that I've ever been flattered and yet somewhat revolted at the same time... It's an interesting sensation." Posted By: Dewey in Toronto, December 1, 2005
"Very often, debating you is like playing whack a mole: You pop up some premised assertion moles, I pull out my mallet and start whacking, then you pop up more premised assertion moles - which are mostly or completely unrelated to the original moles I was whacking at. Your stock of moles seemingly stretches into infinity. And yet, an endless supply of moles does not equate to cogent argument.
Very often, debating you is like speaking to a salesman who will not answer a particular direct question, and instead flies off on the flight of rhetorical splendor known as "baffling them with bullshit." I'm impressed with your rhetorical skills, and your IQ, and your accumulation of knowledge. I'm impressed that I'm the American citizen, yet you might have a more thorough knowledge of the American Constitution than I. And yet, these impressive things are not substitutes for cogent argument."Posted By; gcotharn, December 21, 2005
"Besides, you seem to think you're the least respectable person I know. While you're often right, you're wrong on that count. Careful, I might out YOU as a nice guy. Or something." Posted By: Dewey In Toronto, December 27, 2005
"I've been to Toronto. The most dangerous thing I saw there was an 11 foot tall red head with shaved balls."Posted By: Judy, December 31, 2005
"There was this "Caught on Tape!" video I watched back in my highschool days where one of the scenes shows two people starting to cross the railroad tracks. One looks up at the last minute and sees the train, the other does not. In the commercial, it cuts away just before the train does its thing, but the video...
Your blog is like a twisted version of the video. We know the train is going liquify you in shocking gory fashion, but that's why we keep coming back. It's so much more fun that we both know the train is coming and you still gleefully walk into its path...and we love you all the more for it." Posted By:Locke, January 13, 2006
"Fuck. I'm hooked." Posted By: DeAnna, January 14, 2006
"Your Maximum Leader has found Skippy's commentary more insightful and interesting than anyone elses. So now he supposes that Skippy will go back to writing about porn and strippers he meets in the subway." Posted By: The Maximum Leader on Naked Villainy January 24, 2006
"Slightly crazed is fine, but with the beard you look like a total nutjob. If you ever hope to get laid again, for fuck's sake, Skippy, NEVER, EVER grow a saddam beard. You're welcome."Posted By: The Lady O, 28 January, 2006
"Maybe we should get married. My readers could support us by purchasing my worn panties and you could be the panty pimp." Posted By; Joan 28 January 2006
" I know it must be hard for you...being objectified by women all the time. But come on, how can they really help themselves? Have you seen yourself lately? Your pheramones preceed you into a room (as does your crotch). Don't blame it all on them...you did choose to leave your house. :D" Posted By: Joan, 3 February, 2006
"Skippy, you sarcastic twerp." Posted By: Arwen, 8 February 2006
"Just so you know.. if I had to choose between Moussaoui or Skippy.. You'd win. Even if I know what an asshole you are. Posted By; Judy, 13 February 2006
"I'd be willing to sign a legal document stating that is IS ok, in fact, to masturbate whilst thinking of me." Posted By: DeAnna (Who seems unaware of my reputation as an outlaw) February 24, 2006
"Feel free to masturbate while thinking of me...actually, do you need some of my panties to help you with that?" Posted By: Joan, February 24, 2006
"I blame myself for this. I have been too lenient with you. Your Godless behaviour must come to an end. You will receive a severe beating this weekend and I am contemplating removing your testicles." Posted By: Dr. Reverend, February 24, 2006
"Just remember skippy, the US never threw a fit when you smuggled your own personal WMD over the border twice a year. After all, it wasn't like you were hiding in your pants or anything.
All's fair in love and war, so to speak." Posted By: Judy, April 4, 2006
"Wow...nothing hotter than a man willing to issue fatwas for pussy." Posted By: Joan, April 16, 2006
"You sir, are a brilliant writer." Posted By: Judy, May 4, 2006
"I think I'm falling in love." Posted By: DeAnna, May 11, 2006
"THIS IS THE MOST DIABOLICAL FALSITY YOU HAVE EVER ENGAGED IN!!!!
I was intending to kick you in the face upon our next meeting, but now it's obvious that I must douse your scrotum in kerosene and set your testicles aflame. Alas, it is the only way you will learn." Posted By: Dr. Reverend, May 12, 2006
"And i would like to commend you on some excellent blogging. This particular story would normally warrant a few cryptically humorous lines and a link. To an ordinary blogger. But you managed to wring an essay of New Yorker-esque proportions out of it. That takes talent. Your beautiful young friend is right. I see big things for you in the future." Posted By: Annika, June 4, 2006
" I like a man who will unabashedly tell someone his penis size because hes unashamed. Thats hot.
*raises hand* I'll take that 6.5, thank ya" Posted By: Kinky, June 6, 2006
"Elvis, like skippy, is the very definition of rock and roll. Posted By: Rube, June 10, 2006
" I'm beginning to think you're the only good man left in the world, skippy. WTF?" Posted By: By: DeAnns, June 11, 2006
"Just so everyone knows.
Skippy does indeed, taste like bacon.
And, any guy who doesn't know cum tastes good to real women, is clueless." Posted By: Judy, July 2, 2006
"There was a British columnist whose work was described as 'a suicide note in weekly installments.'
This blog is sort of like that." Posted By: Gadfly, July 6, 2006
"Jeez, Skippy. Sometimes I really hate coming here." Posted By: Cynlee, July 18, 2006
"Someone needs to throttle you with a riding crop...truly!" Posted By: Joan, July 18, 2006
"Holy mother of god. I just had an orgasm. It's official: I'm devoting the rest of my life to you, skippy." Posted By: DeAnna, July 19, 2006
"Skippy, sometimes I'm not quite sure of your sanity, but you are without a doubt the baddest morning news reading, quiz show hosting, talent introducing PIMP in the motherfuckin' blogosphere." Posted By: Shank, July 19, 2006
BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO: THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES EDITION
Some say that shooting Mary Jo Buttauoco was Amy Fisher's worst crime. This is because some people are unbearably stupid. The most intolerable act of this young girl is causing Geraldo Rivera to literally shit money for the better part of a decade. I think we can all agree that this is unforgivable and should have resulted in Ms. Fisher's being torn to pieces by rabid hyenas. Anything that makes Geraldo money is inherently evil. That's just the nature of things.
