Tag Archives: my penis

Protected: I Hate Squirting

12 May

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Coffee Shop Diary: The Smell of My Wang

3 May
The girl in this story looks somewhat like adult film performer Christine Young.

The girl in this story looks somewhat like adult film performer Christine Young.

I can’t stop fucking looking at this woman and I can’t stop being aware of what a fucking dork I must look like, resting my face awkwardly in my fingers. It is extremely uncomfortable but I can’t stop doing it. Because she’ll know I stopped doing it because I was afraid she would think I’m a dork. I can’t make eye contact but I can’t look away so instead I give her this squinty side-eye. And she knows, she knows, that I am supremely unworthy to ejaculate into her fertile young womb.

If I had a huge wang it wouldn’t be like this. I would just shoot her a glance that implied “hey, I have a huge wang.” I know I’m a jittery weirdo in a coffee shop at noon on a weekday but my member is unusually thick and lengthy. Therefore, nothing else matters. She could smell it on me. The smell of my wang. Her mind would try to resist but her loins would be inflamed by some pheromone and she would have to give me doe eyes. She would be forced to gesture that I follow her into the bathroom where she would “present” to me, bending over against the cardboard ass gasket dispenser upon which somebody has sharpied “Free Cowboy Hats.” Her cooch would pucker wetly in anticipation and I would slowly drive my impossibly thick fleshy snake into her hot meat tunnel and fill her with thick spurts of my manly seed. She would convulse, satisfied that I had given her a son who would also have a huge wang. We would shake hands, businesslike, and part company. Instead I look for something in my tea.

Number One Fan

19 Apr


A woman is flying from back East to visit me.  A fan.  She is fucking crazy, but I’m having her come out anyway. I need it that bad. Plus, Bukowski did it. Had girls fly out to fuck him for a couple days. He also killed a guy with a typewriter and slept on garbage cans– should I do that shit too? But if you write a couple hundred thousand words about fucking fat chicks and jerking off you start to get emails. Girls asking after your impotent, prematurely ejaculating micropenis. It can’t be that small, can it? They don’t want the image to interfere with some fantasy they have. Girls read about your emotional and sometimes physical abuse of other women and think: do me next! Continue reading

Protected: Weekend Journal: Curse of the Monkey’s Paw

8 Apr

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Product Review: Kidde® Combo Smoke/ Carbon Monoxide Alarm, Model KN-COSM-IB

22 Feb


I woke up and a demonic metal brontosaurus was leaning over me, shrieking, and then murmuring in a woman’s voice.  Behind her was Satan, in a long black cloak with glowing red eyes.  I screamed and screamed.  “Low battery” said the demon.  What the fuck?  “Low battery.”  What– Satan was my coat, his eyes were the reflection of my alarm clock in the window.  The dinosaur was my lamp.  I must have taken my phone off vibrate, it was telling me to charge it.  Weird, it had never done that before.  I could hear the neighbors thumping upstairs, thinking I’d been gutted.  Their dog was freaking out.  I found the phone, turned it off.  Started drifting off again.  Dreamt I was on a boat in the ocean. Mona was there, her sun-warm skin, her belly.  The wind.  Sardines glimmering in the sunlight under the waves… Continue reading

Protected: Television Review: Girls

18 Feb

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I Wish I Had a Gigantic Wang

1 Dec

I feel like a lot of shit would bother me less.  I feel like I wouldn’t be as concerned about whether it had been too long since I had used a Biore deep cleansing pore strip; the filth and visibility of my pores.  I feel like I wouldn’t be so concerned with my meager paycheck and doomed career prospects, because, fuck it, at least I have a huge wang.

Diary: Gertrude Part One and a Half

11 Oct

You get a text on Monday morning from a girl you left at your house. The text is inventorying the contents of your jack drawer.  Notably there is an artificial vagina in it made by filling a plastic cup with water and flour paste, pushing a hole into it, and covering it with a condom.  You microwaved this creation while on cocaine and affixed it to your vibrating rubber duck and ergonomic airline neck pillow and it was the ne plus ultra of artificial vaginas; so far above and beyond the not inconsiderable amount of previous prototypes.  This is the one that flew.  It is has now taken on opportunistic airborne yeast and sat in the sun and become a perfectly formed uncooked dinner roll with a warped cast of your half-stiff cocaine penis in the center.  She’s amused.

She had written you a letter.  Like out of Bukowski’s WOMEN.  Dear so and so, I’ve read your blog and your OKC profile and blah blah blah.  We should have sex.  Well, yes.  Yes we should.


Still. Shouldn’t have sent her that second text this morning.  But no.  No.  Don’t overgame.  She’s a very straightforward person.  The larger issue is, making decisions about whether you want to hang out with a girl when you’ve been fucking her at night, receiving her unparalleled blowjobs, but not cumming.  Not cumming because she told you very matter of factly that your small penis could not get her off.  Also because you were fucking her and it got hot, she got into some position that was going to make you pop instantly; you stopped, and she said you should have gone ahead and cum anyway because your dick is too small to get her off.  You can’t tell if it’s because of this or just getting past that rubicon; sometimes you’re either going to cum prematurely or not at all.  Then you sleep with her all night naked and just keep making out with her in the morning; her little body… and you should have beat off in the shower, but you didn’t, so all day in the office your nuts feel like some swollen half-fermented fruit hanging overripe from the tree ready to fall off. You can feel your heart beat in your nut sac, painfully.  So you desperately want to see this person again but it’s just because you’re horny like an animal at your desk and you just keep seeing that ass, that ass, that ass, the way holocaust survivors must see the mule carts stacked with bodies flashing in their mind’s eye over and over again.
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Relax, It Doesn’t Matter Who’s President

8 Sep

Your taxes are not going to go up or down.  And if they do, who gives  a shit.  It won’t be a meaningful amount.  You are not barely hanging on by the amount that your taxes will increase.  You are not going to get some windfall by the amount your taxes will decrease.  They are not going to up the taxes enough that the debt and deficit are lowered meaningfully, nor are they going to lower them so that the debt and deficit are raised meaningfully.  All that shit, the money shit, is going to stay pretty much exactly the same.

If you can get an abortion now, you will still be able to get an abortion.  If you live in North Dakota, you will have to drive very far to get an abortion.  But you already have to drive very far to get an abortion.  You have to drive across the equivalent of France to get a fuel filter for a Japanese car, or a burrito.  If you live in North Dakota, you probably do not need or want or would consider having an abortion.  Why is it such a big fucking deal, the five abortions performed annually in North Dakota.  Or in Mississippi– when have you ever heard of someone getting pregnant in Mississippi, and no matter how young they were, how poor, no matter how abusive and drunk the father is, how many babies he already has with thirty other women, how much chromosome damage the baby was going to have from the mother pounding from whatever clay jug labeled “XXX” they drink from in Mississippi– when was the last time you ever heard of someone getting pregnant in Mississippi and not keeping the baby. Any state considering outlawing abortion is an entire state of Honey Boo Boo.  Every birth is from statutory rape by a multiple convict, and every six fingered IQ 80 baby is considered a huge blessing from Jesus where you wouldn’t even think about terminating the pregnancy.  Why do we argue so much about this. Continue reading

Protected: Weekend Journal 9-3-12: Bobbie (NSFW Image)

3 Sep

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