Last week I went to the United States of America for the first time in my life, or more accurately to New York.
I was accompanied on this trip with my girlfriend, who had been to New York on two previous occasions. This was our first trip to any place together.
I had brought two cameras and my handy guidebook to show me around this amazing city of steel and concrete. During my week I saw, the largest department store in the world, the Empire State Building and it’s jaw-dropping views over Manhattan, Ground Zero, the Statue of Liberty, walked across Brooklyn Bridge, The Met and countless other sights.
I have hundreds of photos of all these places, but I left New York feeling somewhat disappointed, as I was unable to take a photo of the one thing I was most amazed by.
What hurts even more, is that it wasn’t just a once off flash incident where you wish you had a camera with you, like watching an old lady fall down some stairs or watching a baby panda explode. The fact of the matter is that I didn’t take a photo, because I don’t think my girlfriend would have understood.
It happened in our hotel, on the first night we had arrived. I had spent the previous night at her place after a very busy last day at work. We had to leave for the airport quite early as we were flying via a connecting flight in Detroit where we were stuck for ages.
The point is that by the time I had reached our hotel in New York, I had not taken a dump for about 48 hours and I was choking.
As I am a very romantic guy, I had not been informing the chain-and-ball of my turtlehead problem as we admired the beautiful view of a McDonald’s from our hotel room window. The pre-dump sweats had started as I informed the battleaxe that I was “going to freshen up” before bed.
As soon as I slammed the bathroom door behind me, I dropped trou and sat down to the accompaniment of angels singing, or so it seemed. It didn’t last long and I was suspicious of circumstances below me as there was no splash, despite all the rectal orgasming I was going through.
Once I was confident that there weren’t any younger siblings who wanted to join the party, I had a quick look at my escaped prisoners, to make sure that I had at least hit parts of the bowl. At first glance I was left speechless at what was staring back at me. I had given birth to a monster. One solid turd, over a foot long!
At this stage I wouldn’t have been surprised if Godzilla had appeared behind me, peered over my shoulder into the toilet and then said to me, “Dude! What the fuck!”
My first instinct was to run into the bedroom, with my trousers around my ankles to grab my camera and then waddle back to the toilet again, but then thought that this might lead to some strange questions from the hag.
My second thought was to invite the old cum-bucket into the toilet to admire my creation along with me and then we could take photos together. Unfortunately I don’t think we were quite at that stage of our relationship yet. Feces picture sharing is more like a year anniversary thing.
So with tears in my eyes, I said farewell to my child and with a shaking hand I flushed her away. As she swirled around the toilet, she broke into two pieces, much like the Titanic, the other great engineering creation of man, had done before being claimed by the murky waters below.
And so I returned to the bedroom much lighter, but weighed down with the guilt of knowing what mothers go through, having to give up their children for adoption.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Monday, 28 January 2008
Coma of love
I'm not one to brag, because I'm so modest and great with the ladies, but I have been known to put a few ladies in a coma while making sweet love to them.
Some might claim that it was from the horrific car accident they were in that put them in the coma, others think it was my sweet luvvin that pushed them over the edge. All I know is that they were semi-conscious when I found them. You do the maths.
Some might claim that it was from the horrific car accident they were in that put them in the coma, others think it was my sweet luvvin that pushed them over the edge. All I know is that they were semi-conscious when I found them. You do the maths.
Friday, 18 January 2008
How to pick up chicks - lesson 8
Get thee to a nunnery
Warning – If you read the following article, you will probably go to hell. In fact, this article is so morally corrupt that you will probably go to hell for just reading this warning. So stop reading this warning. (Ironic, isn’t it?)
There is a common misconception out there that nuns are all old, fat women who fear any kind of intimacy with men. I would like to correct this misconception by stating that most of my ex girlfriends were old, fat bitches that didn’t want me touching them, yet only turned to a life devoted to God after dumping my sexy ass. It’s difficult to find an equal after you’ve been with the muppet. Bless their frigid little hearts.
Yet despite some negative misunderstandings I’ve had with nuns, I still maintain that they are easy prey.
So why would a nun decide to become a nun?
They claim to be spreading the word of God. So what is the word of God about? It’s about lurve! Lurve thy neighbour! Lurve thy neighbour’s ox (kinky bitches). So that’s what the nuns want to share with you.
Their attempts to disguise themselves as frigid zebras is discarded if you look at the facts behind the frock.
The relevant facts to note are:
- They don’t believe in marriage. These women are too wild to settle down.
– They devote themselves to “The Big Guy”.
– They’re kinky drunken bitches! They love a bit of father, son and some good spirit.
– They spend hours on end on their knees. What’s not to like about that?
– They’re very gullible. You could make up one of the most ridiculous stories ever created and they’d believe it.
- They quite often hang out with Catholic priests and we all know that those guys are some of the dirtiest sex-maniacs around.
- They always want to know about your sins. Dirty wenches!
- You hardly ever see a nun by herself. They’re either in two’s or more. A threesome is always on the cards.
And last but not least
- They wear towels on their heads. Curtains are no longer needed to clean your man bits. A bit of a dirty habit, if you ask me.
Warning – If you read the following article, you will probably go to hell. In fact, this article is so morally corrupt that you will probably go to hell for just reading this warning. So stop reading this warning. (Ironic, isn’t it?)
There is a common misconception out there that nuns are all old, fat women who fear any kind of intimacy with men. I would like to correct this misconception by stating that most of my ex girlfriends were old, fat bitches that didn’t want me touching them, yet only turned to a life devoted to God after dumping my sexy ass. It’s difficult to find an equal after you’ve been with the muppet. Bless their frigid little hearts.
Yet despite some negative misunderstandings I’ve had with nuns, I still maintain that they are easy prey.
So why would a nun decide to become a nun?
They claim to be spreading the word of God. So what is the word of God about? It’s about lurve! Lurve thy neighbour! Lurve thy neighbour’s ox (kinky bitches). So that’s what the nuns want to share with you.
Their attempts to disguise themselves as frigid zebras is discarded if you look at the facts behind the frock.
The relevant facts to note are:
- They don’t believe in marriage. These women are too wild to settle down.
– They devote themselves to “The Big Guy”.
– They’re kinky drunken bitches! They love a bit of father, son and some good spirit.
– They spend hours on end on their knees. What’s not to like about that?
– They’re very gullible. You could make up one of the most ridiculous stories ever created and they’d believe it.
- They quite often hang out with Catholic priests and we all know that those guys are some of the dirtiest sex-maniacs around.
- They always want to know about your sins. Dirty wenches!
- You hardly ever see a nun by herself. They’re either in two’s or more. A threesome is always on the cards.
And last but not least
- They wear towels on their heads. Curtains are no longer needed to clean your man bits. A bit of a dirty habit, if you ask me.
How to pick up chicks - lesson 7
Women’s prisons
Shooting fish in a barrel is a concept that comes to mind when I think about doing some lazy fishing. On the other hand, being inside a woman’s prison is like fishing inside a shark tank, with a big piece of raw steak sewn into your crotch. As you approach the tank, you can smell the fish. As you enter the tank, you can see the fish. While in the tank, you can reach out and touch the fish, but you know that by the end of the day, if you leave, your crotch will not be in one piece.
If you’re ever able to get inside a woman’s prison, your hunting skills must be at its peak. There’s a good chance that you’ll be stripped, slapped about and have a large object shoved up your bum, but if you make it past the guards, there’s a good chance of getting some action.
One’s initial thought about being in a woman’s prison is that you’ll be treated like a piece of candy. Passed along from one hardened criminal to the next, as they use and abuse you, as they see fit. They’ll release their pent up anger and frustrations on you and you’ll probably end up nailed to the “mama bitch’s” wall after having your male anatomy torn from your body by hundreds of sexually frustrated women.
But one must remember that there could be a down side too.
The problem with the female prisoner is that they’re so use their routine. I’ll explain the concept through the clever analogy of food.
The female prisoner was use to having all kinds of food on the outside, but since they’ve been locked up, all they’ve had to eat is… um… let’s say, fish for instance. There’s nothing wrong with fish, but let’s be honest, it’s not steak. One can make do with eating fish day after day, week after week, year after year, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a nice piece of steak, for a change, especially if one use to eat steak regularly on the outside.
Over the years these murderers, thieves, bad cooks and drug dealers have obsessed about meat. This obsession has been built up to such a degree, that they feel that their next piece of meat will be like being in heaven. An ironic concept, seeing that the murderers and bad cooks are deemed to go to hell for eternity.
So there’s a lot to live up to and no matter how good you are at putting a penis in a woman’s mouth, you’re still not going to live up to the woman prisoner’s expectations.
So in the likely chance of being able to get some special alone time with an inmate, I suggest that you keep a high voltage taser handy, without her knowing about it, for once you’re done.
Also remember to concentrate your hunting skills to the “lifers”. You thereby save money by not having to use condoms. A pregnant “lifer”, isn’t your problem.
Shooting fish in a barrel is a concept that comes to mind when I think about doing some lazy fishing. On the other hand, being inside a woman’s prison is like fishing inside a shark tank, with a big piece of raw steak sewn into your crotch. As you approach the tank, you can smell the fish. As you enter the tank, you can see the fish. While in the tank, you can reach out and touch the fish, but you know that by the end of the day, if you leave, your crotch will not be in one piece.
If you’re ever able to get inside a woman’s prison, your hunting skills must be at its peak. There’s a good chance that you’ll be stripped, slapped about and have a large object shoved up your bum, but if you make it past the guards, there’s a good chance of getting some action.
One’s initial thought about being in a woman’s prison is that you’ll be treated like a piece of candy. Passed along from one hardened criminal to the next, as they use and abuse you, as they see fit. They’ll release their pent up anger and frustrations on you and you’ll probably end up nailed to the “mama bitch’s” wall after having your male anatomy torn from your body by hundreds of sexually frustrated women.
But one must remember that there could be a down side too.
The problem with the female prisoner is that they’re so use their routine. I’ll explain the concept through the clever analogy of food.
The female prisoner was use to having all kinds of food on the outside, but since they’ve been locked up, all they’ve had to eat is… um… let’s say, fish for instance. There’s nothing wrong with fish, but let’s be honest, it’s not steak. One can make do with eating fish day after day, week after week, year after year, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a nice piece of steak, for a change, especially if one use to eat steak regularly on the outside.
Over the years these murderers, thieves, bad cooks and drug dealers have obsessed about meat. This obsession has been built up to such a degree, that they feel that their next piece of meat will be like being in heaven. An ironic concept, seeing that the murderers and bad cooks are deemed to go to hell for eternity.
So there’s a lot to live up to and no matter how good you are at putting a penis in a woman’s mouth, you’re still not going to live up to the woman prisoner’s expectations.
So in the likely chance of being able to get some special alone time with an inmate, I suggest that you keep a high voltage taser handy, without her knowing about it, for once you’re done.
Also remember to concentrate your hunting skills to the “lifers”. You thereby save money by not having to use condoms. A pregnant “lifer”, isn’t your problem.
How to pick up chicks - lesson 6
Fuglies
The supreme hunter can usually have his pick of the finest meat in a herd, but sometimes it’s the slow running, back of the herd, beaten with an ugly stick piece of meat that’s easiest to pick off.
In pubs and clubs they are easy to recognize. They usually stand out like a sore thumb. A sore, overweight, badly dressed, uncomfortable, shy looking thumb.
One must understand that the fugly has low self-esteem due to their lack of confidence. They have very little experience with dealing with men and generally keep to themselves. They feel that they aren’t as pretty as the other girls and therefore don’t give themselves much chance of getting a man’s attention in a social scene. All this can be exploited to serve the hunter’s needs.
The fugly will usually be in the pub or club with a group of friends. Once you’ve zeroed in on the fugly, you should approach her in a confident manner, ignoring the other girls that she’s with in the group and open with an appropriate line like, “Wow, you’re really fat and ugly.”
The fugly usually has such low self esteem that she won’t stick up for herself and one of her friends will stick up for her, but it’s important to shoot the friend down immediately with, “Excuse me, but I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your fat ugly friend. You’re not nearly as repulsive looking as your friend and therefore have a chance of getting another male’s attention, but I’m here to talk to your friend, elephant girl, if you don’t mind.”
As the friend has already shown that she tried to stick up for her fugly friend, she’ll be pleased to drop it as she’s actually embarrassed to be in public with a fugly and is pleased that somebody else is there to talk to her. Nobody likes a fugly, not even their friends.
With the friend gone, you can continue to charm the fugly by pointing out how fugly she actually is. The problem with some fuglies is that they seem to think that they’re not really that bad looking or that they might feel that their fun loving personality might make up for what they lack in looks. It’s best to set them straight. It’s important to note that fuglies have feelings and emotions, almost like real people.
If you’re brave enough, give her a hug when she starts to cry her fugly tears. This takes a lot of will power on the hunter’s side, as normal people might see you hugging a fugly in public. After the tears have slowed, she will thank you for being so truthful with her and that’s when you suggest how she can repay you.
Remember that the true hunter is also a gentleman and should therefore ask the fugly if she wants the paper bag for her head to have holes for her eyes.
The supreme hunter can usually have his pick of the finest meat in a herd, but sometimes it’s the slow running, back of the herd, beaten with an ugly stick piece of meat that’s easiest to pick off.
In pubs and clubs they are easy to recognize. They usually stand out like a sore thumb. A sore, overweight, badly dressed, uncomfortable, shy looking thumb.
One must understand that the fugly has low self-esteem due to their lack of confidence. They have very little experience with dealing with men and generally keep to themselves. They feel that they aren’t as pretty as the other girls and therefore don’t give themselves much chance of getting a man’s attention in a social scene. All this can be exploited to serve the hunter’s needs.
The fugly will usually be in the pub or club with a group of friends. Once you’ve zeroed in on the fugly, you should approach her in a confident manner, ignoring the other girls that she’s with in the group and open with an appropriate line like, “Wow, you’re really fat and ugly.”
The fugly usually has such low self esteem that she won’t stick up for herself and one of her friends will stick up for her, but it’s important to shoot the friend down immediately with, “Excuse me, but I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your fat ugly friend. You’re not nearly as repulsive looking as your friend and therefore have a chance of getting another male’s attention, but I’m here to talk to your friend, elephant girl, if you don’t mind.”
As the friend has already shown that she tried to stick up for her fugly friend, she’ll be pleased to drop it as she’s actually embarrassed to be in public with a fugly and is pleased that somebody else is there to talk to her. Nobody likes a fugly, not even their friends.
With the friend gone, you can continue to charm the fugly by pointing out how fugly she actually is. The problem with some fuglies is that they seem to think that they’re not really that bad looking or that they might feel that their fun loving personality might make up for what they lack in looks. It’s best to set them straight. It’s important to note that fuglies have feelings and emotions, almost like real people.
If you’re brave enough, give her a hug when she starts to cry her fugly tears. This takes a lot of will power on the hunter’s side, as normal people might see you hugging a fugly in public. After the tears have slowed, she will thank you for being so truthful with her and that’s when you suggest how she can repay you.
Remember that the true hunter is also a gentleman and should therefore ask the fugly if she wants the paper bag for her head to have holes for her eyes.
How to pick up chicks - lesson 5
Communication
At a young age, Albert Einstein was asked by his girlfriend, “Does this skirt make my bum look big?” Albert, being the quick-witted lad that he was, ran away without saying a word and studied physics for years on end. After decades he eventually felt confident enough to return to his girlfriend with an answer.
After eventually tracking her down he paid the girl, now an old lady, a visit. Albert sat the old lady down and recalled the question that she asked him and told her that he now had an answer for her. With confident look in his eye, he declared that space was finite. The old lady glassed him.
The moral of the story is that communication between the sexes has long been one of the most difficult things to do on this planet.
The subtle art of communication has long been an underestimated technique when trying to trap one’s prey.
It’s true that clubbing a woman over the head and dragging her by her hair back to one’s cave has its advantages, but one needs to understand that this isn’t the 1980s anymore. Man has evolved and through this evolution, man has learnt that women have emotions, feelings and other shit like that, that he is able to exploit.
Women are basically simple-minded creatures. Their overwhelming urge to serve men, make babies and collect shoes has blinded them to the true hunter.
The basics of communication with women can be summed up under one heading:
LIE.
Yes, it’s that simple. The secret to communication is never being truthful.
Image a girl asks you the following questions and think if you would be better off by telling her the truth or rather telling her what she wants to hear?
1: “Would you like to buy me a drink?”
2: “Will you still respect me in the morning?”
3: “Are you stalking me?”
4: “Is there Rohypnol in this drink?”
5: “Is that suppose to be THAT small?”
6: “You’re not one of those loser chat forum geeks, are you?”
7: “Do you mind if we cuddle after sex?”
8: “Isn’t sex suppose to last longer than that?”
9: “Why do you have pictures of amputees on your wall?”
10: “Do these jeans make my bum look big?”
At a young age, Albert Einstein was asked by his girlfriend, “Does this skirt make my bum look big?” Albert, being the quick-witted lad that he was, ran away without saying a word and studied physics for years on end. After decades he eventually felt confident enough to return to his girlfriend with an answer.
After eventually tracking her down he paid the girl, now an old lady, a visit. Albert sat the old lady down and recalled the question that she asked him and told her that he now had an answer for her. With confident look in his eye, he declared that space was finite. The old lady glassed him.
The moral of the story is that communication between the sexes has long been one of the most difficult things to do on this planet.
The subtle art of communication has long been an underestimated technique when trying to trap one’s prey.
It’s true that clubbing a woman over the head and dragging her by her hair back to one’s cave has its advantages, but one needs to understand that this isn’t the 1980s anymore. Man has evolved and through this evolution, man has learnt that women have emotions, feelings and other shit like that, that he is able to exploit.
Women are basically simple-minded creatures. Their overwhelming urge to serve men, make babies and collect shoes has blinded them to the true hunter.
The basics of communication with women can be summed up under one heading:
LIE.
Yes, it’s that simple. The secret to communication is never being truthful.
Image a girl asks you the following questions and think if you would be better off by telling her the truth or rather telling her what she wants to hear?
1: “Would you like to buy me a drink?”
2: “Will you still respect me in the morning?”
3: “Are you stalking me?”
4: “Is there Rohypnol in this drink?”
5: “Is that suppose to be THAT small?”
6: “You’re not one of those loser chat forum geeks, are you?”
7: “Do you mind if we cuddle after sex?”
8: “Isn’t sex suppose to last longer than that?”
9: “Why do you have pictures of amputees on your wall?”
10: “Do these jeans make my bum look big?”
How to pick up chicks - lesson 4
How to recognize a lesbian.
The supreme hunter is a ruthless killer. Once he has zeroed in on his prey, she will be helpless to escape his charm and powerful aftershave, but even some of the top hunters can be lured in by false bait. This bait usually comes in the form of a lesbian.
Over the years, Hollywood has presented the image of lesbians as beautiful young women who parade around in tiny bikinis who snog other young beautiful lesbians in order to excite men that might be watching. Hollywood doesn’t represent lesbians as women who come in all ages, shapes and sizes and are simply attracted to women rather than men. They don’t represent this version of lesbians, because they don’t exist.
But until the bikini clad young nymph grows out of her “women know where my clit is” stage (usually age 26 when she starts getting ugly, as gravity takes hold), the hunter will struggle to turn a lesbian towards his will.
So how does one recognize a lesbian, in order to save one’s money on cologne and tear-away leopard skin G-strings?
Owing to my many hunting experiences, I am able to share with you certain situations whereby one can recognize a lesbian.
One:
Your mother, who seems to think that you struggle with the laydees, has set you up on a blind date. The young lady you’re picking up is described as very shy and needs to be treated delicately. You take note and stuff your wallet with lubricated condoms. You ring her doorbell and she opens it to find you naked except for a lubricated condom and a paper bag in your hand, as you don’t know how ugly she is yet. She screams and slams the door in your face. Lesbian.
Two:
Your best friend has a business conference out of town for the weekend, so you invite yourself over to his place to “entertain” his wife during his absence. She acts a bit surprised to see you there, but tries to be polite. She invites you in and even opens the 59p bottle of wine you brought over to show her how much she means to you. Things seem to be going well until she comes back from the kitchen to find you naked on her coffee table. She throws you out. Lesbian.
Three:
You’re at your weekly diet supporters group meeting, with your box of chocolates and McDonalds vouchers, to help cheer the fat bitches up, when the rest of the group isn’t looking. You’ve been concentrating on one particular young lady by being supportive by telling her lies like “Fat people have feelings too” and “I wouldn’t mind my friends seeing me in public with you”. It all seems to be going well as she tucks into her third Big Mac, which you treat her to after the group ends for the evening. You have the box of fries she wanted resting on a specific area of your anatomy and when she reaches for it, she finds something else besides fries. She appears to be disgusted and is surprisingly fast for a chubby porker and breaks your nose with a powerful left hook. Lesbian.
Four:
You volunteer on weekends at the local charity, which helps people with physical disabilities because you want to give something back (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). You’re assigned to help a group of wheelchair bound freaks, whereby you must run errands for them on the weekend, as they’re obviously too lazy to do it themselves. One of the better looking R2D2s gives you a short shopping list of medical supplies she needs. You take her money and instead of buying her “medicine to help her through the week” you return to her with four porn DVDs and a bottle of KY jelly. You are unaware that her electric wheelchair has a stun-gun option. Lesbian.
The supreme hunter is a ruthless killer. Once he has zeroed in on his prey, she will be helpless to escape his charm and powerful aftershave, but even some of the top hunters can be lured in by false bait. This bait usually comes in the form of a lesbian.
Over the years, Hollywood has presented the image of lesbians as beautiful young women who parade around in tiny bikinis who snog other young beautiful lesbians in order to excite men that might be watching. Hollywood doesn’t represent lesbians as women who come in all ages, shapes and sizes and are simply attracted to women rather than men. They don’t represent this version of lesbians, because they don’t exist.
But until the bikini clad young nymph grows out of her “women know where my clit is” stage (usually age 26 when she starts getting ugly, as gravity takes hold), the hunter will struggle to turn a lesbian towards his will.
So how does one recognize a lesbian, in order to save one’s money on cologne and tear-away leopard skin G-strings?
Owing to my many hunting experiences, I am able to share with you certain situations whereby one can recognize a lesbian.
One:
Your mother, who seems to think that you struggle with the laydees, has set you up on a blind date. The young lady you’re picking up is described as very shy and needs to be treated delicately. You take note and stuff your wallet with lubricated condoms. You ring her doorbell and she opens it to find you naked except for a lubricated condom and a paper bag in your hand, as you don’t know how ugly she is yet. She screams and slams the door in your face. Lesbian.
Two:
Your best friend has a business conference out of town for the weekend, so you invite yourself over to his place to “entertain” his wife during his absence. She acts a bit surprised to see you there, but tries to be polite. She invites you in and even opens the 59p bottle of wine you brought over to show her how much she means to you. Things seem to be going well until she comes back from the kitchen to find you naked on her coffee table. She throws you out. Lesbian.
Three:
You’re at your weekly diet supporters group meeting, with your box of chocolates and McDonalds vouchers, to help cheer the fat bitches up, when the rest of the group isn’t looking. You’ve been concentrating on one particular young lady by being supportive by telling her lies like “Fat people have feelings too” and “I wouldn’t mind my friends seeing me in public with you”. It all seems to be going well as she tucks into her third Big Mac, which you treat her to after the group ends for the evening. You have the box of fries she wanted resting on a specific area of your anatomy and when she reaches for it, she finds something else besides fries. She appears to be disgusted and is surprisingly fast for a chubby porker and breaks your nose with a powerful left hook. Lesbian.
Four:
You volunteer on weekends at the local charity, which helps people with physical disabilities because you want to give something back (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). You’re assigned to help a group of wheelchair bound freaks, whereby you must run errands for them on the weekend, as they’re obviously too lazy to do it themselves. One of the better looking R2D2s gives you a short shopping list of medical supplies she needs. You take her money and instead of buying her “medicine to help her through the week” you return to her with four porn DVDs and a bottle of KY jelly. You are unaware that her electric wheelchair has a stun-gun option. Lesbian.
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