About GrumpyLlama

Hi, my name is Buddy. This blog exists to let the demons out. And to show you how awesome I am. You're welcome.

A Cautionary Tale…

I wish I had kept the letter I got from the Department of Philosophy and Religion when I changed majors to Philosophy (from Aerospace Engineering – I was an endless river of good decisions in my youth).  It read half like a sales letter, insuring me that companies LOVED Philosophy students because they knew HOW to think.  Try to guess if that’s true.  I may as well have been a fucking English major for all the good it did.  (Pipe down English majors, you know it’s true.)  But none of that mattered, I was going to go to law school or maybe get my PhD and teach.  Turns out, law school is expensive (who knew, right?) and grad school is very hard to get into especially if you spend your first two freshman years beating your GPA to a bloody pulp.

So plan B.  Get a job.  Ugh.  Well, step one was to keep my job washing cars at a rental car agency.  This was important because your landlord does not give a shit if you’re a college grad.  So that was fun, but I was raking in over $5.25 per hour.  No, no I wasn’t.  I was raking in exactly $5.25 an hour.

Obviously, I moved back home pretty quickly.  But I still needed a job.  And after a month of not, I finally landed something.  I was the new Lube Tech at Jiffy Lube!  It’s not as much fun as it sounds.  But at least I had to leave off my degree from the application as I had learned from previous misses that these low-end gigs aren’t gonna hire someone with a degree.  Now I was making a whopping $5 per hour.  Bit of a set back, but as my mother had set my rent at $0 a month, it worked out.

Four weeks into my position there, I was promoted to Assistant Manager!  You can’t stop the success train!  So with my 50 cent an hour raise in hand, I set out to take the rapid lube world by storm.  Of course, my alarm failed to go off the next morning and I was late too work.  No big, the manager was cool so I wasn’t worried.  Except that I got there, and it turns out he had quit the night before.  And some big wig was there with a truckload of management trainees so they could learn how to open a store.  From me.  Who was late.  And had never opened a store before.

Anyway, the best part of the job was that it was right next door to a liquor store, so every night, after everyone had gone and I was left to do lube-related paperwork, I would go next door, get 2 airplane bottles of bourbon and have a sit-down.  This was also the job that taught me customer service was not my bag.  After suffering the slings and arrows of an unjustifiably angry suburbanite, I snapped.  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Ma’am, I need you to get the fuck out of my store.”  I left the rapid lube biz shortly thereafter.

What I left for was the fast-paced world of automobile recycling.  Which is to say, I took cars apart in a junk yard.  But, I was up to $7 per hour!  Cha-ching, bitches!  You start to rethink some choices when you are laying under a 1987 Ford Taurus in 35 degree rain and hoping that they guy operating the forklift doesn’t forget that you’re under there.  You start to rethink more when you get home, spend 30 minutes washing transmission fluid out of you hair, and then write your student loan check.

Nine months later, I got a call from a company I had sent my resume to the year before.  An interview for a management training program!  Which is code for warehouse labor.  But it was raise.  And indoors.  So off I went.  I languished in the warehouse for a couple of years, partly because I refuse to go work at the sales counter.  (Remember the suburbanite from Jiffy Lube?  If you think they’re bad, try a pissed off plumber who’s been standing in a septic tank all day.  They’re real good at cussing.)  Eventually I weaseled my way into a job in the purchasing department.  Truth be told, if it weren’t for my boss, a milque-toast of a wanker, it would have been a good job.  I bought shit for a living.  Sales people called me and kissed my ass and took me out to lunch.  All in all, pretty good.  Except for my boss, who didn’t like the fact that I would leave my desk to find out why the computer showed we had 1000 of something, but no one could find them.  He told me to stay at my desk.  Period.  Despite the fact that I could my job in about 3 hours a day.  He didn’t care, which led to me falling asleep at my desk several times a week.  He somehow managed to ruin a job where people had to kiss my ass all day.  Think about that.

My next job was back in a warehouse at a company called Frischkorn, I suppose because I lacked the aplomb necessary for a white collar position.  No surprise there, really.  Somehow though, I kept getting dragged into meetings with the president of the company, where my honesty was not seen as “refeshing.”  In fact, I do believe he had precious little appreciation for a warehouse guy who kept telling him his plans wouldn’t work.  (In my defense, I was right.  Which I think made it worse.)

Obviously, my career at that company was not going to go anywhere, so I interviewed with a company to do software training.  Hey!  Now I’m getting somewhere!  I get to use my brain!  And they offered me a pay cut of over $10,000 a year.  I actually laughed at the guy.  Out loud.  Pretty hard, too.  I was the picture of tact.  So back to the warehouse.

That was where I was when my son was born and I transitioned flawlessly into stay-at-home daddy-dom.  But more importantly, in one of my final acts at the job, I managed to convince the rest of the guys in the warehouse to pose for a “Boys of Frishckorn” calendar that I then distributed around the company.  It even made it’s way to corporate headquarters where someone hung it in the copy room for all to enjoy.  It may be my greatest job-related accomplishment.  I have included it below.  You’re welcome.

 

calendar001calendar002calendar003calendar004calendar005calendar006calendar007calendar008calendar009calendar010calendar011calendar012calendar013

When the hell did I get old?

Now that I’ve been in my forties for a few years, I’ve come to some realizations, I’ve noticed a few realities and common threads.  So if you’re not there yet, this is what you have to look forward to, if you’re already there, then you can nod your head knowingly as you read, but not too vigorously, you’ll hurt yourself.

– I have the house to myself for 30 minutes – XBox or masturbate?

– Sex or sleep?  I mean, sex is great, but seriously, how is it 10:30 already?

– OK, I don’t really have to pee right now, and I’m all nice and warm, but if I go now, I might just make it all night without having to get up.

– I really like the hot wings here, but I’d also like to be able to be more than ten feet from the toilet tomorrow morning.

– How the fuck did I hurt my neck sleeping?

– Stairs?  Again?  “Honey! We have to move!”

– Another beer’d be great, but I don’t have time to spend an extra 30 minutes on the treadmill tomorrow.

– You were born in what year?!

– At this point, I’m tired of the “compliment.”  You and I both know I am over 21, just bring me my fucking bourbon.

– When do I start feeling like an adult?

– When I drop something on the floor, there’s a 35% chance it will stay there until the sun explodes.  Who the fuck put the floor all the way down there?

“Doesn’t he need a parent in the car with him?”
“He’s 23.”
“You go to Hell.”

– OH MY GOD.  There is such a thing as too loud!  Not cool.

– I have a urologist.

– You watch your kids hit puberty and think, “Man, fuck that.”

– A teenage girl is talking to you (for some unknown reason), and for the first time in your life you think, “Please stop,” and look around to see if someone is giving you the perv eye.

– Now that I can afford to go out, drink all night, and take a cab home, the whole thing just sounds like a pain in the ass.  Then what?  I gotta get up and go back to my car.  Ugh.  I’ll just have one drink and turn in early.

– Hangovers last 3 days, and big ones never quite go away completely.

– I don’t know, socks with sandals are pretty comfortable.

– Why the fuck have I been wearing underwear for the last 4 decades?  Freedom, bitches!

– Cataracts?  No, you must reading my grandfather’s file.

– No, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, I just took my supplements.

– I understand loafers now.

– Hell yeah!  I slept til 8 today!  Oh shit, I can’t stand up straight.

– Reading glasses?  Goddammit.

– “I just read a really interesting article…”

– Wait, when did that start hurting?

– Hallelugah!  An erection!  “Hey!  Hey!  Wake up!”

– Spending hours a week in the gym and deciding it’d be a helluva lot easier just to convince her she likes fat dudes.

– I have an opinion on pillows.  A strong one.

 

 

 

 

Love is in…your browser history

Estately recently tracked the most popular Valentine’s Day Google searches for each state in the union, and I thought, hey you know what’s fun?  Judging large groups of people by their aggregate browser history.

ALABAMA:  Lord Byron (poetry) – Come on Alabama, who the fuck do you think you’re kidding?  Lord Byron?  This has to be the greatest, large-scale prank ever played.  In which case, well-played, literate third of Alabama.  Well-played.

ALASKA: flower delivery – Alaskans spend so much of their time bare-knuckle boxing polar bears and spit-roasting penguins, they don’t have time for your nonsense, St. Valentine.  “Here’s a flower, babe, it should really dress up the igloo.”*

* I didn’t spend much time researching Alaska.

ARIZONA:  cubic zirconia rings, Jacquie Lawson cards – That’s mighty specific card research, Arizona.  “Last year, I got her a ShoeBox Greetings card, and slept on the couch for a week.  Not making that mistake again!”  and “Here’s a ring, baby.  A nice ring…(mumbling)not a REAL nice ring, though.”

ARKANSAS:  romance novels, Zale’s jewelry – Romance novels? So Arkansas has a lot of lonely women, eh?  Seems like information all the men searching for jewelery could use.  “We don’t have to try real hard, Zeke.  There’s singles e’erwhere!”

CALIFORNIA:  gold, cubic zirconia jewelry, couples pajamas, heart-shaped sunglasses, bondage kit – California started out strong, faded down the stretch and then hit a buzzer-beater there at the end.  Heart-shaped sunglasses?  I thought you were better than that, California.

COLORADO:  platinum rings, fondue, dance lessons, couples yoga, aphrodisiac foods – Platinum?  Well, look who’s got money!  It is Colorado, so I’m a little surprised “romantic bong” didn’t make the list.

CONNECTICUT:  Edible Arrangements, smoking jacket – I don’t know what to do with this information, Connecticut.  I mean, Edible Arragnements is pretty standard territory, but then you go off the rails with smoking jacket.  Are smoking jackets big in Connecticut?  If anyone lives up there, let me know.

DELAWARE:  gift card – “Delaware: We Quit Trying Decades Ago.”  Why do you need to Google “gift card?”  Do you not know what they are?  I mean, never mind the fact that you’re being real lazy here, I really want to know what facts you were looking for.

FLORIDA:  Pandora jewelry, Barry White songs – Any wonder Florida’s searches skew a little more on the…mature side?  “Martha, I got you a Pandora bracelet about the grandkids!  Yeah, I thought that’d get you worked up!  I’m gonna put “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe” on repeat and we’re gonna go at it!” <pops little blue pill> “In thirty to forty-five minutes.  Also, my sciatica is acting up, so no doggy style today.”

GEORGIA:  satin pajamas, couples outfits – Satin?  Sexy, but reasonable.  That is so Georgia.  Also, couples outfits?  Not pajamas.  Implying that you intend to go out in public looking like creepy twins from the 1950’s?  Now that is Georgia.

HAWAII:  flower, platinum, pearls, pearl jewelry, Tahitian pearls, romantic comedy (movie genre), couples massage, tandem kayak – So, think about pearls much, Hawaii?  “She said I could give her a pearl necklace this year!”  “That’s not what she meant, Hu’uu’mu’a.”

IDAHO:  Adam & Eve (the online store, not the Adam & Eve from the Bible) – I don’t know if “(the online store, not the Adam & Eve from the Bible)” was added by the editor at Estately, but I like to think that the people of Idaho feel it necessary to be that specific in the Google searches.  “pearl necklace (not the Hawaiian kind, the one where you ejaculate on her neck)”  or “handcuffs (the fuzzy, sexy kind, not the kind Paw was hauled of to jail in last week).”

ILLINOIS:  chocolate fondue – “Illinois: Where Romance Meets….eh, Fuck It.”

INDIANA:  romantic gifts, romantic getaway, couples vacation, mood music,  “Indiana: Get Us The Fuck Out Of Here”

IOWA:  tandem bicycle – What the actual fuck, Iowa?  I mean, I know your shit is flat as Hell, but you gotta try harder than that.

KANSAS:  Helzberg Diamonds, Valentine’s recipes – “Kansas: We Got One Jewlery Store and A Crockpot!”

KENTUCKY:  couples tattoos, 50 Shades of Grey (novel), 50 Shades of Grey (film), songs to ____ to, roses, porn for couples,  – This may be the best list on here, assuming the “blank” is because a real estate blog is afraid to use the word “fuck.”  Not an issue I myself have.  Of course, it could be “songs to get the Hell out of Kentucky to.”

LOUISIANA:  jewelry, men’s jewelry (tie w/ Oklahoma), pearl earrings, adult sex toys, oysters, silk sheets, cheesecake – “Louisiana: We’re Tied With Oklahoma In Desire For Men’s Jewelery – Suck It, Utah!”  And what is going on in Louisiana that they feel the need to add the word “adult” when searching for sex toys.

MAINE:   lobster, lobster recipe, Maidenform, Robert Burns (poetry) – Why is Maine Googling lobster recipes?  Isn’t lobster the State bird?  Maidenform?  “Happy Valentines, Sweetie!  Here’s some sensible undergarments for you!”

MARYLAND:  ProFlowers (company), couples activities, Valentine’s Day dinner, Sade (band), Sears portraits – Just leave, Maryland.  Seriously.  “Hey baby, I printed out the lyrics to “Smooth Operator” and framed ’em for you.  Figured you could hang them in the breakroom at CVS.  Now hurry up, our sitting time at the Sears is in half an hour.  You think they still got that background with the lasers on it?”

MASSACHUSETTS:  couples cooking class – “Massachusetts:There’s Fuck-All To Do Up Here.  Seriously, Can We Just Leave Already?”

MICHIGAN:  ballroom dancing lessons – There’s a lot of pissed off wives in Michigan if so many husbands are will to try ballroom dancing.

MINNESOTA:  silk boxers – You guys are above the Arctic circle, shouldn’t you be getting thermal underwear?  And there’s nothing women love more than for her Valentine’s Day gift to be underwear for you.  “Look what I got you!”  “Wow…and they’re Minnesota Vikings underwear!”  “Fuck yeah they are!  Go Vikes!”

MISSISSIPPI:  pearl necklace, cheap jewelry, cheap lingerie, men’s cologne, mixtape – Don’t you ever change, Mississippi.  Don’t you ever fucking change.  Cheap jewelry, cheap lingerie AND a mixtape?!  Somebody’s getting butt stuff tonight.

MISSOURI:  Hallmark cards, couples resort, vejazzling – Well, “vajazzling” is the act of decorating your lady bits.  I assume “vejazzling” is simply putting self-adhesive crystals on vegetables.  “You really dolled up the broccoli tonight, Ida-May!  What’s the big occasion?  Oh crap…”

MONTANA:  silver, lobster tails – “Montana: Tryin’ Is Hard.”

NEBRASKA: Helzberg jewelry – “Nebraska: We’re Kansas, Without That High-Falutin’ Crockpot”

NEVADA:  Frederick’s of Hollywood, corset, Boyz II Men, adult onesie, sexy costume – You had me ’til “Boyz II Men,” Nevada.  That’s a great sentence you made me write, though.

NEW HAMPSHIRE:  stuffed animal – “New Hampshire: Look At Those Lucky Bastards in Massachusetts.”

NEW JERSEY:  long-stem roses, box of chocolate, chocolate gift, romantic movies, gift basket, wine gift basket – Stop playing, New Jersey.  Nobody is buying this bullshit.  We all know the real list – Axe body spray, hair gel, define sexual harrasment, go fuck yourself Google, how do i spell “je-bro-knee”

NEW MEXICO:  hickey, Indiana jewelry, silver jewelry – I tried, New Mexico, I really did.  I Googled “Indiana jewelry” thinking it was some geographically specific designer.  Nope.  All I got was a list of jewelry stores in Indiana.  I don’t get it.  But then again, you also Googled “hickey” so who the fuck knows what’s going on over there?

NEW YORK:  1-800-FLOWERS, earrings, chocolate baskets, Harlequin books, wine delivery, couples spa package, Victoria’s Secret, champagne, silk pajamas, candygram, romantic motel, perfume, romantic restaurants, mink coat – Goddammit, New York, the web address for  1-800-FLOWERS is 1800flowers.com.  It’s in the fucking jingle.

NORTH CAROLINA:  sterling silver jewelry – Hey darlin’, here’s some reasonably priced jewelry that I know you won’t get much for when you inevitably pawn it after we breakup.  So, suck it.  And hey, speaking of suck it…

NORTH DAKOTA:  gifts for him, couples retreat, flower bouquet – “Gifts for him.”  You know what, thanks North Dakota.  It’s bad enough he has to live in fucking North Dakota, so it’s nice of you to get him a new air freshener for the tractor.  I assume.

OHIO:  Pandora bracelet, romantic getaways – “Ohio: As Usual, We’re Just Gonna See What Everyone Else Is Doing And Steal The Least Interesting Ideas.”

OKLAHOMA:  Teleflora, men’s jewelry (tie w/ Louisiana), relationship counseling, marriage counseling, boudoir photography, boudoir photos, – Things a bit dodgy in Oklahoma?  “Hey Pumpkin, I couldn’t decide between a gift certificate for counseling or boudoir photos, so here’s a six-pack and a selfie of me on the shitter.”

OREGON:  poetry, romance novel, romance movies – I fell asleep reading that list, Oregon.  You’re already Oregon.  Maybe try a little harder or you’re gonna end up the Massachusetts of the Northwest.  Is that what you want, Oregon?

PENNSYLVANIA:  edible underwear, Hershey’s Kisses – 12 points for edible underwear, Pennsylvania.  Sadly, minus 1500 for Hershey’s Kisses.  Hershey is IN your fucking state.  It’s like you saw that Maine was Googling lobsters and thought, “Fuck them!  We can be lazier than that!”

RHODE ISLAND:  Pandora charms, charm bracelet, bracelet, couples dancing lessons, romantic hotel – Look, Rhode Island, you seem like a decent state, but at the end of the day, you’re Rhode Island.  I know we all make fun of the guy with the little penis who drives the Ferrari, but you could at least try to compensate.  Don’t be tiny and boring.

SOUTH CAROLINA:  matching outfits, how to be romantic – I can only hope that the search was in that order, and Google responded to “how to be romantic” with “not matching outfits, you fuckwit.”

SOUTH DAKOTA:  gold jewelry, Romeo and Juliet, JCPenney portraits – “Okay, because I love you, we’ll read one more scene, but then we have to get to the Penney!”  JC Penney?  Hey Maryland, you just got beat by South Dakota!  That’s gotta sting.

TENNESSEE:  cheap sex toys – I love you so hard, Tennessee.  “I really want Merlene to have an orgasm, and I’m willing to spend up to seven dollars to make that happen.  Including shipping.”

TEXAS:  Valentines for him, edible panties, discount sex toys, plus-size lingerie –  This is the most Texas fucking list I’ve ever seen.

UTAH:  cute valentines, men’s rings, cubic zirconia, Sweethearts candy, Conversation Hearts, lingerie, couples games – Oh, Utah.  I don’t even know….so uninspired….something about Mormons…..fuck it…..

VERMONT:  chocolate, romantic movies – “Vermont: What?  Like you’re Gonna Move To New Hampshire?  Shut Up And Look At The Foliage.”

VIRGINIA:  romance (TV show genre), Kama Sutra, romantic music, sexy songs – “All right, one more episode of “Murphy Brown” but then we put on Kenny G and try ‘The Lotus Blossom.'”

WASHINGTON:  bear skin rug, platinum ring, red wine, sparkling wine, aphrodisiacs – Um, Washington, a bear skin rug IS an aphrodisiac, duh!

WEST VIRGINIA:  Valentine’s Day ideas, cheap gifts, eCards, handcuffs, video games – “Hey Darryl, here’s half a Snickers and a used copy of Fallout 4.”  “Thanks, sweetie!  What’s the handcuffs for?” “You know I just got the job at mall security!  Dammit, Darryl, you never listen to anything I say!”

WISCONSIN:  teddy bear, fur coat – “Wisconsin: As Cold As Fuck, As Romantic As A Seventh-Grader.  Go Packers!”

WYOMING:  flowers, sex toys, adult toys, vibrator, bra, mail-order bride – I’m gonna go open a store in Wyoming that sells sex toys and flowers, and if they ever get any women to move there, I will make an absolute fortune.  Of course, I’ll be stuck in Wyoming….

Holy F#*k!

I was scouring the internet looking for stuff to make fun of, and I asked myself, “Where do I find judgmental, I-know-more-than-you assholes who like to tell people what to do?”

And then it hit me…

Christians.

A few Google searches later, I stumbled on a Christian sex advice blog.  Could this be what I was looking for?  You’re damn right.  As you read this entry, keep in mind that all of this sex advice is aimed at married adults, because, you know, no sex until marriage is kind of their thing.

On the front page of the blog is an entry (tee-hee, entry) on what to get your husband for Christmas for your “marriage bed.”  Ideas included here are: a canopy, wall art (hers is a scripture quote, because nothing says “ride me, cowboy” like the Paul’s letter to the Phoenicians), socks (wtf?), lingerie (ok), and games.  Games?  Now we’re onto something.  Her example is a Spin The Bottle game, where each space on the wheel is a different act.  Maybe I was wrong about these Christian sex fiends, maybe they’ve got it going on.  Let’s see what’s written on these spaces, shall we?  Hmm…”butt squeeze.”  Okay, bit of a slow start.  How about, “Kiss on the cheek?”  What?  Maybe the next spin you’ll score with “Hold hands.”  Hold hands?  Why, Marjorie, you little strumpet!!  But don’t forget “Words of affirmation.”  Words.  Of.  Affirmation.  Look, ladies, the only “words of affirmation” your man wants to hear in the bedroom are, “I’m cool with butt stuff” or “I believe you remember Lexie, from yoga class?”

Let’s move on.

Here’s one called Oral Sex: How To.  Let’s dive into this.  (pun intended)

She writes here that some people (satanists, no doubt) have gotten oral sex tips from watching porn.  Not her, though.  “Here’s the truth: I have never seen a porn film. I put it in the ranks of heroin. I don’t need to try it to know I don’t need to try it.”

Porn = heroin.

I suppose then that the sports bra-clad mannequin at Dick’s Sporting Goods is marijuana.  Which makes yoga pants mushrooms.  Bikini watching at the pool would be….Valium?  Strip clubs are clearly cocaine, and the entire country of Thailand is crystal meth.

She goes out on a limb with her next sentence, “The point is, some husbands would like their wives to “go down” on them.”  Yeah, maybe one or two.

Then we get into the meat (I am killing it today with the entendres!) of the article, the “How-To.”

Do you really blow?”  This is an article for married women.  Married, meaning, presumably, not 13.

How much of his penis do I put in my mouth?”   “You can put your mouth only around the head of the penis, move your mouth over the shaft, or even deep-throat your husband’s penis (see below).”  Hahahaha – “see below.”

What do I do with my mouth?”  “We’ve established that you don’t blow, but you do kiss, lick, and suck with your lips and tongue. The tongue, in fact, can be very important in stimulation.”  Can be?

Should I spit or swallow?”  I suppose I should really resist the urge to make a “What would Jesus do?” joke here.  But she goes on to say, “If you don’t want to swallow, be polite about spitting.”  Yeah, I mean, a little decorum wouldn’t kill you, ladies.

“”What if I give my husband a blow job, and I don’t like it? Will I have to do it again?”  “There is NO rule that you must have oral sex as part of an intimate relationship. Plenty of sexually satisfied couples do not engage in it.”  I repeat, “Plenty of sexually satisfied couples do not engage in it.”  Umm, I’m gonna need you to cite your sources on this one.  Later she suggests, “Perhaps you don’t want to perform fellatio, but you are willing to do strip-tease for him or introduce an appropriate sex toy or give him a hand job.”  Appropriate sex toy.  Appropriate.  How did that go?

Wife:  “How about adding a toy to our marriage bed?”
Husbands runs off and returns a moment later with a toy.
Wife:  “That’s Buzz Lightyear.”
Husband runs off again.
Wife:  “That’s a vegetable steamer.”
Runs off once more.
Wife:  “That’s my Nana’s trophy for taking third place in the Tri-County Ping Pong Tournament, 1957.”
Husband:  “I read this thing on the internet that said anything’s a dildo if you’re brave enough.”
Wife:  “When were you on the internet?!”
Husband:  “I…”
Wife:  “Go burn the laptop.”
Husband:  “We could just do system restore, that would get rid of any-“
Wife:  “BURN IT!”

And, scene.

In the comments section, there are WAY too many comments from men married 10 or more years, hoping that his article will convince their wives to at least try oral sex.  Look, if you want to save yourself for marriage, knock yourself out, but at least be smart enough to discuss this stuff ahead of time.  Number of kids?  Where should we live?   Are you a vegetarian?  And on a similar note, where do we stand on this whole genital licking thing?  Seriously, ask.  Because, it’s going to come up (on fire, I tell you!).  Your husband knows about blow jobs.  He’s heard people talking about them.  Or even seen one.  And if you’re husband says he has never seen porn, he’s a damn liar.  If nothing else, some ne’er do in his neighborhood (probably that Travis from down the street), showed him something. And even if he did leave right away, there is no way he will ever forget the very nice things that buxom college girl was doing to her professor’s penis.

In the article, “How Kinky Can You Get?” appears the sentence, “I cannot find a Bible verse that says, “Thou Shalt Not . . .” to anal penetration.”  Awesome.  I don’t think I’m going to get very far with that argument.  I mean, yes, of course, I’m gonna give it a shot.  It won’t hurt.  (I’ve also tried that argument, fyi.)

Last but not least, let’s see if we can “Freshen Up Your Foreplay.”

Try such fancy things as:

“Give each other body massages or a sensual massage of your private areas.”
  Wait, isn’t the exact definition of foreplay pretty much “a sensual massage of your private areas?”  What the hell are these people doing for foreplay?

“Introduce food into your sexual play.”  
I mean, yeah, this sounds like fun, but every time I try to bring bacon-wrapped filets to bed, it’s all  “Oww!  Oww!  That burns!  Dammit!  Get it off me!”

“Grab some props. Gather a few items with texture or temperature — like a feather, heat packs, sensory massage balls, a silk scarf, an ice cube or chilled hard-boiled egg.”  
All right, all right, all right.  This is some good shit here…wait…a hard-boiled egg?

“Grab a Nerf gun. It’s a good motto for life really: If all else fails, grab a Nerf gun and see how that can improve your mood. Actually. load that baby up with water and squirt away at each other.”  
Everything else aside, you can’t load a Nerf gun with water.  Come on, lady!  Get your head out of your ass here!

“Get Spiritual
. Have you ever brought God into the bedroom in a big way?”  Look, lady, I’ve been asking for a threeway for nineteen fucking years.  It’s just not that easy.  Side note, if you bring God into the bedroom, is it still considered a “devil’s threesome?”

For The Love Of….A Good Man?

In my never ending search for horrible dating and sex advice, I stumbled across Girlgetsring.com.  This site, purveyor of the “Girl Gets Ring System,” is obviously a bastion of feminism and 21st century thinking, promising to show you ladies the quickest, surest route to getting your man to pop the question, I assume so you can get your ass back in the kitchen.  (I keed, I keed.)

The only, and I do mean only, thing about this website that makes any sense is that it’s written by two men.  Hear me out.  You should all know by now that I have long mocked the “What A Man Wants In Bed” Cosmo articles that are all written by women.  So at least in this case, men are writing about how to get men to propose.  So…..that’s……something.

Right?

The problems start immediately.  The authors are Jonathan Green whose bio includes, “As an expert at starting relationships, he has approached and spoken with over 35,000 women around the world in bars, clubs and even on the streets.”  I can only assume he has one of the clickers on his belt that he uses to keep count of these over 35,000 women, most of whom probably live in the Niagara Falls area, so you wouldn’t know them.  The other is TW “T DUB” Jackson.  His bio says, “T Dub, Author of The Magic Of Making Up, has directly and indirectly helped over 100,000 couples in over 77 countries fix badly broken relationships.”  Wow.  He has indirectly helped 100,000 couples.  Impressive.  Also, “T Dub?”  I shall now list the subjects for which you may take advice from someone named T-Dub: car stereos, car rims, the location of a “bangin’ night club,” miscellaneous other car accessories, hair gel, where to find the nearest Gold’s gym, umm…….that’s really it.  Did you notice if relationships were on that list?

The website has a video you can watch, narrated by T-Dub himself.  Above the video is warning that, “This video could be taken down without notice so we urge you to WATCH TO THE VERY END.”  Very intense.  The video is about the 3 things you mustn’t do if you want that ring.

Let’s watch, shall we?

(Author’s note: T-Dub sounds like an uninspired, mid-level corporate accountant.  Just sayin’.) Side note: the “video” is just MC (I assume) T-Dub’s voice over the text he’s reading, so video is a strong word here.  He’s betting I will be shocked by the secrets about men he reveals today.  I’m betting he’s wrong.

Oh shit, first he’s gotta tell me a story, one that is hard for him to tell because he gets choked up.  I bet it’s about a puppy who dies.

Dammit.  It’s not about a puppy, but if he uses one more shitty metaphor, I may want a puppy to die just so it doesn’t have to listen to him anymore. Goddammit, I will punch this guy’s English teacher if I ever met him or her.

It’s a story (clearly made up) of him breaking up with a girlfriend.  So far, he’s not the least bit choked up.  Even if this guy’s relationship advice is 7 million times better than his storytelling ability, it’s still gonna be shit.  Okay, so no puppy, but the girl does have a kitty, she’s not dead, but does seem saddened by the breakup.

Well, that was a shitty story.  He dumped a girl, then felt like an ass, then vowed to find out why he couldn’t commit.  Whoop-dee-fuck.

So, apparently, all men have mental road blocks that keep them from committing.  Stop laughing, you guys, he’s helped hundreds of thousands of people.  Fortunately, women can easily remove them once they know what they are.  Unfortunately, most women, will never figure them out.

Ugh…he just referred to himself in the third person as “T-Dub.”

Okay, I just suffered through 15 minutes of “men are emotional morons” (a point I’m not arguing) but I think we are finally onto the tip portion.  (Heehee, just the tip, please.  See, emotional moron.)

The most important tip is his “Masculine Hero Avatar Principle.”  (Horrible movie, btw.)

Jesus, how fucking long is this thing?

He just said “like it ain’t no thang.”

Haha.  “Such a big change from one small tip.”

Still nothing on the Avatar Principle thing.

Last tip was some shit about letting him know you’re in to the real him.  Whatever.

There is no slider on this video, so it’s possible there’s another 400 minutes left, meaning I’m about halfway done.

Tip #2 (or is it 3?):  Ask these questions that allow him to reveal himself.  Ugh.  What he actual fuck?

heehee “Here comes the really big, massive tip.”  If I had a nickel….

Uh oh, if we fail to understand this tip, we will forever be unable to understand men.  FOREVER!  Shit just got real people.

Ok.  It’s that Avatar thing.  It just says that men (read: people) have an image of how they see themselves and an image or how they think others see them.  Here’s where T-Dub pauses and asks, “Are yo with me so far?”  Uh, yeah, T-Dub.  I think we got it.  It’s not quantum physics.

Umm…now he’s talking about knights and castles for some damn reason.

Wait, why is he pointing out that super heroes don’t have wives?

And now some shit about how men feel destined to greatness but they don’t know it but you women (if you want a husband, and, of course you do) have to understand their destiny better than they do even though they don’t even know it themselves.  Or some such shit.  I don’t know.  I may have nodded off.

He just said, “Whew!  That was a lot to cover!”  Was it T-Dub?  Was it?

hahahaha  (I am going back and editing, and I have no idea why I wrote this here.  I didn’t leave myself any notes on this.  Probably just T-Dub being T-Dub.)

Now you have 2 choices: Take this info and go it alone, and you may have some success if you “took some really careful notes.”  Or, there’s “The Savvy Choice.”  (Sidenote, I think I’m gonna start referring to blow jobs as “The Savvy Choice.”  I don’t know why.)  Shockingly, the “Savvy Choice” involves giving T-Dub money.

Egad, the system includes how to inoculate your man from “whores, trollops, and skanks.”  That’s good, I know I am not up to date on my whore booster, and the last trollop vaccine I got was for last year’s strain and isn’t doing me any good.   As for me, my crippling fear of STDs is the only skank inoculation I need.

It’s only $97!  But wait, there’s more!

A book on the mistakes women make when online dating (a $37 value!).

A book on how to correct relationship mistakes (a $27 value!)

And a 90-minute cd on long distance relationships (a $47 value!).

I think there’s a deal coming for having sat through this shit-show of a video, but first, I have to hear about how he set his inspiring goal of helping a million women find the relationship they DESERVE!

The cause is called the MILLION MARRIAGE MISSION!  I think T-Dub may be a marketing genius.

He’s lowering the cost because he doesn’t want “finances” to stop anyone.  I don’t think T-Dub understands how quotes work.

So today, it’s not $217, not even half of that, not even $67…Holy Shit!  Just $47 dollars!  For hours worth of vague, yet utterly useless, dating advice.  That’s a fucking deal.

WHAT?!  A 60-day money back guarantee?  I’d be a fool not to buy this!

OH.  MY.  GOD.  T-Dub is throwing in another item if I purchase before the video ends.  It’s like he doesn’t even want to make money.

Umm…if I buy it I am just minutes away from their Support Staff who can answer any questions I have.  Here’s how that has to go:

Lonely lady: “Um, yeah, T-Tub?”

T-Dub: “Dat’s right.”

Lonely lady: “Yeah, listen, I’m dating this great guy and I’ve used your system and everything’s awesome, but he says we can’t get married until we try anal.  What should I do?”

T-Dub: “Ya gotta be down for butt stuff, baby.”

T-Dub is always down for butt stuff.

The website also has a few “articles” on it, all of which are about useful as the video.  I highly recommend you don’t bother.

On the off chance you came here for actual advice, well, then, I think we’ve already established why you’re painfully single, but if you must know, the secret “tips” in the video boil down to:

Be yourself.

Be supportive.

Be at least a little into spanking.

It’s possible I made one of those up.

More Like “Te-Kill-Ya,” Am I Right?

I used to drink.

I mean, I still drink.  But I used to DRINK.  For instance, when I went to see a student doctor and filled the questionnaire as to the number of drinks per week I consumed, she erased the number saying, “I cannot go to the review board and tell them that.”  She cut it down by a third.  The following week, after she had presented my “revised” info to the review board she said they were still shocked by the number.  Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of that, but I kinda am.

But this isn’t about regular drinking.  This is about tequila, and my apparent inability to realize it is not my friend.  My freshman year of college was when I first really started in on tequila.  Now mind you, I had spent a year living in Europe before I started college, so I had a leg up on drinking.  One night, my dorm hall decided it was time for a celebration, I can’t remember why, but if I had to guess, it was probably to celebrate the end of day that ended with “y.”  (We weren’t real particular when it came to finding reasons to drink.)  A pal and myself discovered a tequila called “Dos Gusanos” which was Spanish for “Two Worms.”  This was spectacular, we thought, there’s two worms, there’s two of us!  What escaped us, was that between us and the two worms lay a fifth of cheap, cheap tequila.  But we weren’t so easily deterred, and we powered through it.  At some point that night, I tried a flying tackle on someone, I have no idea whom.  I missed.  Well, I missed the person I was trying to tackle.  I made contact with the iron radiator behind him and split my head wide open.  Wide open.  I remember almost none of this.  I was told the next day that I fought off and threatened anyone who had the audacity to suggest a trip to the hospital.  I awoke the next day with dozens of paper towels taped to my head, so I let someone do “first aid” at least.

A couple of years later, the tequila monster struck again.  I have no recollection of why.  I remember, well, remember is a strong word, but I am pretty sure that I split a half gallon with 2 other guys.  Let me do the math for you, that’s a shit-ton of tequila, particularly as I weighed about 150 pounds at the time.  After downing the entire bottle – in shot form, mind you – it was decided that heading out to a party was the best course of action.  It wasn’t.  No sooner did we get there than the 2 guys I was drinking with got into a knock-down drag-out fight, with each other.  I wandered off by myself and headed for the party.  The fact that I didn’t know where it was exactly, or even whose it was, mattered not.  What did matter, though, was my big, fat, tequila soaked mouth and what it said to the two guys I passed along the way.  While I technically have no idea what that might have been, I don’t think it was particularly nice.  I know this because they spent some time beating my ass.  (Apparently, the, uh, vitriolic nature of tequila doesn’t not jibe well with my personality. Go figure.)  The next thing I remember was being prodded awake by a woman I didn’t know, asking me if I was okay.  Naturally, I responded “yes” and we made our way to the party.

Now, because I am not a complete moron, I decided the following day that tequila shots were not my best option.

But surely margaritas would be fine, right?

She was the assistant manager at the night club I worked at, and she easily makes my Top Ten list for all time, drinkingest sons-a-bitches I’ve ever met.  It was quite common for us to go to her apartment after work (usually 2 or 3 in the morning) and do some quality drinking.  This night, she started in with the margaritas.  Which was fine, right?  ‘Cause it wasn’t tequila shots.  So what could possibly go wrong?

We got bored after a bit, and God only knows how many margaritas – a lot, that much will be clear in a moment.  “Let’s go for a walk,” she said.  Several blocks from her apartment stood a water tower, guarded only by a low chain link fence.  It was one of the older style water towers, and as such it looked simply like a giant golf ball sitting atop a tee.  The ladder to the top started at the base of that center column.  That wasn’t so bad.  Now picture what must happen to the ladder when it reaches the bottom of the water tower basin.  That’s right, it bends backwards.  So now, my drunk ass is hanging from a ladder some 60 feet in the air with my assistant manager ahead of me, spurring me on.  (I guess she was an effective leader?)  The ladder only went halfway up the bulb of the tower and stopped.  If you wanted to get to the top of the tower (and hey, you’ve already come this far, dumbass), you had to make your way to the other ladder on the complete opposite side.  My “friend” was already well on her way.  To get to this other ladder, I stepped off the first ladder onto a metal rail that ran around the circumference of the bulb.  There was no upper rail to hold onto, no hand holds on the side of the tower.  Nothing.  The only option was put my back against the tower, pressing as hard as I dared, and shuffle-step my way all the way around.  But at least it was dark and I was drunk.  I made it, eventually.  I climbed the remaining ladder to the very top, where my boss awaited.  I had never been so happy to be a 120 feet up on a sloping steel bulb.

It was here that, for better or worse, I began to sober up.  I have no idea how long we were up there, but when it was time to make the descent, it was still dark and I was disappointingly sober.  Sobriety brought a fear I didn’t need.  Somehow, some very time consuming how, I made it to the ground safely.

And finally, fucking finally, I learned that tequila is a spirit best left to others.

Things That Should Be Names of Sex Acts

 

The Linus Van Pelt

Gepetto’s Workshop

The Sticky Ladder

Manitoba Lockjaw

Manheim Steamroller

The Purple Toenail

Donner and Blitzen

The Al Roker

Tibetan Barking Spider

Tennessee Sunshine

The Flying Snapper

The Whirling Dervish

Mickey’s Fun House

Aunt Marge and Her Angry Cousin

The Soapless Carwash

Elevator Muzak

The Floppy Cactus

The Wichita Flame Thrower

Seven Minutes in Thailand

Mexican Prison

The Penguins of Madagascar

A Sphincter Says “What?”

The Unlicensed Dentist

The Balloon Payment

The Fiddler’s Revenge

A Belgian Waffle

The Parisian Hobo

Darby Blankenship’s Doctoral Thesis

Three Parisian Hobos

“No, You’re Allergic to Scorpions!”

Mississippi Butter Churner

Bombs Over Baghdad

Mr. Magoo Gets a Surprise

A Cantaloupe and A Little Courage

Going To Dairy Queen

Martha’s Vineyard

The Croatian Windmill

Norwegian Fjord Hound

The Trumpet of the Gods

The Bottomless Bread Basket

The Electoral College

The Van Der Graaf Generator

Dian Fossey and The Silent Gorilla

The Mobius Strip

A Cartesian Circle

The Bering Strait

The Flying Hobbit

Minnesota Launchpad

Pluto’s Remorse

Psalms 2: Electric Boogaloo – The Complete, Unabridged Psalms of Reverend Buddy Bell

Psalm 151 – Guilty feet hath got no rhythm.

Psalm 152 – Every rose hath its thorns, just as every night hath its dawn.

Psalm 153 – Carryeth on, mine prodigal son.  There shalt be peace when thou art done.

Psalm 154 – Dust in the wind, all thou art, is dust in the wind.

Psalm155 – Mine anaconda wanteth none unless thou hast buns, hon.

Psalm 156 – When a problem cometh along, thou must whip it. When something goeth wrong, thou must whip it.

Psalm 157 – If there be a problem, I shalt solveth it, checketh out the hook whilst mine DJ revolveth it.

Psalm 158 – Oh, baby, thou, thou hast what I needeth, but thou sayeth he’s just a friend.

Psalm 159 – Waketh me up, before thou go-go, keepeth me not, hanging on like a yo-yo.

Psalm 160 – Thou hast to fight, for thine right, to party.

Psalm 161 – Thou must beatest it, no one wanteth to be defeated.  Showest how funky strong is thine fight. It matters not who’s wrong or right.

Psalm 162 – Verily, I sayeth unto thee, fat bottomed girls, thou makest the rocking world go round.

Psalm 163 – Thou must knowest when to hold ’em. Knowest when to fold ’em. Thou shalt knowest when to walk away, and knowest when to run.

Psalm 164 – Tis but a jump to the left. And then thou shalt step to the right. Hands on thine hips, thou shalt bringest thine knees in tight.

Psalm 165 – Searcheth for thine lost shaker of salt. Some shalt claimeth a woman be to blame, but thou knowest – tis nobody’s fault.

Psalm 166 – If thou covet pina coladas, and the rain, if thou refute yoga and possess half a brain, tis I thou doth seek, write to me and escape.

Psalm 167 – Never gonna giveth thou up, never gonna letteth thou down. Never gonna runneth around and deserteth thou.

Psalm 168 – Thou better shape up, alas, I needst a man. And mine heart is set up on thou. Thou better shape up, to mine heart I must be true.

Psalm 169 – Thou art nothin’ but a hound dog, cryin’ all the time. Thou hath ne’er caught a rabbit, and thou art no friend of mine.

Psalm 170 – Thou shalt rolleth down the street, smoketh endo, sippeth on gin and juice. With thy mind on thy money, and thy money on thy mind.

Psalm 171 – Thou shalt not stop believin’. Verily, I command thee, holdest on to the feelin’. Streetlights, people.

Psalm 172 – Our Lord on high, Rebekah, cast thine gaze upon her buttocks. Tis grand. She doth appear as if one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.

Psalm 173 – Thou shalt no be forgetful of mine number. Verily, love hath fortitude beyond that of a thunder.

Psalm 174 – Thou may dance if thou so desire, thou may abandon thy friends. For if thy friends danceth not, they shalt be no friends of mine.

Psalm 175 – Yon projectile hath pierced mine heart and thou art to blameth. Dearest maiden, thou hath bestowed upon love a bad name.

Psalm 176 – I hath been tryin’ babay, tryin’ to holdeth back this feelin’. And if thou feelest like I feelest, let’s lay together as if man and wife.

Psalm 177 – Verily, Mickey, thou art so fine, thou art so fine, thou blowest my mind. Alas, Mickey! Alas, Mickey!

Psalm 178 – If I stayest here with thou, girl, things shalt not remain the same. Lo, I’m as free as the dove, now, and this dove thou canst change.

Psalm 179 – Thou must cut loose, footloose. Kick of thine Sabbath shoes. I plead of thou, Louise, pullest me off of mine knees.

Psalm 180 – Shouldst there be something strange in thine neighborhood, who art thou gonna call? Disembodied apparition busters!

Psalm 181 – So, serving wench, bringeth forth a carafe, another round of wine. Maiden, why don’t we get drunk and lay together?

Psalm 182 – Alas, I hath been caught pilfering, once, when I was V…I enjoyest pilfering, tis just as simple as that.

Psalm 183 – And the name of the beast shalt be Kris Kross, and Kris Kross shalt maketh thee jump, jump.

Psalm 184 – Tis rainin’ men, Hallelujah. Tis rainin’ men, Amen. Thou shalt go out, thou shalt lettest thineself get absolutely soaking wet.

Psalm 185 – Lo, lo, lo, lo baby-pop! Cometh yonder, giveth unto me kiss. Thou best make it fast, or alas I shalt become pissed.

Psalm 186 – Money talks, but it doth not sing nor dance nor walk. If I can haveth thou here with me, I’d preferest to be, forever in blue jeans.

Psalm 187 – Once, I raneth unto thou. Now I shalt runneth from thou. This tainted love thou given unto me, I hath given thou all a boy could givest.

Psalm 188 – Shouldst I stay or shouldst I go now? If I go, there shalt be peril, and if I stay it shalt be two-fold.

Psalm 189 – Tonight, I shalt rejoice as if it were the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and ninety-nine.

Psalm 190 – I hath mine hands up, they art playing mine hymn. I knowest I shalt be okay, forsooth, tis a party in the Promised Land.

Psalm 191 – Forsooth, if thou were indeed enamored of it, then thou shouldst have put a ring upon it.

Psalm 192 – In West Canaan, born and raised, in the temple was where I spenteh most of mine days, preachin’ out, maxin’, prostelyzin’ all cool…

Psalm 193 – Thou spinnest me right ’round, betrothed, right ’round like yon millstone, betrothed.

Psalm194 – Someday somebody shalt maketh thou wish to turn ’round and bid farewell. Art thou to let them holdest thou down and makest thou weep?

Psalm 195 – I’m sailing away, seteth thine sextant for the virgin sea. I shalt be liberated, free to faceth the life that’s ahead of me.

Psalm 196 – Thine kiss is upon mine scroll, of the best things in life. Thine kiss i can ne’er resist, when I blowest out yon candle.

Psalm 197 – Tis a parable for all the fellas, thou may attempt to do what yon maidens tell us, getteth shot down cause thou art over-desirous.

Psalm 198 – The Hitites doth speak, canst they just letteth me live? I needeth not permission, maketh mine own decisions, tis mine prerogative.

Psalm 199 – She’s a limestone dwelling. She’s dressed immodestly. The maiden’s stacked, and lo, tis a fact, she doth reserve nothing.

Psalm 200 – My perils doth be one shy of a century, but verily, a disrespectful maid of low moral standing be not one.


Psalm 172 – Dance Remix

I had intended at some point to do a thing where I showed what it would look like if my 9th graded English teacher graded Si Mixalot’s “I Like Big Butts” as if I had turned it in for a poetry project.  It’d be mostly just different ways of saying “This is INAPPROPRIATE!”  I never did that.

But now, I’d like to present you with “I Like Big Butts” if it were from the Bible.  Presented with the help of Daniel, from “Jessie’s Girl, The Aftermath” fame.  No, not fame.  Infamy?  No, that’s too much.  Well, whatever the opposite of fame is that’s not infamy.

Our Lord on High, Rebekah, cast thine gaze upon her buttocks. Tis grand. She doth appear as if one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.

 

None who walk the Earth understandeth those rap guys.  They speak upon her solely because of resemblance to an unvirtuous maiden.

 

 

 

Her buttocks art so grand.

I stand in awe of its size perfect symmetry

Tis presented for all mankind to witness

Tis not a desiderata.

Verily, she is so Egyptian

 

 

 

Yea and verily, I like posteriors as big as the Jordan, and I doth not lie. You other pharisees cannot deny.

 

Forsooth, upon the entrance of yon maid with an itty-bitty waist and who presenteth a round thing unto thine visage, thou become sprung.

 

 

 

I doth want to pull up tough. Hark, thou believeth that the butt is stuffed. Deep in yon jeans she’s wearing, I am desirous and cannot help but to cast my visage upon them.

 

 

 

Oh, baby I doth desire to lay with thou
And cast thou image
Mine companions tried to warneth me
But alas, that butt thou possess
Maketh me desirous for the pleasures of the flesh.

 

 

Hark, lay hands upon that smooth skin.
Thou desires to ride upon my oxcart?
Then, useth me. Yea, useth me.
Because thou art no mongrel disciple.

 

I hath lain in witness of their gyrations
And it hath rendered me impervious to the notion of romance
She’s sweat,wet, hath it goin like a turbo chariot

 

 

I grow weary of those scribes
That say flat butts are of divine importance.
Take the ordinary Egyptian and inquire thus, and verily he shall speak:
“The maiden most possess an abundance of back.”

 

 

So apostles(amen), apostles(amen),
Testify if thine betrothed hath the butt (hallelujah).
Well shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest thine most glorious posterior.
Maiden hath back.

 


I preferest them as the apple and grand

And whence I deliverest a sermon

I cannot avoid temptation

I am but a lowly beast

Alas, I present my sins

 

I desire to lay with thou

Not once, but two-fold

I speaketh not of Grecian statues

Granite be reserved for idols

I preferest them sturdy and heavily laden

 



So discovereth that heavily laden rear

The Prophet Mixalot is in peril

His pleas rise for of piece of that posterior




As I observe the drama unfolding upon the stage

Disavow these maidens parading as for sale

Thou mayest retain those maidens

I shalt keepeth mine more the Hitite



I speaketh now to the Egyptians

I doth desire to lay with thee

I shalt not peak poorly or strike thee



I shalt not lie, I wish to lay with thee

Until the sun reappears in the East

Maiden hath it in plentitude



A lot of Pharisees shalt care not for this platitude

For they desire no more than to lay with thee and then return to the field

Nay!  I shalt remain with thee, as I am strong of loin, and I wisheth lay my seed in thee

So maidens (amen), maidens (amen)

Doth thou desire to ride upon mine oxcart?

If thou dost, simply display thine grandeur.

And, Lo!

Even the Romans shalt exclaim

Maiden hath back

Verily, maiden

Upon reference to the female form

Ecclesiastes hath nought to do with mine decision

36-24-36?

Only if she’s 3 cubits tall.




Alas, your betrothed throws a fruit cart

Observing the ways of Mary of Magdalen

But Mary hath no oxen in your cart




Mine river asp waneth none unless thou possess buns, hun.

Thou may take great care of thine physique, but, if it please the Lord, do not loseth that butt.

Some Pharisees wisheth to harden themselves

And preach that thine butt is not valuable

Whence they discard it

I shalt be there with most haste to recover it.



Though the scribes may callest thou corpulent

Alas, I cannot abide by this

For thine belly is like that of an urchin

And thine remaining proportions enticeful

I am of a mind to lay with thou.



And now I address the waifs

Thine conceit is misplaced

Bestow upon me a disciple

Figs and grapes did miss her



A heretic did ponder to dismiss

And, lo, his maids were brought before me

The heretic did raise his hand to them

And I rescueth them from his bile



So, maidens, should thine hind quarters be bulbous

And thou desireth to lay with someone with great vigor



Search out the prophet Mixalot and lose thineself in the pleasures of the flesh

Maiden hath back

Maiden hath back

A dearth in her mid-section but she hath much back

Oh my god Becky, look at her butt
It’s so big.  She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends


Who understands those rap guys
They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute


I mean her butt
It’s just so big
I can’t believe it’s so round
It’s just out there
I mean, it’s gross
Look, she’s just so black


I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can’t deny


That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung


Wanna pull up tough
’cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she’s wearing
I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring



Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got
Make Me so horney


Ooh, rump of smooth skin
You say you wanna get in my benz
Well use me use me ’cause you aint that average groupy

I’ve seen them dancin’
To hell with romancin’
She’s Sweat,Wet, got it goin like a turbo vette

 

I’m tired of magazines
Saying flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back

 

So Fellas (yeah) Fellas(yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah)
Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt
Baby got back

I like’em round and big
And when I’m throwin a gig
I just can’t help myself
I’m actin like an animal
Now here’s my scandal

I wanna get you home
And UH, double up UH UH
I aint talkin bout playboy
’cause silicone parts were made for toys
I wannem real thick and juicy


So find that juicy double
Mixalot’s in trouble
Beggin for a piece of that bubble


So I’m lookin’ at rock videos
Knockin these bimbos walkin like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I’ll keep my women like Flo Jo

A word to the thick soul sistas
I wanna get with ya
I won’t cus or hit ya

But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna —
Til the break of dawn
Baby Got it goin on

Alot of pimps won’t like this song
’cause them punks lie to hit it and quit it

But I’d rather stay and play
’cause I’m long and I’m strong
And I’m down to get the friction on

So ladies (yeah), Ladies (yeah)
Do you wanna roll in my Mercedes (yeah)
Then turn around
Stick it out
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back

Yeah baby
When it comes to females
Cosmo ain’t got nothin to do with my selection
36-24-36
Only if she’s 5’3″

So your girlfriend throws a Honda
Playin workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain’t got a motor in the back of her Honda


My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don’t lose that butt
Some brothers wanna play that hard role
And tell you that the butt ain’t gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it



So cosmo says you’re fat
Well I ain’t down with that
’cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin
And I’m thinkin bout stickin

To the beanpole dames in the magazines
You aint it miss thing
Give me a sista I can’t resist her
Red beans and rice did miss her

Some knucklehead tried to dis
’cause his girls were on my list
He had game but he chose to hit ’em
And I pulled up quick to get with ’em

So ladies if the butt is round
And you wanna triple X throw down

 

Dial 1-900-MIXALOT and kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back
Baby got back
Little in tha middle but she got much back

Y’all Be Trippin’

See, the thing about religion is that’s it’s usually a small journey from, “Hey, that’s a good idea!” (see, “be nice to everybody) to “Wow! You just may be batshit crazy!” (lots of examples about this, am I right?).  Well, guess which one I’m here to talk about.

A friend of mine was recently trapped in a conversation with a man who felt she needed some saving.  This despite the fact that she is in fact a church-going Christian and informed him as much.  He could tell by looking at her that she wasn’t religious enough.  A handy, I suppose, super-power, if perhaps a little boring.  Her short-coming, as evidenced by his 2 PAGE DIAGRAM, was in the field of chastity (she’s married, by the way).  According to his rant, “Chastity (a Virtue (capitalization his, not mine)) means to see everyone as made in the image and likeness of GOD” (again, his capitalization).

Except, that’s not what chastity means.  Even a little.  There’s probably a thing that does meant that.  But it’s not chastity.

For him, and whatever weird little church he belongs to that doesn’t have a good grasp of vocabulary, being Chaste involves something called SPICE.  One then has to assume the Spice Girls are necessarily Chaste.  Except Ginger Spice, of course, as gingers have no souls.

What is SPICE you ask?  Well, it’s an acronym unsurprisingly.  It’s an acronym where each word makes up one of the five petals of a flower (aside – he misspelled “petal” though he did draw a diagram of the SPICE flower – the center of which, the pistil, is labelled “love,” which is nice).  The five petals of the SPICE flower are:

Spiritual

Physical

Intellectual

Creative

Emotions

I’m gonna go ahead and assume he meant “Emotional.”  Anyway, the important thing for chastity is that all five petals are in balance like a “beautiful flower” and not like one of those jacked-up flowers that you find in the bottom of the flower fridge at the grocery store at 6pm on Mother’s Day.  If they’re not, you have to focus on developing the ones that are out of balance.  (Duh.)  For instance, he writes, “Women that are not dressed appropriately have an extreme Physical petal…”  I’m gonna stop here and take a guess that he could tell she needed this info because she was wearing yoga pants (in public! gasp!), or as the internet calls them, whore pants.  Then he adds, “they actually don’t show enough.”

Wait, what?  Now maybe he explained this during his rant, but on paper, this makes no sense.

Then, all of the sudden, we’re done with the SPICE flower and have moved on to answer the question, “What is the Mass?”  Apparently, and I’m just gonna put the entire quote in it’s entirety, it’s a marriage ceremony where “God is marrying his bride the Church.  We are the Body of Christ here on earth.  And at the consummation of the Mass he shares his real Body Blood, Soul and Divinity (sounds familiar, doesn’t it?).  *This is called the Theology of the Body!”

Okay, let me take a breath and go through this one item at a time.  “God is marrying his bride the Church.”  I’m guessing he means “congregation” not Church, so I’ won’t pick on this.  But then we get into “We are the Body of Christ here on earth” which doesn’t even follow from his previous sentence, so I don’t know what he means.  And then, “And at the consummation of the Mass he shares his real Body Blood, Soul and Divinity (sounds familiar, doesn’t it?)”

Phew.

I’d like to assume that by “consummation” he means “completion” and not, you know, what everybody else means by consummation.  But you never know with crazy.

“He shares his real Body Blood, Soul, and Divinity…”  That’s a lot of sharing.

“(Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”)  No, It doesn’t sound familiar.  Not even a little fucking bit.  Familiar to what?  To whom?

“This is called the Theology of the Body!”  The only reason I bring this sentence up is that when I Googled “the Theology of the Body,” Google auto-filled with “the Theology of Yoga Pants” which I thought was frigging hysterical.

Then he says that “the reason women can’t be priests is because the priest must be an Icon of God/Jesus who is male and he gives to the bride….hence the bridegroom and the bride.”  Hence the bridegroom and the bride?  What?  How is that a “hence”?  Does “hence” mean something I don’t know?

That’s followed by a diagram of the trinity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, with the Father at the top, as usual.  Then there’s an arrow pointing to the next diagram labelled “at Home” which is the trinity of the Husband, Wife and “Child that shows their love.”  Though he misspelled “their” as “there” but then wrote over it.  Maybe it was the other way around though.  And of course, the Husband is at the top of the pyramid.  No explanation as to why this is included at all.

After that, he writes “Catholics are supernatural and have multiple dimensions!”

Wait, this is supposed to be Catholicism?!  Sweet damn.  I did 13 years in Catholic school and not once did “supernatural” come up.  And neither did “multiple dimensions” but that was probably just because the word “multiple” would maybe make us think about “multiple orgasms” and that’s not just not okay.  I mean, I heard a lot of crazy shit come out of the place.  (One nun told us all that masturbation is a sin because it is homosexual in nature since you are performing a sex act on someone of your own gender.  That messed my head up so bad, I couldn’t masturbate for almost 3 hours.  Almost.  I suppose I could have argued that I was trying desperately not to masturbate, but that I was having trouble find someone to do it for me, though I doubt that was her point.)  If I’d known I was supernatural, I’d have at least tried to pick up girls with that line.  Thanks, Obama!

What’s left is the word “worry” in huge print with an arrow pointing toward the word “devil.”  Under that, just as big, “suffering” with an arrow pointing to “God.”

I guess that worrying leads to the devil, but suffering leads to God?  No, that doesn’t sound right.  Worry is caused by the devil, but suffering is caused by God?  Hmmm….that’s probably not it either.  Worry equals devil?  Suffering equals God?  Worry made the devil and suffering made God?  I really got nothing on this one.

As my friend was relating this encounter to me, all I could think was, “Lucky!”  I love meeting crazy people.  They’re so much more interesting than normal people, and sadly, as I grow older, my ability to attract the crazies seems to have diminished, much to my chagrin.  She did not match my enthusiasm.

Still.  Lucky.