Posts Tagged ‘pussy’

Fuckfield #7

Wednesday, 5 May 2010

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Fuckfield #6

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

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Fuckfield #5

Wednesday, 7 April 2010

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Fuckfield #4

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

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Obama crack corn and I don’t care

Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Obama comes across as an uninspiring, arrogant phony but I don’t hate him, I almost pity him. I aleady know how the story of the next 4 years goes. Would you like a sneak preview?

Obama enacts Same Old New Deal and expands government’s size and illegitimate power. Economy eventually recovers, taking much longer than it would have if government did nothing. Team Obama takes credit for what the free market did.

OR

Obama enacts Same Old New Deal and expands government’s size and illegitimate power. Economy fails to recover fast enough to people’s liking. The half of the country that didn’t vote for Obama takes up arms. Cleansing begins.

Either scenario is fine with me. You can’t let politics prevent you from enjoying your life, even if your life story includes being swept up in a revolution. No government agency, politician or President has ever brought me prosperity, pussy or anything else. What I want is up to me. How I’ll get it is also up to me.

Due to laziness, there will probabaly be a real civil war or insurrection before I write about a fictional one.

eating a mirror

Sunday, 9 November 2008

She had big tits, freckles, was dumb.
Too-tall, big ass, big hips, a goofy sort of giant.

I was obsessed with her, but calmly.

Though married, she talked about her sex life with the other guy at the job.  He could’ve fucked her any time except to him she was “kind of ugly”.

I reminded her of her brother.

She moved away.  I left the job.  Life went on.

Lately I found her again, online.
Teaches 3rd grade at a Christian school in the Carolinas, still married, one son.
Signed her class home page, In Him,

Shit!  She was religious back then but not like that.

Half of all marriages fail (I hoped hers did though I had no chance) but not this one.

And now Jesus is getting that pussy!

Ah well, such is life in this world,
eating a mirror
with a hated image,
every day 12 rounds
with both arms tied
behind the back.

Love forever pissed off a cliff
and even lust’s chromium cries
going unanswered.

I’d kill myself but it seems even that
wouldn’t be enough.

In Him.

Fuck.


Egg McMuffin sex romp

Sunday, 2 November 2008

Early November, why wait? I’ve already written off 2008 as another year of not getting laid.

As a social autistic that hates people and can’t bear listening to women talk about nothing while not undressing, I have no chance. Call girls around here are $200 and no pussy is worth more than 50 dollars except in the mind of the victim. Unlike Mexico, isolated parts of Nevada and indoors in Rhode Island, hooking is illegal here.

I can’t even aspire to Tijuana, it’s been way too expensive for over a year. It’s the world’s fault for the high cost of plane tickets and oil, it’s mine for having no disposable income or friends in Mexifornia with their own place; my one Spanish-speaking friend who would venture across the border would have to drive his beater a hundred miles at outrageous gas prices just meet me in Sandy Eggo.

Ignoring the cost and horror of actually going to TJ, the #1 obstacle is the new passport card required for foot travel between Mexico and Mexifornia or anywhere else in the USA: costing around 100 bucks, it’s another layer of useless government turdocracy that will stop no infiltrators and another reason I endorse hanging every moon-worshipping savage by his filthy turban (Sikhs excluded).

Without sex with a woman as an option, I turned to Egg Mcmuffins. They were 2 for $2; didn’t even have to leave the car to buy them.

I eat food from Big Yellow M maybe 5 times a year, if that. One of the reasons is cost: the days of 10-cent hamburgers are frozen in black-and-white history; a large cup of orange juice was $2.39.

I drove to a secluded parking lot.

Egg McMuffin! Sex in a paper wrapper. Masterpiece of design and engineering. It belongs in space, floating between the earth and moon. Flip it over, there’s no top or bottom, no beginning or end.

Of all Mcfoods, the McMuffin seems to retain the heat of birth the longest. As I unwrapped the noisy paper I glanced a number on the wrapper. 300 calories? Where? How?

I peeled open the warm “bun”. The glowing orange cheese looked like it had been hugged at the last second by a suicide bomber, a gooey mess filling the cratered moonscape of muffin. The steaming warm “egg patty” was a near-perfect circle, glistening, white, pure. Unlike Yellow M’s survivalist scrambled eggs with a congealed half-life of 3 minutes, the McMuffin egg remained, in its impossible shape, a symbol of life.

The Canadian bacon was a perfect circle (perhaps Canadians made their pigs run around a circular pen).

I poured McDonald’s “Hotcakes” syrup on the egg and bun. McSyrup is the way sex should taste, the blood of the god Diabetes. In Heaven there’s a harlot named Hotcakes and her pussy tastes like this.

I reassembled the Egg McMuffin and bit into it slowly, carefully. Try eating one too quickly and the squishy-firm egg will break off and try to lodge in your windpipe.

I ate the Egg McMuffin. Unlike the Big Mac or fries, the McMuffin tastes as good Now as it did Then.

Four or five bites and it was over. The first McMuffin, seductive, nostalgic, awakened the palate for the second, which is just good rhythmic fucking with a happy finish.

I looked down at my shirt. I’d been careful, but one glistening zipper of syrup with a tiny bead for a pull, scarred my shirt. I looked in the rearview mirror; rivulets of syrup glistened on my chin, the vampire drinks from maple trees.

I washed up with hand cleaner, balled the wrappers. My head was clear while my gut lodged a boulder of egg, cheese, bacon. I wouldn’t have to eat anything else for the rest of the day, or year.

Marmaduke fails at pussy

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

Check out this Marmaduke from Sunday, 03 AUG 08:

Observe the ‘cat’, one of the worst drawings I’ve ever seen. Is anyone even trying anymore? It really steams my clams that someone got paid to draw a cat with hound dog JOWLS.

Can YOU do better?–chide the critics. Hells yes. I drew my cat head with the MS “Paint” program in about 4.5 minutes. Unlike the Marmashit feline (more like FAUX-line) mine looks like a cat, falling well within the parameters of the Artistic Zone.

When will these fools learn that any job worth doing is worth doing half-assed?

Quarter-assed won’t cut it.


“the secret world of spies”

Sunday, 2 March 2008

the fox wears black.fire extinguishers
line up like bowling pins
for the fireball.

her cunt stinks. again.
loser pays the tab.

mustard suicide in the wrist slits
clocked by a breath mint that lost to a garlic gang.

the papers were stolen and no one’s
seen the disk.

have you see my keys?

there’s a ripcord of coffee around your neck
but please don’t pull, you
can’t handle the chute.

the glans rubbed her mons like a loving pet after throwing up Elmer’s Glue all over her carpet.

another idiot challenged the cops with a sword.
perhaps he really was a warrior from the past (he is now).
Bullets, I expect your report on my desk at oh-six-hundred!

blind kittens seesaw atop watermelon wedges
and look like they’re
always smiling.

Your frown is a barricade standing in the crosswalk of holding-hands love.

Why won’t you love me, slanty eyes?
Now all the Asian girls
fear me.

I don’t like basketball, too much bouncing.
I don’t like nascar, too much in-a-hurry.

Chess where you can stab the other player or fuck his wife while shouting CHECK…MATE!–that’s where the action is.

I had a dream I wrote this all down.
now that I have I think I’ll stop eating before sleeping.

the fox hates loose pussy.


Christmas Forever – A One-Act Poem

Friday, 14 December 2007

“Was Mrs. Claus ever young and hot? She’s always 80-years-old in the imagery.”

“Eighty and baking cookies.”

“Didn’t Santa get any good pussy? Was he always old?”

“If Santa was young, all he’d do was chase women.”

“He has complete control of space-time, like the Jap on Heroes.”

“Old, young, Santa doesn’t need to make excessive demands of the Missus. He’s got the Naughty List. “

“And the elves.”

“How tired is Mrs. Claus of jokes about Santa’s ‘Magic Candy Cane’?”

“Elf pussy? Holy shit. We better stop now.”

“Fuck it, I know what list I’m on. Might as well be a coal miner.”

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