Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
I'm Not A Cannibal!
Idiom: "Don't judge a book by it's cover"
An ugly person walked by a group of us at work the other day and one of the guys exclaimed "someone got hit by the ugly stick." None of us thought anything else of it except for a young female co-worker that was deeply offended. She proceeded to drop the cliche' "don't judge a book by it's cover" referring to this ugly person that had previously walked by. She went on explaining that it isn't the outer appearance that's important it's what's inside that matters. It's the inner self. She then said "sure she may be ugly on the outside but it's what's inside that's beautiful it's what's inside that counts."
I didn't want to think about her insides being beautiful, that's gross, nobody has beautiful insides.
An ugly person walked by a group of us at work the other day and one of the guys exclaimed "someone got hit by the ugly stick." None of us thought anything else of it except for a young female co-worker that was deeply offended. She proceeded to drop the cliche' "don't judge a book by it's cover" referring to this ugly person that had previously walked by. She went on explaining that it isn't the outer appearance that's important it's what's inside that matters. It's the inner self. She then said "sure she may be ugly on the outside but it's what's inside that's beautiful it's what's inside that counts."
I didn't want to think about her insides being beautiful, that's gross, nobody has beautiful insides.
Naked Barbies and Sunflower Seeds
While working in my office the other day I was visited by an astonishing young woman. To my surprise, she did have the right office and was indeed looking for me. Normally, incredibly beautiful women brighten my day and give me something amazing to dream about (wow that sounds kind of creepy), but in this case, the reaction was quite the opposite. I was humiliated. She was an associate producer that had changed the script for one of the stories in the ten o'clock show and was there to personally inform me of the change. Let's just say she caught me at a bad time. Her first glance was the book on my desk entitled "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim" by David Sedaris (which was recommended to me by a close friend). The problem is that on the cover of the book is a naked Barbie doll. This gorgeous associate producer took one glance at the naked Barbie doll and gave off a look of disgust. That look of repulsion was seared into my mind and each time I process it, my self worth diminishes slightly. What could I have done to tell her that I am not into Barbie dolls and am not a sick weirdo pedophile? After she saw the book another form of embarrassment followed. Seconds before she appeared at my desk I had put a handful of sunflower seeds into the corner of my mouth. So when she looked at me I felt like a crazy old redneck, you know the kind, uncouth, uncivilized, chewing sunflower seeds and talking about biscuits and gravy while bits and pieces of sunflower spittle out the mouth. I blew my chances with this girl!
So then I was thinking, maybe she never did give me that look; maybe she didn't mind that I had a disgusting amount of sunflower seeds jammed into my cheek. You never know she could be a baseball fan or something. Maybe she didn't even notice the book or if she did, she had seen it before or even had read it!
You see how us poor guys think and act in front of beautiful and intimidating women?
So then I was thinking, maybe she never did give me that look; maybe she didn't mind that I had a disgusting amount of sunflower seeds jammed into my cheek. You never know she could be a baseball fan or something. Maybe she didn't even notice the book or if she did, she had seen it before or even had read it!
You see how us poor guys think and act in front of beautiful and intimidating women?
Hitchiking and Sexual Favors
As my friends and I started on our annual trip to Evanston Wyoming to buy our loads of illegal fireworks, we noticed our vehicle was quickly running out of gas. For reasons unknown to me we did not stop in Morgan to fill up, I guess "the boy" (who was the driver at the time), thought we could make it to Evanston, or if not, we'd just stop at the next town and fill up…As the needle crept closer to E, our worries were virtually nonexistent. But as we continued on, the red gasoline light indicator began beaming in each one of our eyes taunting us with its warning.
We were happy to see a town coming up called Henefer that claimed to have a gas. We rolled through this small hick town with high hopes of spotting the gas station but as the road ended we soon realized that the gas station sign had deceived us. Our only option was to continue on strong, in hopes that there would be another stop before Evanston… but Before we knew it, we had run out of gas. It was about 5 in the afternoon, 100 degrees outside and we were stranded… There were five of us…the boy, Balls, his wife and their 6-month-old baby boy… Now came the time for us to start worrying. The car had stopped at the bottom of a hill so we thought that maybe Evanston, or some other small town was at the top of the hill… So me being the brave one, along with Balls set off on what proved to be a journey full of trials, hardships, and life lessons. We had to get help and quick, not only our lives were in danger but also the lives, of the boy, wife and baby were on the line…
Before we left on our hike up the road I even offered to save the last bit of mountain dew just in case we wouldn't return for some time. That way, they would be able to share it three ways if things were to get devastating … After moments of thinking to myself what a great guy I was to sacrifice the last bit of liquid that we had, I stood there taking pride in myself with a smile on my face, thinking, I would be a great president of the United States. I am a leader who puts other peoples safety before mine. During all this, without knowing it I subconsciously drank the rest of the mountain dew............ Hey it's the thought that counts right?
So as we were conquering the great hill in front of us, the boy was able to start the car. As they drove by Balls and I did the noble and courageous thing by waving them on. We feared that if they stopped for us they wouldn't get it started again, and that we'd simply catch up to them as we climbed the unfathomably steep hill in which we didn't know if our scrawny legs could accomplish. As we ascended the vast hill of despair, fluids were literally being drained from our bodies and appearing under our arms and inside our butt cracks. I feared many things at that moment, but the one thing I feared the most was butt chaffage otherwise known as monkey butt. You all know the feeling of your inner cheeks or inner thigh right below the chode area rubbing back and forth with each step you take. Heaven forbid I would have to start walking with my legs spread out looking as if I had previously had a brutal and vicious colonoscopy or corn-hole.
Finally we reached the top of the hill and to our surprise the town we were hoping for with all the multitudes of gas stations filled with beverages of a refreshing nature, and beautiful women of the orient, was not there. Neither was the car. We assumed that The Boy, wife, and baby had continued on without us thinking that we meant for them to come back and get us after they had filled up. Needless to say that was not what we had wanted. Luckily Balls was able to get service on his cell and was able to call the boy who explained that they were probably 2 or 3 miles ahead of us. After a bit of a useless spat with the boy on why they didn't stop and wait for us, the courageous duo (balls and I) trekked on.
About 200 yards in front of us was a diesel truck that was pulled off to the side. We decided we would ask the driver if he had any spare gasoline. We immediately realized that this proved to be a stupid question….why would a diesel truck driver carry around unleaded fuel? The driver was a negroid man who looked at us as if we were mental, but replied respectfully that he didn't have any. We carried on with our heads hanging low in despair on account that we didn't know what the future had in store for us.
After what must have been a much-needed moment of enlightenment one of us had the brilliant idea of hitchhiking. We put our thumbs in the air and waved them as if we didn't care. And after a couple vehicles passed a diesel truck saw us and came to our rescue. As we both ran to catch up to the truck, all the horror stories about crazy truckers flooded our minds. And not to mention the sexual favors that truckers expect from hitchhikers when offered a lift. This must have been our most desperate hour because Balls and I both entered the vehicle.
The truck looked as though it hadn't been cleaned for years and the driver looked as if he hadn't bathed in decades. The scent of some type of onion and chive soup gone wrong filled my nostrils as I entered the truck. He introduced himself as Tom and was more than happy to pick us up. Since I entered the truck first I was the unlucky one that had to sit on Tom's bed because there was only one passenger seat. I was not too happy about this, since the sheets looked like he used them to wipe his nasty ass with. I didn't want to think where all those stains came from since I was sitting on them, so I tried to think about happy thoughts….monkeys, dinosaurs, pineapples, SeaWorld and things of that nature.
Take a good look at those stains!
During the drive to Evanston Tom babbled on and on about his liberal propaganda while Balls and I tried our hardest not to breathe in the trailer trash carcinigous air. While looking around and investigating what it'd be like to live in a truck I decided to nonchalantly take a few photographs with my camera phone.
Peanut butter anybody? how about I pop in a burrito for ya?
As we drove passed the stranded car with wife, baby, and the Boy I wondered what Balls was thinking since his wife and kid were still stranded. He looked genuinely concerned and a tear swelled up in his eye and slowly dripped off his cheek. I felt as if I should console him with his hardship. So I stretched out my arm in an extremely gay manner and patted him on his shoulder and told him that everything would be ok. The plan was to arrive in Evanston and to return somehow to the car with a tank of gas.
This is Balls in the passenger seat.
Finally we arrived in Evanston and were let loose from the truck. We were free! He didn't ask for any sexual favors! Nor did he murder us! I quickly bought my overpriced beverage and we were ready to figure everything out. Balls then got a phone call from the boy who explained to him that someone had pulled over and was towing them into town. We waited eagerly for their arrival hoping that nothing dangerous would happen to them.
Balls looked happy and refreshed and I found that odd. I then posed the question, What if the guys that picked up wife, baby, and the boy were murderers? Or what if they demanded sexual favors? This turned his smile upside down as I caused him great fear and nervousness for the safety of his wife and child.
He then broke down and started crying saying, "She won't even give me oral pleasures! I couldn't bear to think that she'd be doing that that to some stranger?! Then his sadness turned into anger as he yelled, "If I find out that she sucked some stranger off, I will be livid! She's my wife if she's going to suck anybody off it's going to be me!" As I started to calm him down we both spotted the car being towed by another exiting the freeway. Balls ran hysterically towards them with a sentimental look on his face. Balls and wife embraced each other in a loving matter. They both were crying and proclaiming their love for each other and how they thought they'd never see each other again. The boy then strategically placed the baby by their side so the family could be together in a touching Kodak moment that unfortunately was never captured on camera.
The end.
This was the car that towed the boy, wife, and baby.
We were happy to see a town coming up called Henefer that claimed to have a gas. We rolled through this small hick town with high hopes of spotting the gas station but as the road ended we soon realized that the gas station sign had deceived us. Our only option was to continue on strong, in hopes that there would be another stop before Evanston… but Before we knew it, we had run out of gas. It was about 5 in the afternoon, 100 degrees outside and we were stranded… There were five of us…the boy, Balls, his wife and their 6-month-old baby boy… Now came the time for us to start worrying. The car had stopped at the bottom of a hill so we thought that maybe Evanston, or some other small town was at the top of the hill… So me being the brave one, along with Balls set off on what proved to be a journey full of trials, hardships, and life lessons. We had to get help and quick, not only our lives were in danger but also the lives, of the boy, wife and baby were on the line…
Before we left on our hike up the road I even offered to save the last bit of mountain dew just in case we wouldn't return for some time. That way, they would be able to share it three ways if things were to get devastating … After moments of thinking to myself what a great guy I was to sacrifice the last bit of liquid that we had, I stood there taking pride in myself with a smile on my face, thinking, I would be a great president of the United States. I am a leader who puts other peoples safety before mine. During all this, without knowing it I subconsciously drank the rest of the mountain dew............ Hey it's the thought that counts right?
So as we were conquering the great hill in front of us, the boy was able to start the car. As they drove by Balls and I did the noble and courageous thing by waving them on. We feared that if they stopped for us they wouldn't get it started again, and that we'd simply catch up to them as we climbed the unfathomably steep hill in which we didn't know if our scrawny legs could accomplish. As we ascended the vast hill of despair, fluids were literally being drained from our bodies and appearing under our arms and inside our butt cracks. I feared many things at that moment, but the one thing I feared the most was butt chaffage otherwise known as monkey butt. You all know the feeling of your inner cheeks or inner thigh right below the chode area rubbing back and forth with each step you take. Heaven forbid I would have to start walking with my legs spread out looking as if I had previously had a brutal and vicious colonoscopy or corn-hole.
Finally we reached the top of the hill and to our surprise the town we were hoping for with all the multitudes of gas stations filled with beverages of a refreshing nature, and beautiful women of the orient, was not there. Neither was the car. We assumed that The Boy, wife, and baby had continued on without us thinking that we meant for them to come back and get us after they had filled up. Needless to say that was not what we had wanted. Luckily Balls was able to get service on his cell and was able to call the boy who explained that they were probably 2 or 3 miles ahead of us. After a bit of a useless spat with the boy on why they didn't stop and wait for us, the courageous duo (balls and I) trekked on.
About 200 yards in front of us was a diesel truck that was pulled off to the side. We decided we would ask the driver if he had any spare gasoline. We immediately realized that this proved to be a stupid question….why would a diesel truck driver carry around unleaded fuel? The driver was a negroid man who looked at us as if we were mental, but replied respectfully that he didn't have any. We carried on with our heads hanging low in despair on account that we didn't know what the future had in store for us.
After what must have been a much-needed moment of enlightenment one of us had the brilliant idea of hitchhiking. We put our thumbs in the air and waved them as if we didn't care. And after a couple vehicles passed a diesel truck saw us and came to our rescue. As we both ran to catch up to the truck, all the horror stories about crazy truckers flooded our minds. And not to mention the sexual favors that truckers expect from hitchhikers when offered a lift. This must have been our most desperate hour because Balls and I both entered the vehicle.
The truck looked as though it hadn't been cleaned for years and the driver looked as if he hadn't bathed in decades. The scent of some type of onion and chive soup gone wrong filled my nostrils as I entered the truck. He introduced himself as Tom and was more than happy to pick us up. Since I entered the truck first I was the unlucky one that had to sit on Tom's bed because there was only one passenger seat. I was not too happy about this, since the sheets looked like he used them to wipe his nasty ass with. I didn't want to think where all those stains came from since I was sitting on them, so I tried to think about happy thoughts….monkeys, dinosaurs, pineapples, SeaWorld and things of that nature.
Take a good look at those stains!
During the drive to Evanston Tom babbled on and on about his liberal propaganda while Balls and I tried our hardest not to breathe in the trailer trash carcinigous air. While looking around and investigating what it'd be like to live in a truck I decided to nonchalantly take a few photographs with my camera phone.
Peanut butter anybody? how about I pop in a burrito for ya?
As we drove passed the stranded car with wife, baby, and the Boy I wondered what Balls was thinking since his wife and kid were still stranded. He looked genuinely concerned and a tear swelled up in his eye and slowly dripped off his cheek. I felt as if I should console him with his hardship. So I stretched out my arm in an extremely gay manner and patted him on his shoulder and told him that everything would be ok. The plan was to arrive in Evanston and to return somehow to the car with a tank of gas.
This is Balls in the passenger seat.
Finally we arrived in Evanston and were let loose from the truck. We were free! He didn't ask for any sexual favors! Nor did he murder us! I quickly bought my overpriced beverage and we were ready to figure everything out. Balls then got a phone call from the boy who explained to him that someone had pulled over and was towing them into town. We waited eagerly for their arrival hoping that nothing dangerous would happen to them.
Balls looked happy and refreshed and I found that odd. I then posed the question, What if the guys that picked up wife, baby, and the boy were murderers? Or what if they demanded sexual favors? This turned his smile upside down as I caused him great fear and nervousness for the safety of his wife and child.
He then broke down and started crying saying, "She won't even give me oral pleasures! I couldn't bear to think that she'd be doing that that to some stranger?! Then his sadness turned into anger as he yelled, "If I find out that she sucked some stranger off, I will be livid! She's my wife if she's going to suck anybody off it's going to be me!" As I started to calm him down we both spotted the car being towed by another exiting the freeway. Balls ran hysterically towards them with a sentimental look on his face. Balls and wife embraced each other in a loving matter. They both were crying and proclaiming their love for each other and how they thought they'd never see each other again. The boy then strategically placed the baby by their side so the family could be together in a touching Kodak moment that unfortunately was never captured on camera.
The end.
This was the car that towed the boy, wife, and baby.
My Poor Little Ball Sack
My Poor Little Ball Sack ☹
First off I would like to say that the word “little” in the title of this story has nothing to do with the size or anatomy of my scrotum. It’s just a phrase that is said to describe the bad situation that my nards were involved in.
Moving on.
The other day I slept through my alarm clock, and when I finally arose, I had to scramble. I had to get everything together, my gym clothes, work clothes, soap, shampoo, shaving cream etc… My morning workout was a necessity before a 12-hour shift at work. After stuffing it all in a duffle bag I grabbed a nutri-grain bar, banana then jumped into my jeep and sped off. Fortunately I made good timing and my workout was great. As I got out of the shower, I glanced at myself in the mirror and was happy with what I saw. It looked like I was losing weight and gaining pure muscle. Yes I know… you ladies love it… After realizing I was wasting time in front of the mirror, I quickly returned to my locker to change into my work clothes. This is where the fun begins.
I reach into my duffle bag and grab my black fruit of the looms. I pull them up my legs and secure them in the correct position covering the crotch and buttocks areas, something wasn’t feeling right. Everything from my waste down was losing circulation, including my most important parts. I came to the abrupt conclusion that I grabbed my 12-year-old little brother’s underwear instead of mine. This raised a problem that needed to be solved quickly. I had to be at work in 20 minutes. Wearing tight underwear could potentially be a dangerous situation. I’ve always heard that it lowers your sperm count. Now, the sperm count is an important thing in a man’s life. It’s what defines the man. For those men that have a low sperm count I would like to take the time right now to laugh and point at your faces.
The issue of circulation is also something to worry about. I wouldn’t want everything below my waste to get amputated due to lack of blood flow. And what if I needed to perform sexually? How could blood get to my love pump if the tight underwear causes permanent damage? What was I going to do? Should I just free ball it? (Meaning not wear any underwear at all) I quickly removed the briefs, which caused a euphoric feeling as the blood returned back to my legs. I slipped my pants back on, zipped up, and took a few steps. To my disappointment a feeling of discomfort began and I knew I couldn’t spend the day without under garment support. (This is a subject all of its own, irritation caused by the carpet burn effect at the tip of your penis rubbing against the denim jeans, not to mention the zipper. Also the lack of support causes a blue balls type of pain, which leads one to believe they are suffering from testicular cancer.)
Free balling it, was simply out of the question. And I couldn’t just drive back home and pick up another pair; I’d be late for work! Then came my brilliant idea. I would simply rip the waste line of the underwear thus alleviating the tightness around my waste. So I grabbed the underwear and yanked as hard as I could. Nothing happened. Why wasn’t it ripping? I have muscle; remember I was just lifting weights? Hulk Hogan used to rip off his tank top shirts easily before his wrestling matches; I should be able to do this! After about five minutes of yanking, pulling, and stretching, the underpants started to rip. I did it! Everything would be OK now. I proceeded to put on the ripped underwear and to my surprise it felt much better. Problem solved! At least for the time being.
While driving to work I had a smile on my face. I was able to get my work out in without being late for work. I had outsmarted the underwear problem, and the sun was coming up. It would be a good day. Then I started feeling an unusual pain in my forearms. I must have worked them too hard at the gym. It started to feel as if I was suffering from tennis elbow or tendonitis of some sort. Then I realized that this pain was probably caused by me attempting to rip the underwear. The seams on those babies must have been sewn by sweat shop workers on steroids!
After about 20 minutes at work and taking a couple ibuprofen's for my fore arm pain, I started to feel a bit nauseated. My thighs began to throb due to the tightness of the boxer briefs and a sudden sense of extreme discomfort overcame me. I tried not to think about it but the nausea worsened. My balls began to feel as if someone had grasped them in their hands and squeezed them as hard as they could. I began to worry that my testicles would break into a thousand pieces and then drain out of my torn up ball sack. I had to act immediately for the sake of my future seed.
I ran to the bathroom stall, dropped my pants and underwear, and while standing there mostly naked with my dick hanging out I proceeded to rip the edges of the boxer briefs from the inside thigh area all the way to the under groin area. After much struggle and more tendonitis pain, I was a success. By now the underwear was simply two pieces of cloth barely attached by the already ripping waste line that would hang down over the front and the rear. I thought of those Indian civilizations in the Amazon rain forest and how I would fit in quite well with my genitals freely hanging behind a small piece of cloth. Problem solved! I had done it this time, no more problems, no more worries about testicular cancer, no more nausea, and no more discomfort.
The rest of the day went by very well, I just found that I needed to grasp on to the piece of hanging underwear through my front pocket when I walked to avoid it from ripping completely and falling down to the floor.
The End.
So what’s the lesson we have all learned by reading this deeply significant story that is so profound it haunts people on account of its everlasting effect?
…Or is it the image of my cock & balls that is haunting people?
First off I would like to say that the word “little” in the title of this story has nothing to do with the size or anatomy of my scrotum. It’s just a phrase that is said to describe the bad situation that my nards were involved in.
Moving on.
The other day I slept through my alarm clock, and when I finally arose, I had to scramble. I had to get everything together, my gym clothes, work clothes, soap, shampoo, shaving cream etc… My morning workout was a necessity before a 12-hour shift at work. After stuffing it all in a duffle bag I grabbed a nutri-grain bar, banana then jumped into my jeep and sped off. Fortunately I made good timing and my workout was great. As I got out of the shower, I glanced at myself in the mirror and was happy with what I saw. It looked like I was losing weight and gaining pure muscle. Yes I know… you ladies love it… After realizing I was wasting time in front of the mirror, I quickly returned to my locker to change into my work clothes. This is where the fun begins.
I reach into my duffle bag and grab my black fruit of the looms. I pull them up my legs and secure them in the correct position covering the crotch and buttocks areas, something wasn’t feeling right. Everything from my waste down was losing circulation, including my most important parts. I came to the abrupt conclusion that I grabbed my 12-year-old little brother’s underwear instead of mine. This raised a problem that needed to be solved quickly. I had to be at work in 20 minutes. Wearing tight underwear could potentially be a dangerous situation. I’ve always heard that it lowers your sperm count. Now, the sperm count is an important thing in a man’s life. It’s what defines the man. For those men that have a low sperm count I would like to take the time right now to laugh and point at your faces.
The issue of circulation is also something to worry about. I wouldn’t want everything below my waste to get amputated due to lack of blood flow. And what if I needed to perform sexually? How could blood get to my love pump if the tight underwear causes permanent damage? What was I going to do? Should I just free ball it? (Meaning not wear any underwear at all) I quickly removed the briefs, which caused a euphoric feeling as the blood returned back to my legs. I slipped my pants back on, zipped up, and took a few steps. To my disappointment a feeling of discomfort began and I knew I couldn’t spend the day without under garment support. (This is a subject all of its own, irritation caused by the carpet burn effect at the tip of your penis rubbing against the denim jeans, not to mention the zipper. Also the lack of support causes a blue balls type of pain, which leads one to believe they are suffering from testicular cancer.)
Free balling it, was simply out of the question. And I couldn’t just drive back home and pick up another pair; I’d be late for work! Then came my brilliant idea. I would simply rip the waste line of the underwear thus alleviating the tightness around my waste. So I grabbed the underwear and yanked as hard as I could. Nothing happened. Why wasn’t it ripping? I have muscle; remember I was just lifting weights? Hulk Hogan used to rip off his tank top shirts easily before his wrestling matches; I should be able to do this! After about five minutes of yanking, pulling, and stretching, the underpants started to rip. I did it! Everything would be OK now. I proceeded to put on the ripped underwear and to my surprise it felt much better. Problem solved! At least for the time being.
While driving to work I had a smile on my face. I was able to get my work out in without being late for work. I had outsmarted the underwear problem, and the sun was coming up. It would be a good day. Then I started feeling an unusual pain in my forearms. I must have worked them too hard at the gym. It started to feel as if I was suffering from tennis elbow or tendonitis of some sort. Then I realized that this pain was probably caused by me attempting to rip the underwear. The seams on those babies must have been sewn by sweat shop workers on steroids!
After about 20 minutes at work and taking a couple ibuprofen's for my fore arm pain, I started to feel a bit nauseated. My thighs began to throb due to the tightness of the boxer briefs and a sudden sense of extreme discomfort overcame me. I tried not to think about it but the nausea worsened. My balls began to feel as if someone had grasped them in their hands and squeezed them as hard as they could. I began to worry that my testicles would break into a thousand pieces and then drain out of my torn up ball sack. I had to act immediately for the sake of my future seed.
I ran to the bathroom stall, dropped my pants and underwear, and while standing there mostly naked with my dick hanging out I proceeded to rip the edges of the boxer briefs from the inside thigh area all the way to the under groin area. After much struggle and more tendonitis pain, I was a success. By now the underwear was simply two pieces of cloth barely attached by the already ripping waste line that would hang down over the front and the rear. I thought of those Indian civilizations in the Amazon rain forest and how I would fit in quite well with my genitals freely hanging behind a small piece of cloth. Problem solved! I had done it this time, no more problems, no more worries about testicular cancer, no more nausea, and no more discomfort.
The rest of the day went by very well, I just found that I needed to grasp on to the piece of hanging underwear through my front pocket when I walked to avoid it from ripping completely and falling down to the floor.
The End.
So what’s the lesson we have all learned by reading this deeply significant story that is so profound it haunts people on account of its everlasting effect?
…Or is it the image of my cock & balls that is haunting people?
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