Tags: blowjobs, dating, eating cum, fonding balls, reader mailbag, sex, sucking dick, the absurd sensitivity of the urethra, waitresses
Douches
4 MarI told a couple people to come to a pool party I’m going to at some Hollywood club. They said no, it would be “douchey.”
This is accurate, but what people need to understand is that douches fuck. Douches dress like douches because there are girls that like to fuck douches, and girls who hang out with douches like to fuck. They don’t like to read David Foster Wallace and discuss vegan restaurants; they like to fuck.
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Diary: I Need to Get Laid
2 MarI could have fucked her. If I had played my cards right. If I had gone for the makeout earlier. I got her back to my house. I got her shirt off, anyway, although she kept buttoning her pants back up. But when I was kind of kissing around her hipbones, she was getting really hot. So, I should have played it better. I should have gotten those pants off. I could have done it. I could have gotten her hot enough to get her pants off, and then I would have fucked her. And I would be just as hung over, just as sleep-deprived, just as tired, but I would have gotten laid.
Because now I need to get laid. Getting laid by a new woman is like methadone and my maintenance dose is running out. Last new girl I fucked was the end of January. So that’s how long it lasts. About a month. About a month between fucking a new chick and feeling again like I’m completely undesirable. Continue reading
Stage Fright
28 FebWhen I was a kid in the 80’s, we used to go to ballgames at Fenway Park. And when you had to piss, it was– there were no urinals. There was one toilet and it always looked like a Dinty Moore™ beef stew grenade had exploded in it. No– you had to piss in a long communal cast-iron trough shaped like a bath tub with rusty, tetanus-y looking pipes feeding a trickle of water into it. I was like 8, and you had to stand around this thing with no less than a dozen middle aged men, all drunk, with their schlongs all out right near 8 year old eye level. And something about Boston– these were old world schlongs. The ungroomed old country schlongs of rough and brutal men. Somehow no man born of pure immigrant stock ever has anything less than a giant winking sea worm, ascending back into a tangle of salt and pepper pubes that have never once been trimmed. Men of this time and place never fucked with their pubes once, in their entire lifetime. Irish guys with flame orange thickets. Swarthy, suspicious men, with Bin Laden dickbeards and brown snakey uncut sausage three shades darker than the rest of them.
I don’t know if you’ve seen a lot of underage wang, but the penis of an 8 year old white child is like a doll’s pinky finger, and beholding these veiny, hideous anacondas was terrifying. I couldn’t pee.
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Dear Roxanne
27 FebGod damn do I want a Pop Tart now though. Frosted Raspberry. They never have those anymore– the Pop Tart shelf is cluttered with cinnamon and fudge abominations, and glittery drag queen children’s trifles whored up with lurid florescent goo. Oftentimes the only fruit flavor is the Robitussin-tasting Cherry.
What happened to our society, Roxanne? Frosted Raspberry was the BEST ONE! But our fat, hideous children prefer the WORST flavors and have destroyed the dignity of this pastry.
It’s Never
26 Febgoing to work. You want Edward Cullen to teach you how to tame a magnificent but previously abused horse. I want you watching Mexican soaps in the lobby of Planned Parenthood with a sense of dread.
New Book
delicioustacos 