Mystery

Why do some men use the toilet to piss, splashing droplets of urine all over the seat, when there are two perfectly good, AVAILABLE, urinals nearby?

You suck, toilet pissers.

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Girls’ Night In

I had the following phone conversation with a girl I was asking out for a third date:

Me: How does Tuesday sound?

Her: Oh no, Thursday is better. Tuesday is no good, that’s girls’ night!

Me: Is this anything like a lesbian orgy?

Her: Ha, no, we get together and do arts and crafts every Tuesday night. We make yarn doilies and have a friendly competition to see who can knit the best. And we drink a few bottles of red wine.

Me: For real?

Her: Yes, it’s fun! It’s not really about the competition, it’s about the bonding.

Me: And the giggling.

Her: Squeals and giggles!

This is a social phenomenon you will never see straight guys doing. I can’t even mentally picture a scenario under which there could be a “boys’ night in” without crossing over to fruitville. There isn’t a guy alive who would postpone a hot date to sit in a semi-circle on pillows in the living room with his buddies one designated night a week to play Uno, do a group pedicure, and bitch about girls. Guys get together to watch the game and sit respectable distances from each other on the couch, but nothing remotely resembling what girls do. The closest I can think of is when fifteen guys in my college dorm all piled into one cramped room to watch a porno and get a mass erection.

Me: So what do you guys talk about?

Her: Family, girl stuff, guys… then we talk about cats.

Girl who talks about cats + one dating checklist bullet point too many = cat lady.

The Girls’ Night In is a peculiar idiosyncracy of the childless late 20- and 30-something yuppie woman who has a library of dating books with titles like “Listen to Your Inner Bitch and Avoid These Men” and a secret stash of glittery tiaras she wears while modeling consignment shop clothes in front of a floor length mirror. Without the constant positive feedback of a supportive environment of close friends and family, women go slowly crazy. Since modern urban living shreds these ancient connections, they get their fix by taking “classes” and inventing ridiculous reasons for getting together with other women over a contrived commonality.

Women need to aimlessly socialize like men need to jerk off. If they don’t, they get their version of blue balls — wild mood swings. The fact that a girl will complain about not meeting any good men and then postpone a date with a guy she really likes to talk excitedly about that guy with her girlfriends at a doily-knitting party on the same night she could be in that guy’s arms making out with him proves that girls are mentally ill and should not be trusted with positions of power.

Conclusion

Different species. Men are more closely related to chimpanzees than they are to women.

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Formative Years

This story from my past is reproduced in its entirety from an email exchange I had recently with someone.  Originally intended to be private, we both thought it should be flung across the worldwideweb for the glimpse it gives into what made me the lover of myself thousands I am today.

***

when i was a young teen my parents, in a paroxysm of disciplinary fervor, enrolled me in a church youth group.  i spent the time with my fellow morally upstanding youth groupers trying to get into the pants of the hotter christian girls, only to be rebuffed by their closed leg policy.  finally, i cracked the austere exterior of a sweet pretty young thing during a bbq on church grounds with some help from a flask of jack&coke i had hidden in my jeans.  tragically, we had nowhere to hide from prying eyes or the lord above to grope kiss and fondle.  there were woods about a half mile away but people would look for us in a panic after a while.  finally, we absconded to the only place which at that moment was completely shrouded in privacy — the church rectory.
well, we *assumed* it was private.

as we were making out in the hallway with my body pressing hers against the wall desecrating all that is holy, careful to do it away from the watchful eye of a nearby wooden crucifix, we heard a toilet flush and then the head priest walked in on us with my hand firmly wedged down the front of the tight jeans of mi amour.  i struggled to pull my hand out as the priest gasped for words and turned red-faced, but like chinese fingercuffs my struggling only pushed my hand in farther.  a wave of anxiety swept over me as i imagined i would be marched out in a perp walk before the scandalized flock, my girl and me intertwined like siamese sex fiends in such a romantically touching way.  finally, with the help of proper breathing technique and my double-jointedness, i extricated my hand, by now smelling of raw sexuality, and the girl began crying.  i contemplated making a run for it but instead stood like a statue as the priest’s admonitions buzzed like ocean surf in my ears.
i quit the youth group the next day with no resistance from my parents.  word of my exploits traveled the lands far and wide.

***

yours in the light of the lamb,

poon h. christ

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Fake Tits

I kept pulling up her shirt.  She resisted.  I pulled on her pants and panties.  They came off without much fuss.  Back to the shirt.  More resistance.  She’s tugging down on her shirt while her lower half is completely naked and grinding into my crotch.  Weird.  Are the boobs really that much more precious to a woman than the pussy?  Then I discovered the answer.

Fake tits.  Super fake.  Like the kind that bumped up an A to a C.  The kind where you could see the outline of the bag along the perimeter of the boob.  Unnaturally pert.  Egregiously firm.

But the worst?  The feel.  Under clothes, fake tits look great.  Superb, even.  Parade them around the National Cathedral and be the envy of your friends and neighbors.  But naked?  Disturbing visual.  And they felt like rocks stuffed under a nipple.

Rocks.

No soft supple malleable sponginess.  Just rocks.

Such a pretty girl.

So pretty.

So flawed.

As soon as my cupped hands encountered the immoveable objects that were her breasts, I knew she would never be girlfriend worthy.

What goes through a guy’s head when he’s got a hot chick halfway home to sex and he caresses silicone under a taut drum head of flesh?

I’ll tell you what.

Don’t give too much of yourself to this girl.  Keep it superficial, just like her tits.

This is a chick who lives and dies by her beauty.  A trophy wife in training.  A girl who doesn’t mind being an accessory on the arm of a powerful man who is fucking ten other women.  A strategist.  A status whore.  A decepticon.  A cipher.

A girl who reapplies her makeup every fifteen minutes.

And I was right.

There’s room in the world for those types of women.  Just not my world.

So I offer some advice to small-boobed women.

Don’t butcher yourselves.

You look great under a sweater with augmentation.

But I’m not fucking a sweater.

And that’s what really matters.

Isn’t it?

No, it isn’t?

Goodbye.

Warning:  I wrote this drunk and post-coital at 5am.  Reconsiderations pending.  Reader beware.

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Perverted Porn

If the variety of porn is any indication, most guys are capable of acting out the craziest atrocities fantasies in the bedroom.  But the appeal of some bizarre porn niches baffles me.

Drinking cum out of a glass
Grossout rating: 8
Worse than that scene in Rocky where he gulps raw eggs.  Jizz should not be drunk like a cocktail, no matter how strawberry-kissed the lips slurping it down.

Sexual perversion rating: 9
Where is the turn-on here?  There’s no hot humiliation aspect a la facials, and the girl is making gurgling noises and grimacing while choking back the slime.  Usually the camera is zoomed in on her mouth, which means her naked body in the background isn’t visually available to distract from the repulsiveness of her cumchugging.  You’d have to be a world class pervert to get aroused watching this spectacle.

Two guys one girl
Grossout rating: 2-10 (highly variable on male to male physical contact)
There’s a reason why male porn actors get little face time and are reduced to mere functional genitalia to occupy the woman’s orifices — guys don’t want to see hairy, sweaty naked dudes obstructing the view of the girl any more than is necessary to get the coital point across.  Two of them is just double the obstruction.  And if one of them happens to misfire and accidentally shoot his load into the face of the other guy, well… let’s just say I would need many MANY fucking years of therapy after watching that.

Sexual perversion rating: 4
Judging by its internet popularity, the fantasy of two men shish kabobing a woman isn’t uncommon.  But if scrotums start commingling, cocks start touching, or male body parts start incidentally rubbing against each other, the perversion rating zooms up to 10 if you’re a straight guy.  It drops to 1 if you’re gay.

Cum swapping
Grossout rating: 5-8 (depends on volume of transfer)
This is right up there with the cum cocktails.  I dunno, a girl spitting skeet into the mouth of another girl doesn’t seem like a visual treat to me.  Maybe I’m sexually repressed?

Sexual perversion rating: 6
Beyond missionary, not quite a sheisse vid, cum swapping exemplifies de rigueur perversion.

Bukkake
Grossout rating: 7
Plus: facial.  Minus: cascading sheets of semen.

Sexual perversion rating: 7
I suppose an argument could be made that where one is good, one hundred is better.

Frat house voyeurism
Grossout rating: 4
More annoying than gross.

Sexual perversion rating: 5
Lord knows I understand the thrill of fucking in public, so porn dedicated to that popular perversion makes sense.  But fucking in front of a roomful of drunk fratboys whooping like retards and giving play by plays?  This turns me off faster than watching The View.  I suspect the LNS crowd digs this stuff.

Machine/medical instruments sex
Grossout rating: 5
The inside of a vagina should not see the light of day.

Sexual perversion rating: 5
Eh, uninspiring.  Makes me empathize with an ob/gyn visit.  Props to the Sybian, though.  Ten bucks those girls are really getting off!

Do my wife
Grossout rating: 1
Not gross, just disturbing.

Sexual perversion rating: 7
When I’m watching a good fuck, I don’t want to see some guy playing the husband character sitting in a nearby chair and pretending to be emotionally distraught as his “wife” gets pounded by one of the bang bros.  Seriously, what kind of dweeb goes in for the cuckold fantasy?  Obviously someone who has DEEP fucking insecurities and wrestles control over them through whacking off to adultery porn.  If I’m gonna identify with anyone it’ll be the pool boy, not the sap, natch.  Now stop crying, bitch, and hand me your wife’s speculum.

Asslicking
Grossout rating: 10
Falls under the category of “Can never get clean enough”.

Sexual perversion rating: 8 (her ass), 10 (his ass)
Hey, you’ll find no bigger aficionado of anal than me, but there’s a world of difference between plowing her with my tool and getting her dingleberries caught in my teeth.  Girls don’t shit wafer thin mints, so how is licking her anus supposed to be fun?  I pray I never shake hands with a guy who gets off on asslicking porn.  And porn where the girl licks the guy’s carpeted asshole?  Sweet fancy moses, why don’t you just reach in the bowl and eat his log, scatgirl?

Squirting
Grossout rating: 3
No, I don’t mean natural squirting, which is a beautiful act of humanity.  I mean the supersoaker squirting where they fill the girl’s pussy up with a gallon of skim milk and let ‘er rip.  Exaggerating the normal bodily functions is pretty much the byline of porn, but twisting it into a ridiculous caricature of the real thing is a complete turnoff.

Sexual perversion rating: 3
Enjoying the sight of a girl squirting is perfectly normal.  Enjoying the sight of a girl vomiting out of her vagina is slightly perverted.  For guys who like this, I suspect childbirth regression issues.

What’s going on here I think is that straight sex is no longer enough for a segment of the male population.  The bar of deviancy is constantly being raised to the point that foreplay includes golden showers.  I predict women will continue to dress and act sluttier so as to satisfy the ever-growing demands of porn-raised generations of men.

Coincidentally, paternity testing will also rise.

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Unmanliness

If you sit at a sidewalk cafe in DC and people watch you’ll eventually see hints of civilizational decline.

mommy took our allowance

There I was enjoying a manly tap water when something so magnificently wrong assaulted my visual field.  A father carrying a baby in a papoose that he wore across his front.

The front.

It would be bad enough if he were usurping the natural maternal role by hauling around his kid in the traditional style with papoose in back.  But the front?  He may as well have swished his womanly hips while he walked.

Seriously, grow a set and get some self-respect, man.  If you can’t find it in you to do it for yourself, at least think of society.  With the child dearth and populations contracting throughout most of the first world it might help if you weren’t a big flashing negative ad to young men to avoid marriage and fatherhood.  Put that papoose on the mother where God intended it to be.  If you have more than one kid, throw the other one on the dog.  There are big dogs you can fit with a saddle.

Which got me thinking.  Is unmanliness a harbinger of the fall of great powers?  I think it is.  Look around and it’s easy to notice plenty of ominous unmanly trends.

I’m beginning to hear men use trendy truncated miniwords like fab, deet, obvi, fave, vom.  This makes me vom.  My ears can only take so much foppery.  If you are a straight man who doesn’t tuck his junk in between his legs posing in front of the mirror then using these cutesy-isms is very homosex.  I expect women to annoy charm me with baby talk, not grown men.

Men (and I use the term loosely) with trendy truncated minidogs.  I’ve gone on about this before.  If your dog’s legs are missing a joint and it is shorter from snout to tail than the length of your forearm and lighter than your 10-rep maximum dumbbell weight, then you’ve got creampuff issues.  Trade it in for a pet that’s supposed to be that size, like a gerbil.

Gym “classes”.  No man worth his yarbles should take a spinning, pilates, step or, heaven forfend, stroller class.  Butch up and hit the weight room.  Try not to pee yourself when you see the squat rack.  Yoga is acceptable as long as you understand why you are there and situate yourself in the back row for greatest viewing pleasure.

Lovers’ quarrels.  It’s not unmanly to get into a fight with your girlfriend at 5AM banging on her apartment door piss drunk.  It IS unmanly to do all the above while sobbing “BUT I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!” over and over.  What happened to the good old days when drunk guys got into fistfights, not confessionals?

If you order your martini from a color-coded menu you may as well butter up your ass, funboy.  Men’s hard liquor drinks come in two colors — brown and clear.  And don’t drink from the straw.

When you canoodle your girl in public, do not bury your face in her lap and raise your hindquarters in the air like a cat getting stroked.  I actually saw this once.  This is about as unmanly as a man post-coitally resting his head on the chest of his woman.  You should be fitting yourself for a bra.

If you are a man bleating on about how great feminism is please do us all a favor and strangle yourself with your bloomers.  You are not sophisticated, evolved, or intellectual.  You are a sackless tool.

So there you have it.  I’m sure examples of unmanliness abound.  Is it a coincidence that as American women are becoming manlier American men are becoming softer, immature, and vaguely androgynous?  No, it is not.

Update:
Probably the biggest sign of the growing trend of unmanliness is the celebrity blog.  No man should write, read, or even tangentially discuss celebrity gossip, unless it’s to make a point to some hardened feminist how fame and power encourages men turn in their aging wives for young pussy.  Celebrities and the deets of their lives are black holes of irrelevance and idiocy.  It’s enough for one gender to get sucked into eight-balling celebrity sludge right into their limbic systems.  Men have a duty to shun it.  Gay men run the risk of flaming out into a red giant from this wasteful activity.

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Separate Species

I recently heard this story about two girls, good friends, who were spending time together catching up.  They decide to help each other rub on self-tanning lotion (not the spray kind, but the wipe-on kind).  So what did they do?  Why, they stripped naked of course!  Two heterosexual girls sat butt naked together and rubbed self-tanner all over one another, including those hard to reach nooks and crannies, like it was no big deal.

Now, a quiz for the guys reading this.  Think of your best guy buddy.  The guy you get drunk with and wing for when he makes a sloppy pass at a chick.  The guy you discuss baseball stats with or bust on for throwing a football like a spaz.  Now try to picture sitting naked with him in extremely close proximity rubbing self-tanner on his hairy dimpled ass, making sure to get an even application.  Maybe he lifts a cheek so you don’t miss a spot?

Not happening, is it.

Two separate species.  There isn’t a better explanation.

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