the teabag stranglehold

few things have ever said love, commitment, or “look honey, i really did shave my asshole. there’s nothing gay about that.  no, really, go ahead. touch it.  just touch it.  that’s really not gay” as much as the teabag stranglehold. yes, long before chocolates and eons before roses, the teabag stranglehold was the only way to show that special someone just how much you cared. 30th anniversary celebration? what better way to celebrate than with a teabag stranglehold? the girl you’ve been seeing’s 18th birthday?  what could say ‘happy birthday’ better than a teabag stranglehold?

i’m not completely surprised you’ve never heard of the teabag stranglehold. the chocolate and rose lobbyists proved in the end to be just too much for the lean- pocketed teabag stranglehold people. it’s crazy that a whole part of our culture almost died with them.  to think the teabag stranglehold and its legacy were almost completely swept under the proverbial rug…

well, i, for one, refuse to allow that to happen. 

so intimate, so magical, so much more than simple faux-asphyxiation with swinging testicles.  the romance of it all almost takes my breath.  to see a couple engaged in such a moment is to truly glimpse god while moving his bowels. you don’t want to look but, come on, you have to.  you don’t want to smell, but come on, you have to.  i thought he said it would smell like roses.  i definitely don’t smell roses.  does god digest lactose? does he get enough fiber?  questions damnit. i have questions.

i need answers.

well, until i am able to properly inspect god’s feces i guess i’ll have to settle for the simple resurrection of an integral part of our courtshipping past – yes, the teabag stranglehold.  this year’s anniversary is sure to be a special one…

summer ’08 – the summer of vagina

apparently i took the summer off from ‘blogging.’  it certainly wasn’t planned. i honestly had no idea i would have so many enthusiastic attendees at my 1st annual ‘mid-summer’s night scrotal-sack delight’ party. it was all more than just a little overwhelming…

well, the last party-goer has just left the building and as i sit here adrift in a sea of party favors and bodily fluids i’m feeling more than a little chafed and drained.  my last entry seemed to surreptitiously open the flood gates with a torrential flow of babes never before seen springing forth from atop the aptly named mt. vagina.

yes, i have indeed been awash in vagina. black vagina, red vagina, yellow vagina, white vagina…there may have even been a blue vagina in there somewhere (although it breaks my heart to think there’s a sad vagina out there…)  yes, we’re talking about TONS of vagina. 

after i gorge myself on vagina i generally like to spend the following few days in reflection so that i may ‘digest’ anything i may have learned about vagina, as well as any stray pubic hairs i may have inadvertently swallowed.  my reflection period is over and i have made some striking realizations. for one, i am particularly fond of young vagina.  twenty or twenty-one?  that’s a tough choice but either one is perfect.  why?  well, i find that often these vaginas are attached to bodies which are not only as fit as mine but which also have had few, if any, incidents of genital contact with gentlemen, like myself, who ‘pound ‘dat pussy goood.’  also, like-mindedly, these vaginas are often located next to ass-caverns which have yet to be tainted by the hand of man.  ok, well, maybe some dude’s pinky-finger but chances are they have yet to be filled with penis.  this is, of course, where i come in.  

i also have made the realization that i am quite fond of having multiple vaginas at the same time.  imagine that.  yes, you can have too much of certain good things. vagina is not one of these things.  when entertaining multiple vaginas i make it my mission to not let any one vagina feel left out.  it takes a lot of work but i affectionately refer to it as ’summoning my inner-octopus.’

my third realization is one which i have made before but it’s always nice to remember again.  yes, i am one incredibly lucky bastard who would certainly burn in hell were i not an atheist who doesn’t believe in such things.

viva la vagina!!!!!!!

the beauty of spring and our need to hump

yes, the title says it all. aah…spring.

forget christmas. forget the last day of school. forget the day i got those test results back from the free clinic.  my favorite day of the year has to be that first warm, beautiful spring day when the sundresses come out and the inhibitions stay in.  yes, it is mating time in the animal kingdom and with that comes not only cotton sundresses but also many swollen vaginas.

there isn’t much i like more than a nice, big, swollen vagina. of course, we’re not speaking of a vagina which is swollen due to hives or a case of the mumps, nor are we referring to one which is swollen due to it being punched or beaten. we are, in fact, referring to one which has increased blood flow due to the heightened sexual arousal experienced as a result of an increase in the levels of certain hormones.  i really, really love whore-mones.

in other words, babes are super horny RIGHT NOW.  whether it’s the red-breasted warbler, a baboon, or maxine in accounting, this is your best opportunity all year to get off the bench and get into the game for pretty much across the board the female species is looking to hump.   particularly right out of the gates of the spring season is your best opportunity to engage in coitus with girls whom the rest of the year wouldn’t look at you twice.  they’ve been cooped up all winter, have fresh waxings and are lookin’ to party.  well what do you know? I’m actually holding a party in about five minutes under my scrotal sack.  refreshments will be served and you are most certainly invited.

bring your friends and i’ll see you there!!!

further pontifications on multiple masturbations

it’s no secret i masturbate.  a lot.  of course, as i get older it’s not so much because i walk around all day with a ‘woodrow’ as it is just simple maintenance.  ya’ gotta’ keep the pipes clean.  you owe it to your prostate to keep it pumping.  at-least once a day if not three times.  when you don’t feel like you have it in you simply picture your prostate shriveling up and blowing away in the wind while your semen dribbles out of your penis like drool from the mouth of a stroke victim.  damn.  that did it for me.  i’m gonna’ go work one out.  how about you?

so now that we have a why? we need a how?  how?  internet porn,  you silly goose.  we are visual animals.  my imagination ain’t for shit.  i need to see what’s going on.  i need the light left on.  i need porn. 

and thank god for internet porn.  gone are the days of having a pile of magazines that you don’t want anyone to see shoved in your bottom drawer or between your mattress and box-spring.  gone are the days of wandering into the porn shop at 3am to pick up the latest issue of hairy lesbian grannies while hoping no one whom actually knows you sees you.  oh wait,  maybe that’s just me…

i don’t pay for sex,  nor do i pay for internet porn.  why pay for things you can get for free? there’s an ample supply of free shit on the web so i stick strictly to it.  that being said,  those free thumbnail sites are a landmine field for viruses…

and i’m not speaking of the kind which cause oozing pustules to form on the most sensitive parts of my most sensitive genitalia.  i am refering to viruses of the computer sort, but really my life doesn’t have room for either. i had a girlfriend who was more than just a little like a monkey as she groomed me, searching for any sign of blackhead or pimple, anywhere on my body, just so she could squeeze the shit out of it.  man,  we were close.  she could probably get into the oozing pustules.  i have an ingrown hair right now on my ass for which she’d probably build an altar.  sometimes i really miss her…

the best was when i would be doing my ‘bidness’ and my most recent ex would come home unexpectedly.  there was at-least one time when she walked in on me with cock in hand,  pants around ankles,  saliva puddled at feet.  no matter how innocently one masturbates the majority of girlfriends or wives are incapable of not finding this type of behavior incredibly offensive.

hey, i’m a guy.  this is what i do whenever i have a little time to kill,  a little time ALONE,  or a high-speed internet connection…

wingmen and cockblockers – an in-depth analysis

i’m so glad i’m a dude.  dudes stand by their boys.  dudes spend all night talking to a fat girl just so that their buddy can hit on her hot friend.  dudes will often even go as far as to make the ultimate sacrifice.  yes,  perish the thought, but a true friend and wingman will even get naked with a fatty if that is what needs to be done.  one of the first great wingmen who really set the mold for the position was saint peter.  why do you think jesus always hung out with him? because that fucking guy would do almost anything to get him laid.  he’s now a saint.  coincidence?  i think not…

this mentality, as great as it is, is completely foreign to the female brain as i guess it should be.  i realize you ladies have the ‘goods’ and you just can’t go around giving that shit away as a selfless gesture.  even so,  i’m amazed at how many girls don’t have their friends’ vaginal needs even remotely within the realm of consideration. vaginas, as i understand it anyway, have very real needs.

not that long ago i had two babes that were both all over me.  they were ‘friends.’  i use the term loosely because if one of my friends started hitting on a girl on whom i had ‘dibs,’ i’d most likely have to kick his ass.  not with these babes.  it was a competition.  of course, my first thought was that i’d finally be able to have my enormous balls held at the same time with two sets of hands.  it takes at-least two sets of hands, if not three.  i mean, those things are friggin’ huge…

so,  i started cozying up to one of the two babes.  i was trying to not commit to her though because i wanted to see if the double-team was still possible,  but she was all over me.  i mean,  i actually thought she was going to start blowing me right there.  the more i was macking on the one,  the more the other one pulled back. 

when it was clearly apparent that they weren’t a package deal i began focusing all of my attention on the one babe.  after a little while the other one,  whom by this time was looking super hot to me simply because i couldn’t have her anymore, wanted to leave.  was her body that nice a half-hour ago?  damn.  anyway,  she wasn’t getting any attention and like the self-esteem lacking attention-whore she was,  she wanted to go home.  what a friggin’ lame-o.  i wouldn’t have cared had both babes not come together.  now the chick that wanted to leave expected my babe to leave with her.  couldn’t she just go dance on a table or something?

mating on top of the tunnel

i had seen it.  i had walked by it.  i had heard about it.  why it took me so long to embrace all of the loveliness that is the tunnel top is anyone’s guess.  yes,  with its unassuming exterior and location describing name (it’s on top of the stockton tunnel after all,) i have taken to the tunnel top as a pig takes to slop,  a prostitute to penicillin,  or my shoe to homeless people turds (yes, i step in at-least one a day…)

they have chimay.  they have djs who spin kick-ass tunes.  they have tons of horny babes.  niiice.

that pretty much covers all the bases.  well,  except that the bartenders also take turns sucking on a large, cylindrically shaped object which emits semen.  yes, three out of the four with whom i’ve come in contact are rude and make lackluster drinks.  this is why god invented beer.  also, i think a prerequisite for being a bartender should be that you aren’t a dickhead.  you know,  that whole customer service thing…

but hey, you can’t always have everything and when you’re having hot chicks rub their shanaynays on you on the upstairs dance floor you won’t be thinking about the bartender,  or at-least you shouldn’t be.  i feel like a rock star every time i go there.

the wool-pull factor,  at-least on the weekend,  currently ranks as an ’8.’  i’ve been during the week and the guy/girl ratio can be a little daunting,  like most places on a weekday.  friday and saturday though…watch out.

it’s just like training a monkey

i know of what i speak.  i have volumes and volumes of experience with women.  i have been in the trenches.  i have taken bullets.  in fact,  i currently still have shrapnel lodged in my right testicle. 

all i can do is put this shit out there.  i can’t force you to listen.  and even if you do listen,  i can’t force you to put any of it into practice.  that is completely your own prerogative…

that being said,  i’m no pick-up artist and i’m not trying to be.  i am no poser.  this isn’t a competition.  it’s simply about giving yourself the most opportunity to make a connection.  it’s way too easy for a girl to shoot you down.  don’t give her obvious reasons to.  also,  you can’t force chemistry.  it’s either there or it isn’t.  take stock, be honest with yourself, cut your losses and move on if that’s what needs to be done.  nothing is more pathetic than some dude who just doesn’t know when to quit.  there will always be another girl. let me repeat. there will always be another girl.

i went out last night with a buddy of mine for a beer.  simple enough.  there were three girls in the joint which wasn’t so bad considering there were only four dudes.  i just wanted to hang with my buddy though so i really didn’t give a rat’s ass either way.  i like having pretty girls around me the same way i like to have pretty paintings on the wall.  of course,  i do have a penis and i’ll take those odds any day.  i mean,  come on,  that’s like shooting fish in a barrel. 

so anyway,  somehow the cutest girl in the bunch ended up sitting between me and my buddy.  he was all over her.  he must have told her how hot she was at-least fifteen times which is the cardinal sin of all cardinal sins for all of us big-ball swingers out there.  he also kept putting his arm around her and making way too much physical contact for some girl he had just met.  i was getting ready to lose my lunch all over him.  if a girl touches you then that’s the signal to proceed.  always assume you’re sitting at a red light until you receive a green.

what was i doing during all of this?  i was dancing, not paying attention to the babe, and allowing my buddy the freedom to squander any opportunity he had.  believe me.  i am the best wingman ever.  i will go down with the ship for one of my boys.  i was pulling for him, but come on now,  he was forgetting all about the basics…

to make an excruciatingly long story short,  it was closing time and we all walked outside.  i wanted to leave them together so i hugged the girl as a polite way of saying see ya’.  she proceeded to turn her head and stick her tongue down my throat.  i said whoa!!! and i pulled back out of surprise (sure, after about ten minutes.) my buddy, with his infinite lack of knowing when to say when,  proceeded to hug her after i had while he then tried to stick his tongue down her throat.  i could only stand there and shake my head in amazement.  i’m seriously considering staging an intervention for him.  this behavior absolutely cannot continue…

btw – this wasn’t supposed to be funny.  i ’tagged’ it humor simply because i tag all of my shit humor.  it was supposed to be educational.  see the mistakes others make and don’t make them yourself.  not doing that is pretty much the definition of being a little bitch.

i just want to cuddle

while acting as a conduit for the benevolent spirit of charitable giving i decided to not only shell out the cash for a 3 1/2 star dinner for this little blonde babe i know,  but i also decided to give her a back-rub and spoon her, all in a selfless attempt to fill the void left by her ex-boyfriend.  i’m just glad i was there.  i mean,  if i hadn’t ‘worked out the kinks,’ so to speak,  she may not have slept so soundly.  life is stressful, particularly when your parents pay your rent,  like hers do.

she made sure to tell me during the massage that she couldn’t believe she wasn’t turned on,  that she was still too wrapped-up in her ex to feel horny for me.  wow, what a relief.  i’m just glad she felt this way before we engaged in anything she may have regretted later.  regretful sex is no sex of which i want to be part, particularly when it involves an ex-stripper with enormous breasts.

fortunately for me, i had run into her the week before while walking past union square.  she must have forgotten to mention she was fresh out of a relationship.  i was just thankful she felt she could contact me when she was feeling lonely, post break-up.  i mean,  the first few times we hung out, which was almost five years ago now,  we immediately got down to business and never really had a chance to talk.  i never even found out her favorite color.  admittedly, the memories are a little fuzzy but i seem to recall that,  like fred & ginger, peanut butter & jelly and kid n’ play, my fist and her rectum just went together.  imagine my pleasure and surprise to find that in lieu of anal fisting we would finally be able to really get to know one another. 

it was about time.

i’ve done a number of things with ex-strippers.  engaging in conversation has never been one of them.  man,  i have really been missing out.

building the perfect vagina

my regular readers have probably been wondering where i’ve been.  after all, i’m generally fairly militant about posting, atleast, a blog-entry or two a week.  well, what can i say?  i’ve been busy.  very busy. 

my parents, in particular, will be happy to know that after so many years,  i am at long last utilizing my education in biology for which they spent a small fortune.  all of those hours spent in the lab are finally paying off in spades, as well as all of the hard work my father endured to pay for it all.  in a project which is sure to attract the attention of the nobel prize people,  i am creating, through careful gene code manipulation and subsequent cloning, a herd of perfect vaginas… 

yes,  it’s true.  what the step after that may be is anybody’s guess, but it really doesn’t matter.  why?  well, because i’ll have my very own herd of perfect vaginas of course.  how many vaginas will constitute a herd?  i’m not exactly sure but i think it’s safe to say - ’a lot.’  will i give each of them a name?  that’s one idea.  will i play with them?  i’d sure like to think so.  will i have some amazing parties?

i will have the greatest parties ever known to humankind.

how i’m gathering the necessary vagina cells is a combination of strict scientific method and carefully calculated lack of personal hygiene.  see,  i have refrained from trimming the fingernails on the middle three fingers of my right hand for quite some time now, in order to create a human speculum, of sorts.  i have also started ‘dating,’ which is simply a euphemism for pulling the hottest girls out of my neighborhood’s bars and probing their vaginas for ‘scraping’ purposes.  as soon as the scraping is complete and i have my cell sample i immediately trigger an alarm which mimics my telephone ring.  i ‘answer’ my phone to the pretend ‘news’ that a homeless person was just found by my roommate passed out while sitting on my toilet.  visibly ‘shaken,’  i literally run out the door and head directly back to my swingin’ bachelor’s pad/laboratory where i promptly procure the aforementioned vagina cells from beneath my fingernails and place them in an awaiting petri dish.  all in the name of science…

i have amassed a most impressive collection of vagina cells and have produced a few really nice vaginas.  still, perfection eludes me.  however, i shall not waiver in my quest.  i have only just begun.

after i perfect my work with vaginas i am looking to take on an intern to do the dirty work for my next pet project – creating a herd of perfect asses.  start growing your fingernails gentlemen…

masturbation as practice

i realize that i often write of masturbation and my fondness for it.  it certainly has been there,  like a trusted friend, through some extremely difficult times and over some even longer dry spells.  i make no claims to have the virility of an 18 year old but, with that being said,  if i am attracted to you and we have the good fortune of engaging in relations i will absolutely rock your world.  yes,  i am nothing…if not a giver.

and believe me.  i have extremely high expectations for myself.  every time i step foot into ‘the ring of love’ i want to give the particular girl the most pleasure i can,  the most she’s ever had.  the last thing i want is to meet some babe i really like,  get naked, and then promptly go up in flames by having lost my touch,  or my control, as it were.  the last thing i want is to go out like a chump.

therefore, i need to be ready for game day. how do i prepare for game day? by repeatedly bringing myself to the edge of climax during regular fondling sessions.  when i’m feeling particularly masochistic i’ll take myself to the brink over and over again, only to then not even allow myself a payoff.  consider that a small example of mental discipline which can then start snowballing and affecting all areas of one’s life.  it all starts with one step. 

it’s simply mind over matter.  this is the only thing that separates us from the mice.  well that, oral sex, taxes, and general food-safety guidelines.