October 16, 2006
An interesting item in the news: “Do Real Men Wear Flip-Flops?” And I quote:
“I’m always baffled at what makes men think women will be attracted to them in a two-for-$10 pair of Wal-Mart flip-flops,” he said. “No one wants to look at a man’s dirty, hairy, nasty toes. And whenever you see a man wearing flip-flops, 90 percent are not groomed toes—that probably hurt the cause of flip-flops more than anything else.”
Just remember, Jimmy was here first:
Unless you’re going to the beach or working in your yard (and I say “you” because I take care of my feet), you have no business wearing sandals. Women’s feet are lovely, polished and pampered. Most men’s feet look like they stomp shit barefoot for a living. Trust me, Bruno, no one wants to see your cracked, gnarled, dirt-encrusted, fungus-ridden dogs at anytime.
Timeless advice is good forever. Was that redundant?
October 6, 2006
According to Iran’s Ayatolla Khameini, if you masturbate during Ramadan, it invalidates your fasting. But, what if you “shake hands with the general” but don’t spunk? Then what? So says the Ayatolla:
If he do not intend masturbation and discharging semen and nothing is discharged, his fasting is correct even though he has done a ḥarām (forbidden) act. But, if he intends masturbation or he knows that he usually discharges semen by this process and semen really comes out, it is a ḥaram intentional breaking fasting.
So, there you have it. If it “really comes out,” your fast doesn’t count.
August 3, 2006
I thought it would be fun to peruse all the comment threads from the past year, and pull comments out at random and post them here, completely out-of-context. It was fun to relive some of the silliness we’ve engaged in together.
- Mmmmm….Monica Belluci. I’m not a lesbian, but if I were…damn!, by Tree.
- I think it’s called “golden time” because that’s when everyone pisses their pants, by Jimmy.
- I’m guessing they had special velvet toilet paper flown in from France or something. They don’t tell you that shit……, by Davis.
- And naughty Jimmy, volunteering for shower duty, by Monkey.
- If Maine is the tailpipe, what does that make Florida??, by Jimmy.
- Tell that to the guys who whizzed on the electric fence. No science involved. Trial by error, I should think! HA!, by Davis.
- Yeah, between the nudists and the flashers, all sorts of things are swingin’, by Jimmy.
- I’d go to church if they gave me free chocolate and had a weekly exorcism, by Chris.
- Oh, yes… spank me… harder, harder. I would elect you in a minute, as long as you keep smoking those cigars. 😉, by Defiantly Damned.
- Chris and I should have healthy kids, since we don’t normally wear deodorant, by Heather.
- No, no, NO! Not the BUTTER KNIFE!!, by Defiantly Damned.
- “Heey! Dat rook rike stohm!! Must take peetcha”!, by Davis.
- Stop it! This is turning me on to no end, by Tree.
- I’ve been told that I have lovely Welsh feet. Small, well formed, great arches. The rest of me is gruesome, however, by Fletcher.
- No matter what, we’re all gonna die! Aaarrrgghhhhhh!!!!!, by Chris.
- What’s with the little flowers, Mr. Happy-Pants?, by Davis.
- So perhaps it was an exorcisim of a Russian Bigfoot?, by Chris.
- You wouldn’t think that female ejaculation would ever go out of style, but “to everything there is a season,” by Jimmy.
- I’m starting to think Dr. Phil was placed here by an “enemy” country. Anyone else?, by Stephanie.
- That’s it. I’m suing those bastards for using my pic to advertise their “girly” shorts, by Davis.
- You must follow the Church of Fletcher! Obey the Fist! Obeeeeeyyy me! (Invader Zim), by Fletcher.
- I’m not sure how one manages to shove a cell phone up one’s ass, by Tree.
- Great Glowing Gonads Batman!, by Stephanie.
- That’s really cool except that the rubbery-ness of her body started making me think of a corpse, although I suppose she could just be unconscious…, by Chris.
- You bastard, by Davis.
- You bastard, by Kati.
- Jimmy! You no good bastard!, by Monkey.
- Well, if you shoved an electric probe up my bum and activated it you’d get quite alot of viable sperm, too. The difference between me and the dead guy is that I’d be willing to cuddle and hold the probee afterwards. I’m thoughtful that way, by Fletcher.
- Yeah, I’m a sucker for the slimy green ones with the vacant eyes. Tentacles are just a bonus, by Tree.
- It’s in the contract. They can’t tell you for fear of John Voight whackin’ their head off with a machete……..(he’s crazy, you know), by Davis.
- This made me want to gouge out my eyeballs with a grapefruit spoon, by Tree.
- God doesn’t give a shit about Kabbala, by Jimmy.
- I want that done too when I die. A volume of my erotic writings bound in my own skin. That’d be hot, by Tree.
- I am not a PUSSY on the road and would have held the bitch off if it meant wrecking her, by Shad.
- Weeee!! Free moon boots for everyone!!, by Stephanie.
- That reminds me of the fat naked guy selling a tea kettle or something, by Davis.
- I’m betting that the Chief in Texas does not actually have sex, by Stephanie.
- I’m usually too self-conscious to flatulate in front of strangers, by Fletcher.
- Scooby would bite Tim’s wiener off, I bet, by Davis.
- I alvays suspected da Borg vere Svedish, yah. “Ole, resistance is a-futile, dontcha know,” by Jimmy.
- When I first read this post, I thought why would someone want a skin for a penis from Billy Joel?, by Chris.
- I never thought I would hit a website and see my brother’s spandex covered ass. I’m scarred for life….., by Davis.
- Is that a cucumber in your pants or are you just glad to see me?, by Tricia.
- Amazingly enough, I have 4 hoes in my garage, by Kristin.
- The iron corset is kinda hot, but the voyeuristic chamber pot gives me the creeps, by Tree.
- Fletcher I do believe you need to tell your waiter how you want your placenta grilled, by Tricia.
- Yes, I have invisible pee, by Wonder Woman.
- The thought of penis replacement makes me wince. And I’m not even a guy! by Chris.
- I couldn’t read the bit about the Hieros Gamos without thinking of rabbit cock, by Tree.
- My penis is small but functional, by Fletcher.
- Obviously our worth is as potential fetal containers, by O.
- I know that unless you wrap your kid in bubblewrap, at some point he’s going to take a fall somewhere, by Chris.
- If the Grail turns out to be the anthropomorphic incarnation of the feminine principle, as postulated by some, I wish to have a dip into her, by Fletcher.
- Hey, if one farmer from Tatooine can blow up the whole Death Star with a little rocket blaster, the Enterprise would have absolutely no problems, by Heather.
- Who you calling a sheat hed?, by Tricia.
- Okay. So tell me. How much is a buttload, exactly? Is it bigger than a shitload, and less than a fuckload?, by Tree.
- I can’t believe they even need a term for licking the eyeballs for sexual arousal, by Chris.
- I don’t think “fun girl” on the ass of a 5 year old is fun at all, by Kristin.
- Some things shouldn’t be shared, but I had a cat that meowed back if you burped at him, by Monkey.
- The boys are all about armpit farts now, by Davis.
- Oooh, I think my cat looks like Hitler too. Except he has two balls, by Tricia.
- That horse has an awesome ass, by Monkey.
- It’s people like him that give the rest of us pot-smokers a bad name, by Heather.
Y’all crack me up. Really.
May 31, 2006
In the mid-90’s, two friends and I were on our way home from a Dwight Yoakam concert in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. We crested a hill, and drove head-on into a Black Angus bull loitering in the middle of the highway. My seat belt held me tight, or I would have flown deep into the night. We made it to the side of the road. None of us had ever been in an accident where air bags were deployed, so we mistook the floating powder for smoke and piled out of the car. As we stood on the highway, gathering our wits, we noticed that the bull we’d struck at 65 mph had gotten up and walked off, no doubt with a terrible sideache.
I tell you that little anecdote to assure you that I am a dyed-in-the-wool believer in seatbelt use. However, I do not agree with mandatory seatbelt laws. Seatbelt usage is a personal choice, and the decision not to use one is (or should be) a personal choice. You risk only your own life if you choose not to buckle up. I’m tired of these busybodies who think they need to force laws that require the police to save me from myself. I’m sick to hell of reading accident reports that make a point of noting that the dead at an accident scene weren’t buckled up, as if they deserved to die.
I say, if we’re going to turn the state into everyone’s mommy and daddy, let’s go the whole route. In addition to seatbelt check points, how about cholesterol check points? I want these overweight seat belt advocates to have their cholesterol checked by police. After all, someone with heart disease careening across six lanes of traffic during a heart attack is a far greater threat to public health than one individual being thrown from his vehicle. Wouldn’t you agree? How about home inspections to make sure we aren’t consuming too much alcohol? How about regulating tobacco use? How about mandatory exercise times, supervised by the police? Don’t think there aren’t people who would advocate all of the above. Some people love to tell others how to live.
What prompted this little rant was a news item I read before the holiday weekend. In Omaha, women and children are being abducted, murdered and fished out of the river with alarming frequency lately, so imagine my rage at learning that the Omaha Police were devoting five police officers and a police sergeant . . . to seatbelt enforcement.
Glad we got our fuckin’ priorities straight.
April 17, 2006
As you can see by looking around you, Spring has sprung, and one of my favorite parts of Spring’s return is that it’s time for the ladies to break out the tank-tops, shorts and sandals. Unfortunately, it also means that tank-tops, shorts and sandals are back for the men.
About the sandals, fellas. Unless you’re going to the beach or working in your yard (and I say “you” because I take care of my feet), you have no business wearing sandals. Women’s feet are lovely, polished and pampered. Most men’s feet look like they stomp shit barefoot for a living. Trust me, Bruno, no one wants to see your cracked, gnarled, dirt-encrusted, fungus-ridden dogs at anytime. If you want to improve, I can assure you that there is no law—state for federal—that forbids you from touching your feet with a bar of soap.
Please keep ’em covered. Please.
April 5, 2006
I’m reading Iris Murdoch’s “The Unicorn,” and came across this interesting exchange between Hannah and Marian:
“I think, don’t you, that one ought to cry out more for love, to ask for it. It’s odd how afraid people are of the word. Yet we all need love. Even God needs love. I suppose that’s why He created us,” said Hannah.
“He made a bad arrangement,” said Marian.
Funny or sad, depending on your perspective.