Saturday, April 08, 2006
PART 1
So, here I sit broken hearted, came to shit, but only farted! I read those wise words on the stall of a deucer somewhere at a Taco Hell in West Jersey a long time ago. Why was I eating there, and why was visiting western New Jersey? For a broad, of course! Back in 1997, there actually was a broad that was into me, but that is another story for another time! That saying sums up a lot, and it makes sense. How many times you sit on the shitter hoping to move your bowels, and only some drum-farts come out? You might get teased with a loud-roaring fart, but like a fat broad, it only makes a lot of noise and smells bad. Eventually, you give into the ancient Chinese proverb that states: "Shit, or get off the pot."
Actually, some great advice is found on the stalls of men's rooms. You can find advice on what numbers to dial for your cock sucked, the latest racial jokes, and pictures of nuts and dicks. Yes, for some reason, men draw pictures of penises in stalls. As if we aren't looking at our own as we are doing our business, we need to look at one written in a sharpie. Extra points if some thoughtful fellow has some cum dripping out the tip. You have to be careful in some rest rooms, I have seen written messages that explain you only have to tap your foot for a Blow Job. I caught myself once or twice, and let me explain. Say you had the Christ for supper, and you need to take a double-logger to unload his slop of a meal. You are concentrating on your business, and suddenly a catchy Gloria Estefan (with Miami Sound Machine) tune comes on in Muzak format. Oh no, my feet just tap themselves to the popular beats, and I lose track of the consequences at hand. Low and behold, nobody ever came in to offer me a BJ. Perhaps the phantom mens' room fag had the day off.
Now, onto the material at hand! I was visiting Reinhold's Myspace, and reviewing the videos I linked for him. One is the 1980's HBO introduction theme. You know, Duh, duh, duh-na-na, duh-na-na... and the camera spans a city, and you end up circling the "O" in HBO on a whimsical rainbow ride! That song is so catchy and manly, it made me think of ways to be more manly. Hearing that old opening theme almost made me want to go kill a deer, beat my wife and kids, and go out and have sex with the neighbors. After I realized that those ideas cannot happen, it lead me to think of the problem we have today with men. Men aren't men anymore in this country. Women's rights groups and political correct bullshit have turned rugged, meat-eating, multiple sex partnered, unemotional, un-fashionable, manly men into a bunch of metrosexual sissies. They should play that old HBO theme at a club, and it should magically turn hair gel into a huge spider that feasts off Brooklyn Fades, wife beaters, and gold chains.
There was a time in this country where men hunted without faggot animal rights activists getting in the way. Perhaps we should hunt members of PETA for fun? There was a time when men hung up titty calendars at work on their desks. Today, that is sexual harassment, because a woman should not have to look at the same shit she has on her own body. Ask 100 guys if they would care if broads hung up pictures of cocks at their desks. Maybe 1 wouldn't like it, and fuck him anyway, because he is a faggot. Sexual harassment is just the ugly womens' revenge anyway. The hot and willing broads at work were happy sucking dick all the way to the top. It was the uptight and ugly whores who didn't understand how shit worked who raised all the stink If a man ever ordered a salad at a supper table, someone would come from the back and shove carrots in his ass until he realized his mistake. I hear stories of guys taking more time to buy clothes than a broad. No straight man should know the difference between fuschia and chartreuse, and I couldn't pick either out of a crayon box if you offered me sex. Men don't cry, 99 percent of the time. Funerals are about the only time it is accepted to see a man cry. If your girlfriend dumped you, there is no need to cry like a pansy, just go out and bang her best friends. Men also don't have feelings and mood swings. Nobody should ever have to ask if Tim's in a good mood today, or if his pussy hurts. Suck it up, and keep your shit bottled up for a later rainy day.
You can swap metrosexual with homosexual in the dictionary, and even old man Webster wouldn't know the difference. Men do not go for manicures, pedicures, waxings, or to any dump with the word beauty in it. The only time I considered going for a manicure or pedicure was to torment the chinks. My toenails and fingernails are so long, dirty, and disgusting, it would be worth the $20 to watch this poor chinese woman deal with the nastiness. It can kind of be a payback for Pearl Harbor in a way. Real men do not belong ordering anything that has a majority of vegetables in it. A true man's man will never admit he is sorry, and that is a good rule to follow. People nowadays are too afraid to mouth off in public too! If someone's shitty kid is yelling, you have the right to turn around and make a bigger scene than the piece of shit kid is. Who cares if people get mad, or whatever, fuck it and make your point. Real men need to stand up and be heard, or else we all will be eating salads wearing fuschia shirts playing second fiddle to some broad.
Originally Posted: 04 April 2006
Actually, some great advice is found on the stalls of men's rooms. You can find advice on what numbers to dial for your cock sucked, the latest racial jokes, and pictures of nuts and dicks. Yes, for some reason, men draw pictures of penises in stalls. As if we aren't looking at our own as we are doing our business, we need to look at one written in a sharpie. Extra points if some thoughtful fellow has some cum dripping out the tip. You have to be careful in some rest rooms, I have seen written messages that explain you only have to tap your foot for a Blow Job. I caught myself once or twice, and let me explain. Say you had the Christ for supper, and you need to take a double-logger to unload his slop of a meal. You are concentrating on your business, and suddenly a catchy Gloria Estefan (with Miami Sound Machine) tune comes on in Muzak format. Oh no, my feet just tap themselves to the popular beats, and I lose track of the consequences at hand. Low and behold, nobody ever came in to offer me a BJ. Perhaps the phantom mens' room fag had the day off.
Now, onto the material at hand! I was visiting Reinhold's Myspace, and reviewing the videos I linked for him. One is the 1980's HBO introduction theme. You know, Duh, duh, duh-na-na, duh-na-na... and the camera spans a city, and you end up circling the "O" in HBO on a whimsical rainbow ride! That song is so catchy and manly, it made me think of ways to be more manly. Hearing that old opening theme almost made me want to go kill a deer, beat my wife and kids, and go out and have sex with the neighbors. After I realized that those ideas cannot happen, it lead me to think of the problem we have today with men. Men aren't men anymore in this country. Women's rights groups and political correct bullshit have turned rugged, meat-eating, multiple sex partnered, unemotional, un-fashionable, manly men into a bunch of metrosexual sissies. They should play that old HBO theme at a club, and it should magically turn hair gel into a huge spider that feasts off Brooklyn Fades, wife beaters, and gold chains.
There was a time in this country where men hunted without faggot animal rights activists getting in the way. Perhaps we should hunt members of PETA for fun? There was a time when men hung up titty calendars at work on their desks. Today, that is sexual harassment, because a woman should not have to look at the same shit she has on her own body. Ask 100 guys if they would care if broads hung up pictures of cocks at their desks. Maybe 1 wouldn't like it, and fuck him anyway, because he is a faggot. Sexual harassment is just the ugly womens' revenge anyway. The hot and willing broads at work were happy sucking dick all the way to the top. It was the uptight and ugly whores who didn't understand how shit worked who raised all the stink If a man ever ordered a salad at a supper table, someone would come from the back and shove carrots in his ass until he realized his mistake. I hear stories of guys taking more time to buy clothes than a broad. No straight man should know the difference between fuschia and chartreuse, and I couldn't pick either out of a crayon box if you offered me sex. Men don't cry, 99 percent of the time. Funerals are about the only time it is accepted to see a man cry. If your girlfriend dumped you, there is no need to cry like a pansy, just go out and bang her best friends. Men also don't have feelings and mood swings. Nobody should ever have to ask if Tim's in a good mood today, or if his pussy hurts. Suck it up, and keep your shit bottled up for a later rainy day.
You can swap metrosexual with homosexual in the dictionary, and even old man Webster wouldn't know the difference. Men do not go for manicures, pedicures, waxings, or to any dump with the word beauty in it. The only time I considered going for a manicure or pedicure was to torment the chinks. My toenails and fingernails are so long, dirty, and disgusting, it would be worth the $20 to watch this poor chinese woman deal with the nastiness. It can kind of be a payback for Pearl Harbor in a way. Real men do not belong ordering anything that has a majority of vegetables in it. A true man's man will never admit he is sorry, and that is a good rule to follow. People nowadays are too afraid to mouth off in public too! If someone's shitty kid is yelling, you have the right to turn around and make a bigger scene than the piece of shit kid is. Who cares if people get mad, or whatever, fuck it and make your point. Real men need to stand up and be heard, or else we all will be eating salads wearing fuschia shirts playing second fiddle to some broad.
Originally Posted: 04 April 2006
